“Go on,” nodded Michael, moving aside as a few Valkyries brought more plates and mugs to the table.
Imorean sat, sighing in relief as the noise in the hall rose up from a whisper. He relaxed. They were no longer of silence-inducing interest.
“You’re allowed to eat,” said Gabriel, reaching forward and picking up a piece of fish. “Odin’s food surpasses any of ours.”
Imorean looked forward, not taking anything. He hardly recognized the food. He didn’t really have much of an appetite anyway. His nerves were too tightly strung.
“I see that you have a new face with you, Michael,” said Odin.
Imorean looked up to see the god’s sole eye on him. He felt overawed and powerless to speak. He swallowed and Michael came to his rescue.
“This is Imorean. He is the newest Archangel.”
“New Archangel?” asked Odin, sounding intrigued. “I did not know that was possible.”
“Nor did we,” said Gabriel, in a tone that might have been scathing.
Michael gave no indication that he had heard. “Imorean has done exceedingly well in his short time with us.”
“Has it been difficult, working with a human?” asked Odin.
“How did you know I’m not full Archangel?” asked Imorean.
“I may be old, but my senses have not been dulled. I can tell that you are not fully supernatural, nor are you fully human.”
“Working with Imorean has been a learning experience,” replied Michael. “Odin, may we speak on the matter at hand? It is rather pressing.”
“Of course. Eir said you needed to speak with me urgently,” said Odin, folding his hands together.
“We do,” said Michael.
“Then please, speak.”
Michael nodded at Gabriel and the younger of the two Archangels spoke.
“We have found a way to bar one of the entrances to hell. Permanently. For this, we have a quest we must fulfill and five items we have to find.”
“What is it you need from me?” asked Odin.
It was Raphael’s soft voice that spoke this time. “A fragment of Gleipnir.”
The hall crashed back to silence. A cup fell and shattered on the stones. Imorean shuddered as the scent of electricity filled the air.
“You understand what Gleipnir does for us, do you not?” asked Odin. His one-eyed gaze was rooted firmly on Michael.
Michael nodded. “It binds the wolf Fenrir, who, if he gets loose, will end the realm of the Norse gods.”
“Then ask yourself, Michael, why would we give it to you?”
Imorean clenched his jaw as the pull of electricity in the air grew more tangible. He could almost feel the static raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
Michael leaned forward. “If we cannot lock away Vortigern for good, you will not have to worry about Fenrir ending your world, because Vortigern will do it for you. He will wipe out the angels first. Who do you think will be next on his list, but all of you? The worshipped demons who betrayed him for status and power?”
Odin sat back, his mouth thin. “You have always spoken dangerously, Seraph.”
“Then, let us be glad that nothing about me has changed since our last meeting.”
“… You ask a great deal of me, Michael. How do I know you can prevail?”
“You have my word.”
“I need something more than your word. I must have proof.”
“Fine. What do you wish?”
“Show me that you are all as invincible as you claim. As powerful. Even your young Imorean.” Odin sat back in his throne once more and smiled. “The floor is yours, Seraph. Prove your abilities and my confidence.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Imorean,” said Michael, standing.
Imorean shot to his feet, the scent of electricity strong in the air now. He took a few steps forward and Michael pulled him close, a cunning smile hovering on his lips.
“Whatever happens, trust me. Can you do that?”
Imorean swallowed, words almost sticking in his throat. “Yes. What’s going on?”
“Say you swear to trust me.”
“Why?”
“Just say it.”
“Fine, fine. I trust you.”
Brown eyes narrowed as Michael turned away. “Eir! Our swords please. Pay attention, all who doubt us! You will see proof of Archangel invincibility. You will see that we have power to contain Fenrir after we take a piece of Gleipnir.”
A new sort of hush fell over the crowd in the hall as Eir approached, still holding all five razor-sharp angel swords. She passed them to Michael, who examined and selected two. Imorean fumbled as Michael shoved a sword into his hands. It didn’t feel right. It was heavy, cumbersome. Unfamiliar. He glanced at it. Dark marks on the grip indicated handling by a palm wider than his own. He stumbled as Michael shoved him again, sending him right into the center of the hall. Imorean stared at him. All eyes were on them now. What was happening?
