Archangel Chronicles 7 - Shot In the Dark

by LaBarthe L. J.

  “The Seventy Years War,” Liam began in a soft, gentle voice, “has such a benevolent name, when in reality, it was the exact opposite. How any of us who saw action in that war came out of it with any shred of sanity left is a fucking major miracle. Humans aren’t designed to fight demons, especially not demons who have no limits imposed on them.

  Demons eat anything—anyone—and they take just as much pleasure out of the feast as they do the fear of the victim or those who witness it. The world gives those who survived that fucking war all kinds of medals, commendations for bravery and combat, but those medals are a double- edged sword. They remind survivors of things they’d rather forget, and they make them uncomfortable to be receiving something they don’t feel they deserve.”

  Baxter stared at him. “How do you know all that? I mean… fuck.

  You are so fucking wise. That’s exactly how I feel sometimes.”

  Liam nodded. “Yeah. It sucks, huh?”

  “Yeah, it does. We fought because we had to, it was either fight or die. And even then, it often ended with humans dying anyway. There was no bravery, no honor. We who survived don’t deserve those medals.”

  “What did they award you?”

  Baxter snorted. “A Purple Heart. A fucking Purple Heart. Danny got one too. Can you believe that? I’ve also got a Silver Star, and Danny, Riley, and I have all got the Meritorious Service Medal. Angelique’s got the Air Force Cross, the Distinguished Flying Cross, and the Air Medal.

  Lily’s got a few from England—the Distinguished Service Cross and the British Empire Medal.”

  Liam whistled. “That’s a lot of accolades.”

  “Yeah, but we all feel like we’re frauds sometimes. Everyone I ever knew who fought in that war did extraordinary, amazing things. Most of them died. The few who didn’t either got so badly injured they couldn’t leave the military hospitals or they committed suicide. And then there’s us, the Venatores, the handful picked by Saint Michael the Archangel.”

  Baxter knew he sounded bitter as he continued. “Why us? There are others who could do what we do. And do it better.”

  “But are those others shifters like you guys?”

  Baxter shot him a dark look. “No idea. But that shouldn’t be the deciding factor. Ability should be.”

  “And you obviously have the ability, the talent for this gig. Let me ask you something. After you were airlifted to hospital, what did you want to do? Did you want to die, or did you want to do something to help people?”

  Baxter blinked, surprised by the question. He thought about it, picking up his mug of tea and taking a sip. Thankfully, it was still warm, and he took several more sips as he rolled Liam’s questions around in his head, giving them the serious consideration they deserved. Finally, he set the mug down again and looked at his lover. “I did want to die—I can’t deny that.

  Survivor’s guilt, Raph said it was. But I also wanted to help people. I didn’t want anyone else to ever go through the kind of horror I did.”

  Liam nodded. “And that right there is why Michael recruited you.”

  Baxter regarded him skeptically. “Sure about that?”

  “Yeah. You wanted to die, and I bet you wouldn’t have been upset if the option of suicide by cop or something was on the table. And that sucks, God, I can’t even begin to say how much it sucks and my heart breaks that you went through that. But even though you felt that way, felt like you’d been ripped into a million tiny pieces you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to put back together, you still wanted to help people. You wanted to see that no one else ever saw what you did. And I’d bet Baby on this: you were particularly determined that no children would ever live a life under the threat of a demon war.”

  Baxter stared at him. “How did you figure all of this out?”

  Liam gave him a small, sad smile. “Because I love you and I pay attention.”

  Baxter shook his head. “You know me so well, babe, even better than Raph.”

  “And I think that’s who I should call now, because you’ve got war memories that are making your life hell again. I think you need some Archangel mojo to lock those memories up in a box so your life isn’t filled with visions of the past.”

  “I had one of those boxes,” Baxter began, but Liam cut him off.

