No Shadows Fall

by L. J. LaBarthe

  “Look,” he said louder, “why don’t we split up and regroup out front of Lyudmila’s building? I know where she lives too.”

  “All right,” Raziel said. “Come on, Uri,” he added, sauntering off down the street.

  Uriel shot his elders a quick, apologetic look. “I’ll calm him down,” he said. “I don’t know what belligerent bug bit his bum today, but I’ll get him back on track.” Then he took off after Raziel.

  Michael shook his head. “Raziel is... frustrating.”

  “Sometimes I reckon he gets so annoyed that we ain’t as smart as he is that he just explodes into this mouthy, annoying brat,” Gabriel suggested.

  “Perhaps.” Michael looked up and down the street. “In any event, I trust Uriel to return Raziel’s good humor. Which way do we go, da bao?”

  Gabriel pointed across the street. “Over there, then go due east. Raz and Uri went west, so if we come around in a circle, that should work.”

  “As you say.”

  As soon as there was a clear path in the traffic, the two Archangels jogged across the road and started walking eastward. The city of Yerevan was in the last stages of autumn, the leaves of the many trees that lined the streets colored red, gold, and orange. Nature had put on her best clothes, and Gabriel often found himself pausing to gaze at the beauty around him.

  “This city’s remarkable,” he said to Michael as they walked down a wide boulevard. “I had no idea! I ain’t been in Armenia for any period of time since the Middle Ages.”

  “I confess that I have not been here since then, either.” Michael smiled at Gabriel. “The fall colors are beautiful, are they not?”

  “Aye, they are.” Gabriel nodded toward a fountain where children were playing, giggling and sending up large splashes of water.

  Michael’s smile broadened. “Such innocence and love of life is an inspiration.”

  Gabriel lightly ruffled Michael’s hair with one invisible wing, not sure how public displays of affection would be taken between two men here in Yerevan. He did not want them to draw attention to themselves, after all. Michael wrinkled his nose and straightened his hair, and Gabriel laughed.

  “So, d’you reckon we’ll find out what Ondrass and Adramelek want without having to do some ridiculous verbal dancing?”

  Michael’s smile faded. “I fear not. They enjoy their wordplay. They enjoy being infuriating. I do not think this situation will be any different.”

  “It does beg the question, though, why do they care about this? Semjaza ain’t destined for Hell... is he?” Gabriel turned to look at Michael curiously.

  Michael spread his hands in an uncertain gesture. “I do not know, da bao. I have not had word from God on the matter as yet. I am sure when the time is right, we will be told. It may be, too, that this meeting we are walking toward is part of God’s plan.” His brow furrowed a little, and he switched from English to Aramaic. “In fact, I am beginning to have some suspicions about this whole century.”

  “What sort of suspicions?” Gabriel followed Michael’s lead and spoke in the long-dead language.

  “I am beginning to wonder if this century—not counting Bob Taytton’s plan that led to the war—is not to get us accustomed to working with the Archdemons. I do not think an Apocalypse is coming, not yet, not for centuries at least. However, we have been working with these minions of Lucifer’s many times, and as we draw near to the end of the century, I cannot help but wonder if this is all so that we may work together in the future toward the same goal.”

  Gabriel hummed as he rolled that around in his mind. “It’s possible,” he mused. “God didn’t tell us to stop, after all. He didn’t order us to find another way. I’m actually a little surprised that we got so much done with Archdemon assistance and alliances. Maybe, too, it’s a lesson to us not to be inflexible. The next century might be even more full-on.”

  “Full-on?” Michael tilted his head as he looked at Gabriel. “I do not understand.”

  Gabriel made a vague gesture with his right hand. “More intense, more extreme, it’s all go. That sort of thing, yeah?”

  “I see.” Michael pursed his lips. “That could be possible, as well.”

  “God’s got a plan,” Gabriel went on, speaking slowly as his thoughts moved rapidly. “I mean, okay, that’s like, no shit, Sherlock.”

  “Language,” Michael said.

  Gabriel grinned at the scold. “The plan, well, we don’t know it all, do we. None of us do. I don’t think....” He trailed off and his eyes suddenly went wide. He stopped abruptly. “No way. No fucking way.”