“Duel me,” said Michael, taking a position at the bottom of the steps. Behind him, Gabriel and Raphael looked at each other. Imorean swallowed. He and Michael had never, never, sparred with real swords. For the last few months, Michael had stressed how dangerous they were. Why was he going back on his word now? Imorean shook his head. It didn’t make sense. He sensed a wave of confidence. Michael, his sword in one hand. With the other, he motioned.
“You can have first hit, Imorean. You will need it, child.”
Laughter rippled through the hall. Imorean snarled. Michael’s scathing tongue was normally reserved for private taunts. For him to be openly nasty had become a rare thing. Imorean charged forward, lifting his wings, putting more power behind himself. Still, his sword felt heavy. Far too heavy. He was too close now to think of it more. He was nearly on top of Michael. Clenching his teeth and regretting his actions, he swung. Their swords met with a terrible bang that seemed to shake the entire hall. Imorean pushed hard against Michael, trying to break his block. His arms shook with exertion. He groaned aloud, sure that their swords would break. Pressure pushed back on him. He looked up. Michael was grinning and, sure enough, Imorean saw the tip of his own sword wavering backward. Michael moved into offense. A small cry left Imorean’s mouth as he felt his boots slip on the floor. Michael advanced, using their locked swords to force him backward then darting sideways. Imorean tumbled forward, just catching himself before he crashed to the floor. He shook his head and locked eyes with Michael. They circled each other. Michael lunged in. Imorean swung, only half aiming at Michael’s stomach. Michael ducked low then sprang up, sword slicing the air itself. There was a collective gasp in the hall. Silence fell. Imorean choked on his own breath and froze. His sword clattered to the stone floor, ringing out like an alarm bell. The handle of Michael’s sword was a few inches away from his abdomen. The rest of the blade … Michael had stabbed him. Stabbed him with an angel sword. He was going to die. Not by Vortigern’s hand … but by Michael’s. Michael’s. His face was impassive as he withdrew the sword. Imorean’s world spun. No pain. He swayed on his feet and glanced down, expecting to see blood. But the sword was clean. There was no trace of red on the blade. Hands shaking, Imorean pressed his abdomen. There was no blood. His palm was dry. His skin was dry. There was no wound. No wound at all. He gaped at Michael. A wave of apology crashed over him, even Michael’s eyes glimmered with remorse.
The thought crossed his mind in Michael’s voice. “Later.”
“Do you see, Odin?” asked Michael. “Angels are far stronger than you realize. Very little can kill us. We will triumph over Fenrir without setting him free. All you must do is trust us.”
The feeling of being watched shifted. All eyes swung to Odin. Imorean’s knees went weak. They were no longer the central focus. For once, luck was in his favor.
“I shall give you my answer in the morning. Until then, you are welcome to stay in the guest quarters.”
“Thank you for considering my request,” said Michael. �
�Raphael, Gabriel, on me.”
The noise level in the hall soared. Once more, it was alive with chatter and merrymaking. Imorean wanted to move. He wanted to leave, but if he moved, he would fall. He felt sick. Dimly, he was aware of Michael’s hand snapping its fingers in front of his face. He didn’t react. He couldn’t react. He moved robotically as Michael put one arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the main doors, Raphael and Gabriel in tow.
The late afternoon sunlight across Imorean’s face was welcome, as was the cool, mountain air. He leaned on a pillar outside the mead hall and breathed. Each breath felt like a gift. He sensed that familiar green-eyed stare on him, deep concern in it this time, and turned away. He hadn’t been killed, but Michael had certainly acted like he had been about to murder him. A tremble seized Imorean’s body and he closed his eyes. He rested one hand on the great pillar and hunched over, gagging and dry heaving. Sheer terror was looming over him, a delayed emotion. Gritting his teeth, Imorean pulled himself upright, trying to push away his trembles. A tense silence hung over them. Not even Raphael and Gabriel spoke to each other.