  “Not a good enough one, I think. I’m calling Raph.” He had his cell phone in his hand, and Baxter wondered where he’d gotten it from. He was also dressed, Baxter realized belatedly, in faded sweatpants that sat low on his hips, and God, he was so fucking gorgeous and so fucking wonderful Baxter felt an acute pang of anxiety that this amazing man would be taken from him.

  “Do you want another cup of tea?” Liam asked then, and Baxter nodded.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “No problem.” Liam picked up the mug and went into the kitchen.

  He turned on the kettle, and as Baxter watched, a little bemused, he made his call to Raphael.

  Ten minutes later, with a fresh cup of tea in his hand, Baxter sat beside Liam and listened as Liam explained to Raphael what he’d figured out about Baxter’s PTSD and memories and what he wanted the Archangel to do. Raphael was silent as Liam laid it all out, and when he was done, Raphael turned to Baxter.

  “You should have told me you were having flashbacks, Bax.” His voice was kind.

  Baxter shrugged. “I didn’t want to cause a fuss.”

  “Well, I’m here now, so I’ll do as Liam asks. Do you want me to do that?”

  Baxter nodded. “Fuck yes. God, I don’t want to relive that shit again and again, every damn day. Please, Raph, if you can lock those memories up, then do it.”

  Raphael nodded. “Right. Well, you’ll feel quite exhausted afterward, and a little nauseous, so I advise you to eat some carbohydrates, drink plenty of water, and then go and have some sleep. I’ll leave some headache meds for you as well. Liam, can you go and get something for Baxter to eat, please?”

  Liam nodded at the dismissal. “I’ll be about twenty minutes. Is that long enough for you to do your thing, Raph?”

  “Plenty of time,” Raphael said with a smile. “Thank you.”

  Liam gave Baxter a quick kiss, then ducked into the bedroom to grab a T-shirt and his keys. He left the apartment quietly. When he was gone, Baxter turned to Raphael. “I am so fucking lucky to have him.”

  “You are,” Raphael agreed. “You two are very good together, young Baxter. You make him very happy, and he does the same for you.”

  Baxter smiled a little shyly. “I hope I make him happy.”

  “Oh, you do. You very much do. Now close your eyes and relax, and I’ll begin.”

  Baxter took a deep breath and did as he was told.

  A short time later, feeling light-headed, but much, much better, Baxter ate the greasy cheeseburger and fries Liam had brought him from the twenty-four-hour diner down the road. Usually, he avoided such greasy food, but right then, it tasted like a gourmet banquet.

  “Thanks, Raph,” he said as he finished the burger.

  “So you feel better?”

  “A lot, yeah.” Baxter smiled at him. “Though I feel a bit woozy and tired.” Raphael nodded. “That wil pass. Liam wil take care of you, I’m sure.”

  “Got that right,” Liam said. “I’ve put a couple of bottles of water by the bed. So finish your food and we’ll get you there so you can sleep.”

  Holding several fries, Baxter gave them both a sloppy salute. “Will do, chief. Seriously, thanks, guys.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Raphael said. “And don’t be afraid to call me if you need anything, all right?”

  Baxter nodded as he ate, and Liam gave Raphael a quick hug.

  “Thanks,” Liam said.

  Raphael smiled warmly at them both. “Rest well, boys.” And then he was gone, vanishing with the sound of rustling feathers.

  Baxter finished his fries, then reached for his cup of tea and drained it in one swallow. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

  Liam moved to him.
“I’m totally not surprised,” he said. He bent down and, to Baxter’s amazement, picked him up. “Now I’m putting you to bed.”

  “You don’t have to carry me, you know,” Baxter said.

  “I know. But I want to. So hush and let me coddle you.”

  Baxter chuckled as he looped his arms around Liam’s neck. “Okay.”

  “HAVE WE done the right thing?”

  “Eh?” Gabriel looked up from where he sat polishing the nicks out of the edge of his sword. “What do you mean, Mishka?”

  Michael sighed and sat down opposite him. They were in the courtyard of the house on the beautiful island of Belle Coeur, and Gabriel was enjoying a leisurely day with his bonded, taking care of his weapons and chatting. Now he looked at Michael in confusion.