  “Gabriel?” Michael was so surprised that he did not, Gabriel absently noticed, scold him for his language.

  Gabriel was shaking. “What if, right, what if all that we’re doing, demons and angels, is mostly to a plan that ain’t just God’s plan, but God’s alliance with Lucifer? We know that the Fall was preordained. We know that the expulsion from Eden was preordained. We know that loads of our kind were going to end up in Hell. We fought against that, ’cause it’s never a good feeling, seeing your own kind turn traitor, but what if God and Lucifer have this all sorted out between them so that the playing field is totally, one hundred percent even when the last Apocalypse comes?”

  Michael blinked, his expression changing from astonished to disbelieving to doubtful. “I do not think that would be the case, Gabriel.”

  “Why not? It makes sense, don’t you reckon?”

  “Perhaps,” Michael said grudgingly, “but it is pure speculation.”

  Gabriel sighed. “Yeah, true. Still, if it turns out I’m right....”

  “If it turns out that you are correct, da bao, I will allow you to shout from the mountaintops that you told me so.” Michael smiled fondly. “Come, we can discuss this in more detail later. We have work to attend to now.”

  “Aye, okay.” Gabriel smiled in return. “Talk about it over dinner and a beer?”

  “As you say. Although, water for me.”

  “Okay.” They started walking again, turned a corner, and went down a quiet street lined with trees and parked cars, motorcycles and groups of bicycles. Reaching out with his power, Gabriel could feel Michael doing the same thing, a stealthy, gentle brush of energy that would not be detected by any demons in the area.

  There were no signs of any demon activity, and that in itself made Gabriel jumpy. He was, therefore, not really surprised when they turned another corner onto the street that Lyudmila’s apartment block was on, to feel the definite aura of an Archdemon.

  “Ondrass,” Michael confirmed. “And Adramelek. And the PA as well.”

  “Markus,” Gabriel said with a nod.

  They walked faster now, and met Raziel and Uriel out in front of the building, its dilapidated Soviet architecture just as Gabriel remembered it. Paint was peeling and rough brick was chipped by the elements. There was graffiti painted by the open doors, one of which was missing, and there was broken glass on the three shallow steps that led into the building’s lobby.

  “Archdemons are here,” Gabriel said without preamble, speaking English once again.

  Uriel nodded. “I can feel the bastards.”

  Raziel was reaching out with his power, his expression foreboding. “If they hurt her...,” he muttered, trailing off.

  “If they do, we’ll hurt them,” Uriel said firmly.

  Raziel grunted. Then his eyes went wide. “Shit! I’m ’porting up—you three follow me in ten minutes.”

  “Raziel—” Michael began, but it was too late, Raziel had disappeared.

  Gabriel lit a cigarette. “Is he in a better mood now, at least?”

  Uriel nodded. “Yeah, he’s all right. He’s just really worried about his carbon ape.”

  “Ah.” Gabriel nodded as well. “I can understand that.”

  “Hush,” Michael said then, “I am trying to listen.”

  Gabriel and Uriel exchanged quick grins and fell silent.

  Chapter Twelve

  LYUDMILA was
astonished when she answered the knock at her front door and found Eleanora standing there.

  “Ellie? What are you doing here? Why did you not call me? I would have picked you up from the airport!” Lyudmila embraced her friend who laughed and returned the hug.

  “It was a spur of the moment decision, cherie.” Eleanora smiled. “There are things afoot that concern me, and I did not want to use the telephone. So, I decided to risk it and come and visit unannounced. I hope you do not mind.”

  “Nyet, nyet. Come in.” Lyudmila ushered Eleanora into her apartment.

  Once the door closed, Lyudmila smiled ruefully. “I confess, you have picked a day of mess. I am sorry the place is not cleaner.” Books and papers were strewn over the floor and coffee table. Piotr, Lyudmila’s consort, was sitting on a bright-orange vinyl beanbag with their pet cat in his lap.

  “No, it is I who should apologize. Bonjour, Piotr.”

  “Ellie.” He smiled at her. “It is a pleasant surprise to see you.” Uncurling from the beanbag with a grunt, cat still in his arms, he moved to her and kissed each of her cheeks in greeting. “Are you well?”