“How are you feeling?” asked Michael, breaking the silence.
Imorean rounded on him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
For a moment, Michael looked uncomfortable. He looked at Raphael and Gabriel, as though unsure what to do.
Raphael folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, shrugging. “You made this mess. Don’t expect our help.”
Gabriel sighed and walked forward. “Let’s take this somewhere more private, shall we? Considering all the alpha-male posturing you’ve just done, I don’t think it would look very good if we had a family dispute where the Norse gods can still hear us.”
Chapter 11
Odin’s guest quarters were on the very outskirts of his great city, and they felt a little cramped by comparison to the rest of the area. Imorean took a deep breath when the door of the guest house finally shut behind them all. The house was made up of only two rooms. A small living room and a four-man bedroom.
“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” asked Imorean, collapsing onto one of the chairs in the lounge. He was exhausted. The adrenaline and the shock had left him. He felt hollow and empty. Michael sat next to him and laid all five of their swords on a table in the center of the room. He tapped a finger against the hilt of the one nearest him. Imorean glanced down. It was his. He could see his own name engraved on the blade just under the handle.
“An angel’s sword belongs uniquely to that angel. As you already know about angel swords, they can almost never be broken unless that particular angel is mortally wounded. It is a sword’s job to ensure that an angel stays alive. On that rule, an angel’s sword will never hurt its owner.”
“But you stabbed me with yours?” snapped Imorean.
“No, I did not. I stabbed you with yours. I gave you my own. Neither of us were ever in any danger.”
Imorean looked away, shaking his head.
“I asked you to trust me, Imorean.”
He glared back at Michael. “I do. I just wasn’t expecting you to, oh, I don’t know, stab me.”
“I promised you after you were taken prisoner by Vortigern at Teufelsschloss that I would lie to you less. It is not my goal to cause you distress. If I had known Odin would want some form of proof of our strength, I would have told you beforehand. But I did not have time.”
Imorean drummed his fingers. “Say it.”
“What?” asked Michael, raising one eyebrow.
“Oh, he wants an apology, you arrogant prick,” sighed Gabriel, taking a drink from his canteen.
Michael raised his eyes to the ceiling. Imorean detected exasperation. “Fine. Imorean, I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you distress.”
“You need some practice apologizing, but I’ll take it,” nodded Imorean. “Thanks.”
Raphael chuckled from the corner of the room.
“You can stop that, Raphael,” snarled Michael.
“You don’t apologize enough, Michael,” replied Raphael.
Michael narrowed his eyes. “I rarely have things to apologize for.”
Gabriel spat his water as he stifled a laugh.
“That’s funny, Michael,” said Imorean.
“You are getting under my skin. All of you,” said Michael, standing and retreating to the bedroom.
Imorean grinned as Gabriel made a face at Michael’s back. He breathed a sigh of relief. Michael had never meant to hurt him or even upset him, and at last, the final eddies of shock were finally fading.
Gabriel sat in one of the chairs, resting his feet on the table. “I bet you anything he’s locked the door.”
Raphael tried the handle which didn’t budge. “Well, he isn’t used to being outnumbered with us. It should give him a nice change of pace.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Overhead, great white lights came on with a metallic sound. Toddy flinched on the cold, stone floor. His eyes, accustomed to temporary darkness, felt blinded. He peered through slits. The glass at the front of his cell was a savage illusion of freedom. The stone around him, white. The floor, too, white. The whole prison was built to reflect light. Maddening. He huddled in the corner, pulling one wing over his eyes. The dark gray feathers gave a good shield against the brightness. He cringed, shrinking away, as he heard footsteps. They were slightly uneven, ringing on the stone floor. Footsteps were not good news. It didn’t matter who the owner of the feet was, he had been here long enough to know what footsteps meant. Trouble. Toddy took a deep breath, praying the footsteps would go on, that they would pass his cell. Heart sinking, he heard them stop. They hadn’t gone far enough to have passed him. Silence. Toddy shuffled his wing, looking painfully toward the front of his cell. There, just beyond the glass, unreachable, stood Vortigern. Tall and elegant, he stood stock still, like a predator waiting for prey to make a false move. A small smile hovered on Vortigern’s lips. Toddy moved no further. He felt frozen in terror. He had not seen Vortigern since Iceland. His last memory of him had been Vortigern plunging a sword through his chest. Toddy swallowed, trying not to move. Hollow, gray eyes pierced him. One of Vortigern’s arms lay in a sling and white bandages covered a wing joint. Half had been sheared clean away. Toddy couldn’t help feeling a glimmer of satisfaction. At least someone had done Vortigern damage. The emotionless, gray eyes flickered.