  “After we protected the Holy Grail, we let the humans go back to their lives, whether they were a magic user or regular human. Should we have done more for them? Should we have made sure that they were not affected adversely by Naamah’s actions?”

  Gabriel frowned and leaned back in his chair. “And how would we have done that? There’s billions of them. And God forbade us to interfere too directly in their lives. We ain’t able to do more than we did.”

  “I suppose.”

  “What’s this about?” Gabriel asked. He set his sword aside and scooched his chair over to be closer to his beloved. “What are you musing about in your giant Archangel brain?”

  Michael gave him a small smile. “Merely worrying overmuch, I fear.”

  “Because of Raph’s report about Baxter’s situation?”

  “That is… a definite concern.”

  “And you’re feeling guilty ’cause you feel like you should’ve been around more?”

  Michael frowned. “I should have been around more for them, for my Venatores. That is indisputable. They are my responsibility, and I have been lax in my duty of care for them all, not paying enough attention to their problems and their needs.”

  “Yeah, well, no. I beg to differ. You can’t wrap ’em in cotton wool, Michael. They’re adults with their own lives and loves and concerns. You can’t lock them up in a tower and protect them from the big, bad world, when it’s the big, bad world you hired them all to protect and serve.”

  Michael’s frown wasn’t going anywhere. “Do not use logic, Gabriel, I am not in the mood for it.”

  “Ah, I see. How about this, then?” Gabriel pasted what he hoped was an appropriately horrified expression on his face. “Oh our Maker, Michael! What on Earth shall we do? To a cotton wool factory we must go with all possible speed, post haste! We must buy all the cotton wool to wrap the Venatores and their families up in!”

  Michael looked as if he were trying very hard not to laugh. Finally, he smiled. “You are very silly sometimes.”

  Gabriel grinned and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “At least it got you to smile.”

  “I still feel badly.”

  “Mishka, you’ll feel badly or guilty or both about something or someone forever. That’s what you do. You want to protect everyone from everything, but the truth is, you can’t. You ain’t omnipotent. Near to, sure, but not the whole enchilada.”

  “Pardon, but what does Mexican cuisine have to do with this?”

  Gabriel blinked several times. Then he laughed. “It’s a figure of speech, solnyshko.”

  “Ah, I see. I fear I have let my familiarity with pop culture slide again.”

  Gabriel decided not to tell Michael that the phrase was quite common and not exactly new. Instead, he reached over and rested his hand on Michael’s knee. “The kids will be fine. Now that Raph’s done his thing, Baxter’s good. Liam’s taking care of him, and Raph said he ain’t seen a couple so devoted or more in love since the last time he looked at you and me.”

  Predictably, Michael blushed. “Gabriel,” he scolded. Then he smiled. “It is a nice compliment, however.”

  “Aye. And it’s true, I am totally devoted and in love with you. So those two boys must be pretty besotted with each other. Now, what do people who love each other do best?”

  Michael canted his head to one side. “What?”

  “They take care of each other.”

  Michael’s expression became rueful. “I see. You are chiding me, and you are, of course, correct. Baxter is in good hands with Liam, and at the house in Salem, he is with other Venatores, so he will be well.”

  “Exactly. If anything happens, you’ll hear about it from Angelique or I’ll hear from Declan. They ain’t going to shirk their responsibilities, no matter how much they’re fucking.”

  “Gabriel!” Michael’s cheeks were flaming crimson and his expression was shocked.

  “Didn’t you know?” Gabriel couldn’t resist continuing to tease.

  “They have lots and lots of sex.”

  “Gabriel! Stop talking about this.”

  “It’s a natural and healthy thing, Mishka.”

  “It is not seemly to discuss other people’s intimacy.”

  “Oh, okay, then let’s discuss our intimacy. We should go to bed, right, and fuck. Actually, we should have a fuck-a-thon.”