  “I am. And you?”

  “Very well, spaseeba.” He sat back down, and the cat squirmed a little in order to get comfortable.

  Lyudmila cleared off space on the sofa and gestured to her friend. “Please, sit.”

  “Merci.” Eleanora sat down and leaned back, letting out a contented sigh. “Ah, this is much better than the hard and uncomfortable airplane seats.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Piotr asked.

  “That would be lovely, merci.”

  Piotr nodded and set the cat down on the floor, stood up again, and walked into the adjoining kitchen. The sounds of crockery and water came from the room, and Eleanora smiled at Lyudmila.

  “I would not have come unannounced if it were not serious,” Eleanora began. “I am sure you know that the angel called Semjaza is now walking among us.”

  Lyudmila sighed. “I feared that was the purpose of your visit.”

  “Oui. It is.... The spirits are nervous. Some are frightened and have hidden away. Others would not answer me when I called them.” Eleanora shook her head. “When he freed himself, I heard the fear ricochet around the planet, in the trees and the plants, the earth and the air.”

  “I too,” Lyudmila agreed. “My people are nervous. There is talk in some of the far eastern clans of forming alliances against him. Many of the elders are frightened.”

  Piotr came back into the room carrying a tray with three cups and a teapot on it. There was also a plate of lepeshki, the small traditional Russian biscuits. He set the tray down on the coffee table and then sat down on the rug. Pouring tea, he nodded.

  “I have had petitions from some of the older clans. They wished to move farther north or south, out of their traditional lands to the east. Some sought permission to move into Mongolia and China. I brought the petitions to Lyudmila, and she granted them, but they are still nervous, still frightened.”

  “Merci,” Eleanora thanked him as Piotr handed her a mug of tea. “The spirits told me of a time, long, long ago, when Semjaza’s ministers sought to make alliances with the monsters against the Archangels.”

  “That is also what the elders in the clans are saying.” Lyudmila ran a hand through her long, dark hair. “Some of the clans in China did not seek permission before moving out of their lands—they simply went. They have hidden themselves in caves, and sealed those caves with rudimentary magic. My people do not want to be used as pawns in another war.”

  “Do you think it will come to war?”

  Eleanora looked worried.

  “I hope not. We have had enough of war for a while.” Lyudmila sighed. “The Seventy Years War was brutal, and that was between angel and demon. Semjaza will not care. Anyone who does not support him will be an enemy, and he will make no distinction between angel, demon, monster, or human.”

  “The spirits said as much.” Eleanora shook her head. “What do we do?”

  “I do not know.” Lyudmila looked toward the half-open window, a light breeze blowing at the curtains so they billowed out from the glass. “And that worries me most of all.”

  “Could we not seek counsel from Raziel?” Piotr asked.

  “Perhaps. Yet, I feel that Raziel will have his hands full with this situation anyway. Semjaza will be looking for revenge. If the old tales are true, Semjaza considers the Archangels to be responsible for his life. Semjaza does not, according to those tales, accept responsibility for his own actions and decisions.”

  “And then there is Ishtahar,” Eleanora mused, “and the Nephilim.”

  “Are there still Nephilim?” Lyudmila asked in some surprise.

  “Oui.” Eleanora smiled. “Not many, perhaps a dozen, the spirits tell me. And Ishtahar’s two sons. They are the children of Ishtahar and Semjaza.”

  Lyudmila’s expression grew sad. “I feel for Ishtahar. She endured much.”

  “She is a remarkable woman,” Eleanora agreed.

  “I met her once,” Piotr said, “in the Ukraine. She was helping Lady Agrat rescue some women who had been kidnapped for trafficking. Two of the women were shifters from New Zealand.”

  “I remember.” Lyudmila nodded slowly. “She was very considerate of them, I recall you saying.”

  “Da. She was very concerned for their safety, for they had been very badly used before Lady Agrat found them.” Piotr’s expression was grim. “I longed to do damage to those men who had hurt them so, but Ishtahar assured me that Lady Agrat had already attended to it.” He sipped his tea. “Ishtahar asked me to contact the king of the Oceania Weres to inform him of the situation. I was happy to do so, even as I helped reassure the women that they were safe and no harm would come to them. Ishtahar sat with them and talked with them, listened to them. She has an aura about her; she radiates calm reassurance and comfort. I was humbled by her.”

