No Shadows Fall

by L. J. LaBarthe

  “Yup, that sounds about right,” Uriel said, grinning. “Anyway, you’re not to tell anyone I have hidden depths. I have a reputation to maintain.”

  Raziel snorted. “Babe, you’re many things, but unpredictable isn’t one of them.”

  “Whatever.” Uriel stole Raziel’s cigarette again. Raziel sighed and pulled his packet out of the pocket of his jeans and lit himself a fresh one.

  “Must you steal my smokes all the time?”

  “Yes.” Uriel nodded. “They taste better when they’re stolen.”

  “You know, that accounts for an awful lot of things you do.”

  Uriel grinned broadly. “You know it, baby.”

  Raziel was about to answer that when his cell phone rang. Surprised, he looked at his lover. “Did you give anyone my number?”

  “No?” Uriel looked just as confused as Raziel felt. “I didn’t know you even had one of those carbon ape things. Why do you have it?”

  “In a moment.” Raziel pulled the phone from his other pocket and answered it. “Yes?”

  “Ah, Raziel,” said a familiar voice. “It’s been a while, don’t you agree?”

  Raziel groaned. “Ondrass. What do you want? And how did you get my number?”

  “I’m very well, Raziel, thank you ever so much for asking, your manners are truly impeccable and the wonder of the known world. Markus is also very well as is Adramelek, and we are all moved beyond words by your mastery of the social mores and graces.”

  “Ondrass, you make me tired. If this is you moved beyond words, I hate to think what you’re like when you’re orating.”

  “Once a Roman, always a Roman, I suppose. Or when in Rome, as the saying goes.” Ondrass hummed in Raziel’s ear. “So, to answer your questions, I want to meet with you and your Brotherhood to discuss a certain feathery problem.”

  Raziel shook his head in disgust. “If you have information, you can tell me now. I’ll pass it on.”

  “Oh no, that just wouldn’t do.” Ondrass purred in Raziel’s ear. “Meet me and my associates tomorrow in Armenia.

  I’m sure you’ll deduce where exactly in Armenia we will be. Toodles!”

  The connection ended, and Raziel pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it. “He makes my teeth hurt.”

  “What did he want?” Uriel demanded.

  “A meeting.” Raziel sighed. “Time to gather the troops.”

  “You can get Mike and Gabe. I don’t want to walk in on their sexy times.” Uriel wrinkled his nose.

  “And what makes you think that I want to see that?” Raziel demanded.

  “It’s a hunch.” Uriel kissed Raziel’s cheek.

  “Michael would blush a full body blush, anyway,” Raziel went on, “and it’s difficult not to chortle when he blushes.”

  “Can you blush all over?” Uriel looked surprised.

  “Actually... I don’t know. I suppose, maybe, if your skin pigmentation is right. After all, some people sunburn far easier than others and....”

  Uriel held up a hand. “Enough. I don’t care. Let’s go get them all up and into the living room.”

  They started down toward the cottage they were all staying in. Raziel suddenly groaned and smacked himself in the forehead.

  “I’m an idiot. Those damn Archdemons are going to visit Lyudmila!”

  “Your werewolf friend?” “She is the Queen of the Eastern Bloc Weres, yes.” Raziel was worried and growing more so by the minute. The prospect of an Archdemon or two or more paying a visit to someone who had made it clear that she was allied to the Archangels was giving Raziel all sorts of concerns. He was worried that Lyudmila might find herself in a terrible situation, and while he had no qualms about killing Ondrass or Adramelek or any of their Hell dwelling allies, he didn’t want them to hurt Lyudmila before he got to her.

  “How did they find out about her?” Uriel said, his expression astonished.

  Raziel scowled. “I bet that was part of the information they got out of the medium that gave them my cell phone number. Ondrass did say she was delicious. I’m choosing to believe that he meant she was deliciously attractive, not deliciously tasty, because otherwise, I’d have to stab him just a little bit.”

  “You can never tell with him.” Uriel shook his head. “He’s a pain in the ass. I want to kill him, you know. Him and Adramelek both. And his PA.”

  “Markus would fall apart without Ondrass anyway.” Raziel took Uriel’s hand in his.