  Michael buried his face in his hands. Then he looked up at the cloudless blue sky. “Lord preserve me,” he said.

  Gabriel burst out laughing and hugged him. “You’re adorable.”

  “I am not, but you are. Even if you are extremely frustrating at times.”

  “Can’t help that,” Gabriel said. He kissed Michael’s cheek, then moved his chair back and picked up his sword, resuming his polishing with a whetstone.

  “Why are you doing that?” Michael asked. “Surely you do not anticipate any trouble.”

  “No, which is why I’m doing it now. So I’m ready for when trouble comes. After all—” Gabriel paused to peer closely at the blade, inspecting the sharpness and the shine. “—this is us, and trouble will find us sooner or later.”

  “What a depressing thought.” Michael sighed once more. “I have been wondering about something else too.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. What menace will we face now that we have this new truce with Hell?”

  Gabriel looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “The demons wil obey Lucifer. That much is certain. If any of them do not, he will punish them. And I agree that a world without the constant threat of demonic rising is a far better world than the one we have lived in thus far.

  Peace is a lifestyle that I am not accustomed to, but I would very much like to be. But I fear that other things that do not relate to Hell will rise.”

  “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men,” Gabriel mused.

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s a quote. From The Shadow, a radio serial that was popular in the 1940s.”

  “Indeed? I must have missed that one.”

  “I’m sure we can find it on the Internet if you want to listen to it.”

  Michael smiled shyly. “I confess that I would like that. I did so enjoy the radio plays of those years. They were very engaging. Far more than many television shows or movies of these last several decades.”

  “Ain’t going to argue that,” Gabriel agreed. He set down the sword and picked up his dagger and began to work on the edge of it with his whetstone, humming to himself. “It was a comic book too, in the twentieth century, but I like the radio play better. Why don’t we find a copy after dinner, and then we can listen to it while we cuddle?”

  Michael’s smile grew. “That sounds wonderful, Gabriel. I would like that very much.”

  Gabriel returned it and blew him a kiss. “Then we’ll do that.”

  SPRING ON Belle Coeur was never cold. Summer seemed to arrive almost immediately. Gabriel liked that about the island: long days of warmth and sunshine, with the bright blue of the sea and the sky around and above them. Eventually, summer would fade into winter, but both seasons seemed to ignore that fall and spring existed at all. The shimmering heat on the golden sands of the beaches would be replace
d by gray mist and fog rolling off the sea and the filmy drizzle of steady rain that continued until spring nudged at winter again.

  Although he knew it was early fall in the northern parts of the globe, here on Belle Coeur, Gabriel could enjoy being outside. As the brightness of the day was lazily swallowed by the gradual darkness of twilight and then night, the heat lingered in the sand and the air, making Gabriel content.

  He sat sprawled on the floor of the return veranda, a bottle of beer in his hand, gazing out over the star-and-moonlit ocean. Michael sat beside him, and they listened to the sounds of Belle Coeur at night: the gentle splash of the waves as they reached the shore, the sleepy chirp of a bird, the rustling of tree branches as a light wind blew. As far as Gabriel was concerned, there was no greater paradise on Earth than this, sitting with his beloved Michael, drinking cold beer and soaking up the last of the summer.

  “I fear it will be a harsh winter this year,” Michael said, breaking the companionable silence between them.

  “Oh aye? How’d you figure?”

  “I can scent the frost in the early morning air. Although here, we are still living in summertime, I can smell ice and snow.”

  Gabriel furrowed his brow. “I don’t remember it ever snowing here, Mishka my heart.”

  Michael smiled at the endearment and leaned into Gabriel, idly tracing patterns on Gabriel’s thigh with his fingers. Gabriel could see him out the corner of his eye as Michael drew his doodles and he smiled to himself.

  “You know the weather has been strange since the war.”

  “Aye.” Gabriel sighed. “That war….”

  Michael sat up, shifting to face him. “What of it?”