  Lyudmila quirked an eyebrow at him. “You never told me this before.”

  Piotr shrugged. “Forgive me. I did not mean to omit it from my report. There was much that happened.”

  “How did the king of the Oceania Weres react?” Eleanora asked curiously.

  Piotr chuckled. “As well as you might imagine. He came to the Ukraine with an entourage—not of ambassadors, but of soldiers. He was furious. He was, as I recall, a rather imposing man. His shifter shape is of a dingo, the Australian wild dog.”

  “How did he get along with Ishtahar?”

  “Very well.” Piotr grinned. “Everyone who meets her gets along with her.”

  “This is true, da,” Lyudmila agreed. “She is the most generous soul I have met.”

  Eleanora sipped her own tea. “I fear what Semjaza would do to her if he found her.”

  “Let us pray that does not happen.”

  Lyudmila’s expression became grim. “Perhaps I should offer Raziel and the Archangels some of our shifter soldiers to help protect her.”

  “Did the clans fight in the war?” Eleanora suddenly asked.

  “Hm? Oh. Da.” Lyudmila sighed. “It was bad, Ellie. We all fought in the war. The demons who boiled up from Hell like steam from a samovar did not care who they killed. We were all drawn into it, even the most reluctant of the clans. I and the other rulers of the Weres pledged our allegiance to Michael and his Brotherhood, as we had done all those eons ago in the time before Eden.” She straightened. “I will not let it be said of our people that we do not honor our alliances or assist our friends.”

  Eleanora reached over and gently squeezed Lyudmila’s free hand. “You are a good queen, Lyudmila. Your papa would be proud of you.”

  Lyudmila smiled a sad smile. “I hope so. I miss him very much.”

  Piotr opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, there was a sharp knock at the door.

  Lyudmila looked astonished. “We are popular today,” she said, setting down her mug. She stood and stepped over books and the cat to go to the door. And then
she opened it and gasped. “You!”

  “Hello, your majesty.”

  “I have nothing to say to you Archdemons,” Lyudmila said, glaring at the two standing on the threshold, a third demon a little way behind them. “You are not welcome here.”

  “And that doesn’t really matter. I am Ondrass,” said the Archdemon. “This is my associate and friend, Adramelek. Behind us is my personal assistant, Markus. May we come in?”

  “No.” Lyudmila stood her ground. She was aware of Piotr and Eleanora having come to stand just behind her, Piotr holding an ancient knife with runes carved into the blade. She could hear the thrum of the blade’s power in her ears like a background noise, similar to the dull roar a plane’s engine made.

  “I think you’ll make a different decision,” Ondrass said. “Oh, honestly, little man,” he looked over Lyudmila’s shoulder at Piotr, “that little antique won’t do a thing to us. Archdemons, remember?”

  “Nevertheless,” Piotr growled. “How tiresome.” Ondrass rolled his eyes.

  “Leave,” Lyudmila said again. From her feet came a hiss, and she realized her cat had joined them.

  “Even the cat wants us gone,” the Archdemon identified as Adramelek looked amused. “Listen, girl, I’m going to say this only once. I’ll even say it in Russian for your boneheaded boyfriend there.” He switched from English to flawless Russian. “We’re here on orders. You can tell us to stay out of your crummy little flat all you want, but it won’t make a difference. We are coming in.” He took a step forward.

  Lyudmila found herself and her companions being pushed back from the doorway by a subtle force. She struggled against it, but it was too strong for her. The Archdemons strolled into her home and closed the door behind them.

  “Go,” she hissed to Piotr. “Fly to the clans. Bring them.”

  Piotr nodded, pressing the knife into her hand, and ran to the window, stripping off his clothes as he went. He shifted to his eagle form and flew out of the window and away before the Archdemons could stop him.

  “How tiresome,” Ondrass said again.

  “We are Russian, demon,” Lyudmila raised her chin defiantly. “We do not go down quietly.”