  “He is pretty loyal.”

  Raziel shot Uriel an amused look. “Because they’re lovers, babe.”

  Uriel’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” “Well fuck me sideways and call me Sally.”

  “Okay, Sally.” Raziel laughed as Uriel growled. “You did say it.”

  They reached the cottage and entered. Raziel canted his head to the side as he reached out with his power, looking for the rest of the Brotherhood.

  “Most of them are already in the living room,” he said. “I’ll go and get the others.”

  “Okay.” Uriel gave him a quick kiss and walked off.

  Raziel went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He rapped sharply on the closed doors, calling through the wood that he’d had a call from Ondrass and that everyone was gathering downstairs, so hurry up and get dressed and get down there. Then he retraced his steps and went down to the living room.

  Remiel was sitting on the couch with Ishtahar at his side. On the other side of her was Hiwa and Ahijah sat on the floor at her feet. They made the almost-perfect family tableau, and Raziel smiled fondly as he entered the room and sat down in an empty chair. Samael, Tzadkiel, Sophiel, Brieus, Shateiel, Agrat, Haniel, and Metatron were also present.

  Raphael and Israfel entered the room a few moments later, Israfel’s dirty-blond hair mussed and his cheeks pink. Raziel didn’t need to ask what they’d been up to; it was as loud as if Israfel had shouted it from the rooftops. Raphael looked a little embarrassed, but he was smiling, and the two of them were holding hands. As Raphael sat down, Israfel sat in his lap, curling into him, and Raziel suppressed the urge to “aww.” Sometimes, he thought, it was ridiculous how cute some of his choir could be with their partners.

  Michael and Gabriel were only a few moments after Raphael and Israfel. Michael’s face was calm, but there was a bite mark on his neck that hadn’t been there at the meeting they’d had in the pub earlier in the day. Raziel suppressed a broad grin. Gabriel looked as he always did, calm and unruffled.

  Once they were seated, Raziel coughed to call the impromptu meeting to order.

  “I just received a telephone call,” he began. “It seems that our good friends the Archdemons wish to speak to us about the Grigori. Ondrass, Adramelek, and Ondrass’s PA, Markus, want to meet us tomorrow in Armenia.”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. “This is getting bloody ridiculous,” he said. “We can’t turn around without ’em sticking their oar in.”

  “Quite. However, it would behoove us to attend,” Raziel said. “I believe they will be waiting for us at the flat of Lyudmila.”

  Michael frowned. “How do you know that?”

  “Because Ondrass sounded rather smug about where they were going to wait for us, and he chose Armenia. Now, I don’t think he and I frequent the same sort of establishments when we’re off duty, considering his idea of entertainment would be my idea of Hell, so it would stand to reason that Lyudmila would be his choice of hostess.”

  “As you say.” Michael didn’t sound convinced.

  “He said he got my number from a medium.” Raziel leaned back in his seat. “I’m assuming that is the same way he got the information about Lyudmila.”

  “He better not hurt her,” Gabriel said.

  “I concur.” Raziel stretched out his legs. “So, apart from you two, who is coming with me to this meeting tomorrow?”

  “How do you know Gabriel and I will attend with you?” Michael asked.

  “Because Ga
briel likes Lyudmila, and you both distrust Ondrass.” Raziel looked from Michael to Gabriel and back again. “Or I could be wrong and you’re not coming?”

  “We are coming,” Michael said firmly.

  “Right, then.” Raziel looked around the room.

  “I’ll come,” Uriel said.

  “Can you control your desire to lop Ondrass’ head off? And Adramelek’s as well, for that matter?”

  “I’ll put a lid on my impulses,” Uriel said drily. “If Gabriel can hold himself back from killing those annoying asses, then I can too.” Gabriel laughed. “Believe me, Uri, it’s damn hard. They’re so smug.”

  “Because they know it annoys us.” Raziel grinned. “Try and be smug back. Give them a taste of their own medicine and see how they like it.”

  “I suppose,” Gabriel said after a moment’s thought. “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m so glad that’s sorted.” Raziel looked at Hiwa and Ahijah. “You two been in trouble with demons lately?”