“Do you still believe it, Toddy?” asked Vortigern.
Toddy held still. His stomach turned.
“It’s been a month,” continued Vortigern. “Do you really still think they’re coming for you?”
Again, Toddy said nothing. He blinked as Vortigern smirked at him and continued down the line of cells. His uneven footsteps rang out in the hollow hallway. Alone. Toddy wiped his eyes. A month. He had been here a month. So where were his friends? Why hadn’t they found him? Were they even trying?
“I am an angel-human hybrid. I am from Bayboro, North Carolina. My name is Toddy Davis and my friends will … and my friends will …”
Toddy bowed his head and folded his wings around himself. He was alone.
Chapter 12
Panic was all Imorean felt as he woke up. Another of his nightmares had struck. The woman and her long hair had returned to the dream, whispering obscenities of sheer hate in his ears. Toddy, too, had weaved in and out of them. A deep breath did nothing to calm his thundering heart. He was shaking. He shrugged off his blankets and looked around. Raphael was lying on his bed, eyes flooded with bright, neon blue. Imorean shuddered. Raphael, while awake, was completely unaware of the world around him. He was on the astral plane. Nearby, Gabriel snored. Imorean smiled, glad to have a distraction from Raphael. Gabriel was one of the only Archangels who ever truly slept. Imorean’s eyes moved further around the room. Michael’s bed was empty. Michael himself, nowhere to be seen. Shaking off his dream, Imorean threw back his blankets and stood. Quietly, he left Raphael and Gabriel as they were and moved to the other room. He paused in
the threshold at the sight of Michael sitting at the table where he had thrown their swords the day before.
“Are you still angry with me?” asked Michael, looking up as he set a piece of paper down on the tabletop.
“I don’t think so,” shrugged Imorean, approaching. “What’s that?”
“Odin’s approval,” replied Michael with a smile. “He says he will not spare us soldiers for this endeavor, but that does not bother me. I do not want his soldiers in combat with us. We will be better on our own.”
“Wait.” Imorean held up his hands. “So, you convinced him? We’re allowed to go after that Gleipnir thing?”
Michael frowned. “Yes, Imorean, we are allowed to ‘go after that Gleipnir thing’. He believes we are nearly indestructible after yesterday and has been reminded how capable we are in combat.”
“When do we leave?” asked Imorean.
“As soon as those two get up. The sun has just risen, so there is no real rush.”
“Well, Raphael’s on the astral plane. He’s awake, but he’s not exactly here …”
Michael’s brows rose. “Oh. This may be a good learning opportunity. Sit down.”
“Come on, Michael, I really don’t want to train right now.”
“Imorean.”
Imorean sank into a chair, raising his hands in surrender. “What do you want me to do?”
“We are going to find Raphael on the astral plane.”
“Okay. How?”
Michael rested both elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“Well, that explains a lot,” scoffed Imorean.
“Put your face in my hands.”
“Can I just remind you that you stabbed me yesterday, Michael?”
“Your point?”
“Are you planning on snapping my neck this time or something?”
Michael sighed. “No. Just do as I ask.”
Imorean shook his head and leaned forward, settling his face in Michael’s open palms. Each one was cold on his cheeks.
“Enlightening,” he said, eyes darting away from Michael.
Angels Falling Page 7