  They both shook their heads in denial.

  “You sure?” Raziel’s eyes narrowed. “Because I do not want any nasty surprises tomorrow.” He hesitated a moment, weighing up his options. “We already know of your mission to protect the surviving Nephilim, Ahijah.”

  Ahijah started violently, as if Raziel had punched him. He paled, his golden- brown skin almost light as a bed sheet.

  “W-what? I haven’t... no, you’re wrong!”

  Raziel laughed. “Have youmet me, Ahijah? I’m the Archangel of Secrets and Mysteries. If any one of us is going to know about your little project, it would be me. As it happens, we all know about it, but what I need to know now is this: do the demons know about it?”

  Ahijah opened and closed his mouth several times. Finally finding his voice, he shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.” Then he looked at Michael. “Are you going to kill me now, Michael?”

  Michael looked astonished at the question; then his expression became sad. “No, Ahijah, I am not.”

  Ahijah’s own expression was bewildered. “I broke a law.”

  “And we’ve been told what to do about it, so say a prayer of thanksgiving,” Uriel drawled. “Also, pinch your cheeks, you’re so pale you look dyspeptic.”

  Raziel laughed.

  Michael sighed. “Uriel, must you?”

  “Yes. So, tomorrow”—Uriel turned to Raziel—“do you think we’ll need anything?”

  “What do you mean?” Raziel asked. “Well, as a gift of apology to your werewolf friend. I mean, we are sort of taking over her home.”

  “Oh.” Raziel considered it. “It wouldn’t hurt. Her home is very, very small, Uri. I think you’re going to be in for a rather large surprise with Lyudmila and her consort.”

  “Who’s her consort?” Uriel asked.

  “His name’s Piotr.” Raziel suddenly laughed. “You two will get on like a house on fire.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re very similar,” Raziel explained.

  Uriel huffed at that, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His expression spoke volumes of just how wrong he thought Raziel was.

  Agrat, grinning from ear to ear, asked, “Isn’t Piotr Russian?”

  “Oh yes.” Raziel laughed. “Very Russian. He looks like Lenin.”

  Agrat began to laugh. Shateiel beside her, soundless in his own mirth, laughed as well.

  “What have I missed?” Raziel looked from one to the other as Uriel glowered.

  “Not one word,” Uriel growled.

  “When we were in Russia,” Samael said, his voice full of amusement, “Agrat noted how much Uriel would like the Russian people. She said that their tenacity and strength of will was much like Uriel’s own. Now you say that Piotr, consort of the Queen of the Eastern Bloc Weres, would get on well with Uriel.

  Piotr, who is very Russian.”

  Uriel rolled his eyes. “I suppose eventually there’d be a race of the carbon apes that wouldn’t totally offend me. I’m not sure this has happened yet, though, so laugh it up while you can.”

  “Oh, I plan to,” Agrat grinned.

  Raziel shook his head, amused. “Oh, Uri,” he said fondly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Raziel ruffled Uriel’s hair, and Uriel huffed once more.

  “My sons have been busy,” Ishtahar said then. Her expression and her voice were calm. “I am not surprised at what you have done, Ahijah.”

  Ahijah turned to face her. “Are you angry, Mother?”

  She smiled at him. “No, dear one, I am not. I understand why you did it. They are your kin, the last of your kin. Family is dear to us, no matter where they come from.”

  “Semjaza’s family too, Mama,” Hiwa pointed out, “and he isn’t dear to any of us.”

  “Semjaza is not family.” The smile faded from Ishtahar’s face. “Semjaza lost the right to call himself that when he sought to rule us by fear.”

  Hiwa frowned. “Was there a time that he didn’t?”

  Ishtahar sighed. “Once, long ago, he made a pretense at being kind and compassionate. Not long after Ahijah was born was when he began to change. Oh, I know you Archangels have no love for him. I know that you believe many of the things he did to humanity were repugnant, and so they were. Yet, without him, I would not have my sons, and so I cannot damn him entirely.”

  “You are very forgiving, my lady Ishtahar,” Michael said quietly.

  “No,” she said, after a moment’s pause, “I think I am more pragmatic. I will not grieve when he is killed, for I know that you will all see to it that his death is the outcome of this latest action of his. But if it had not been for him, I would not be alive today and my sons would not have been born. My life as his high priestess was meant to be one of servitude to Hashem and to all of angelkind, a life of religious observance and celibacy. Semjaza himself changed that to take me as his wife and to bear him children.”

  “Sometimes I think we are a great disappointment to you, Mama,” Hiwa said.

  She smiled again. “No, my son, you are not. Although I know you have lived a... colorful life, with your tattoos and your long periods of incarceration in prisons around the Russian land. I would that you had made different choices, perhaps, but I will not condemn you for the ones you did make. You are still my son, Hiwa, no matter what. As are you, Ahijah.”

  There was a long silence at that.

  Raziel was once again awed by Ishtahar. Her calm acceptance of events and decisions made by others was unfathomable to him. Although it was God’s Word that Archangels, and indeed, all of angelkind could not interfere in humanity’s right of free will and freedom of choice, Raziel often wished that he could. He knew he was not alone in that wish, but he also knew that was what had started the whole downfall of the Grigori and the expulsion from Eden.

  “Thank you, Mother,” Ahijah said. “For understanding.”

  “You do not need to thank me,” Ishtahar said. “Have you eaten?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Ahijah’s lips. “Yes, Mother.”

  “Good. And you, Hiwa?” “Yes, Mama.” She nodded, pleased.

  “You are a very good woman, Ishtahar,” Samael said in his soft, rich- timbre voice. “You shine like the moon and the sun.”

  Ishtahar blushed prettily. “Dear Samael,” she said fondly, “you are as ever the poet.”

  Samael smiled at her. “With such a muse as you, my lady, it is impossible not to be.”

  Ishtahar laughed at that. “You are very kind.”

  “Oy,” Remiel said, pretending to be offended, “keep your eyes off my lady,

  Sammy.”

  Samael laughed. “Peace!” He held up his hands in surrender. “You are both very well suited to each other,” he said.

  Remiel’s smile was warm as he looked first at Ishtahar and then at Samael. “I think so too. Thanks, Sammy.”

  “There is nothing to thank me for, dear Remiel.”

  “So, tomorrow we’re off to Arme
nia, then?” Gabriel interrupted.

  “Yeah.” Raziel nodded. “Leave at dawn, I think.”

  Michael pursed his lips. “That will put it several hours later in Armenia. Early to midmorning.”

  Raziel nodded again. “That okay with you?”

  “Yes.” Michael looked at Uriel and Gabriel. “Behave yourselves while we are there.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Uriel said with a roll of his eyes.

  “Of course we will, Mishka,” Gabriel said. “Best behavior, me.”

  “As you say, then.” Michael smiled.

  Chapter Eleven

  SEMJAZA frowned as he looked around the featureless plain upon which the majestic, timeless structure of Stonehenge stood. It was cold here, colder than in Paris. There was nothing to break the passage of the wind, and this island that Azazel had told him was called England was small and bleak. Semjaza wrinkled his nose as he looked around. The standing stones were impressive, he supposed, but they were not imposing enough to suit his needs.

  There was old magic here, too, thrumming through the dirt, the grass, and the stones. It was alien to Semjaza, nothing he recognized, and he didn’t like that either. Azazel had assured him that the old wizards of the island had done remarkable things, but apart from these pitted stones with their strange vibrations, Semjaza couldn’t see any evidence of it.

  Azazel was clearly impressed, however, and Semjaza humored his old friend. He turned away from Stonehenge, running his hands down the warm coat he wore over his suit. The coat was made from a fabric that Azazel had called “cashmere.” Semjaza didn’t know what that was, but he liked it. It was warm and light, waterproof, and kept the worst of the wind from chilling him.

  “Azazel,” Semjaza said finally, unable to bear lingering here any longer, “come away. This place is not suitable for my needs.”

  Azazel moved out of the circle, his expression worried. “Are you sure, sire?”

  “I am positive. The magic here is not compatible with mine. It is foreign. Alien. I do not like it.”

  Azazel sighed. “I fear I don’t know where else to suggest.”