A Terrible Fall of Angels

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “If I’d thought to ask, or if I’d needed it completely healed, the angelic power would have healed it,” I said.

  “Well, the claw marks were bleeding when we got here,” Becki said.

  “Did they tear open?” I asked.

  “Not that we could find,” she said.

  “Then how were they bleeding?” I asked.

  “We’re not sure.”

  “It wasn’t just blood,” Neil said, “there was power mixed in with it. The kind I usually only sense when really bad things have attacked people.”

  “Like demons,” Charleston said.

  “Exactly,” Neil said, and coughed, wincing visibly enough that I asked Becki to take care of him.

  “Not yet,” he said, though he was beginning to sound a little less sure. He waved her off and said, “The bandages are holding a magical poultice that will draw out any negative energy that isn’t yours.”

  “Will the dressing need to be changed?” I asked.

  “It depends on how much negative shit the demon left behind,” Becki said.

  “How will I know if it needs to be changed, or if I’m clear again?” I asked.

  “I’ll help check you. They walked me through it along with one of our newbie witches,” Charleston said.

  I looked up at him. I was beginning to feel silly lying on the floor. “Thanks.”

  “We all play to our magical strengths in this unit. You have angels and demons; I have herbalism and folk remedies like poultices that will drain the bad juju out of a wound.”

  “Can I sit up now?” I asked, not exactly sure whose permission I was asking. If I hadn’t felt bad about probably breaking the paramedic’s nose, I wouldn’t have asked anyone’s permission.

  “Slowly; if it hurts, lie back down,” Becki said. She was back to sounding angry, but I was beginning to think it might be her natural state. She wasn’t angry, she was cranky; they sounded the same, but angry usually didn’t last, cranky could be a constant.

  I sat up using more of my arms to push than I normally did, so that I didn’t overtask my abs. There was a pull of the medical tape against my stomach; it didn’t hurt more than it had before, but Becki thought my caution was pain and tried to push me back to the floor. I outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, and most of that was muscle. She wasn’t going to be able to push me anywhere.

  “It doesn’t hurt, I’m just being cautious like you told me to be,” I said, looking at her as she kept trying to push her gloved hand against me.

  She stopped pushing but didn’t move her hand as she looked up at me, because with her kneeling and me sitting she was now shorter than me. “A man who actually listens and does what I ask, that’s different.” The sarcasm dripped out of the last two words.

  “Hey,” her partner said, “I am not that guy.”

  She frowned and looked at him, her small hand still on my shoulder as if she’d forgotten it there. “I didn’t mean you, Neil. I meant, you know who I mean, all of them.”

  “You do need to find better guys to date,” he said.

  “They see someone this small and think I should be cute and soft, which they think means weak.” The one comment probably explained the bad attitude. If she went around with a huge chip on her shoulder, then men might not assume her personality matched her packaging.

  “I’m sorry they’re jerks,” I said.

  She looked up at me, then moved her hand as if just realizing she’d left it on my shoulder. “You’re over my height limit, sorry.”

  It took me a second to realize she thought I was flirting. I showed her the wedding band I was wearing. “I was apologizing for other jerky men, not trying to flirt.”

  She looked embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said.

  MacGregor the Elder came into the room. “Good to see you conscious, Havoc.”

  “Good to be conscious,” I said.

  “The Infernal specialist is here, Lieutenant.”

  “Infernal specialist? I’m fine.”

  “It’s not for you,” Charleston said.

  “Wait, what happened to Lila and Ravensong? Where are they?” I heard the panic in my voice and tried to calm down. How had I not asked about them sooner? I felt like a bad friend.

  “Lila got the wind knocked out of her.”

  Charleston hadn’t mentioned what happened to Ravensong, just Lila. I felt that tightness inside me that was the body tensing for bad news. “What happened to Ravensong that would need an Infernalist?”

  “One of her hands is . . . damaged,” Charleston said.

  I got to my feet and asked, “Damaged how?”

  “Her hand is deformed. It looks like the demon hand from the hospital.”

  “That’s not possible, true transformation magic is not something that demons do. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Your expertise is angels, Havoc, not demons.”

  “But we study both sides and demons aren’t contagious. They can’t turn people into one of them. It does not work like that.” I made every word clear and firm because I knew it was true. They had to be wrong.

  I turned for the door and Charleston caught my arm. “Havoc, let the specialist look at her. Once they have something to report I’ll make sure you’re with me when they make it.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t possible, Lieutenant. I need to see Ravensong.”

  “Not a good idea,” Neil said from where he was still sitting by the wall.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because whatever is in those wounds is demonic in nature and so is whatever is happening to her hand; until we know what happened, let’s keep the two of you separated.”

  “The doctor at the hospital didn’t see anything demonic in my wounds.”

  “He’s a paramedic healer, Havoc; if he advises we keep you away from Ravensong for now, then we do it. Let the specialist from the College of Angels look at Ravensong, then we’ll go from there.”

  That stopped me; I couldn’t even think clearly for a second. “Why did you go to the College of Angels for your demon specialist? They aren’t who the department normally hires to help with demons.”

  “You saw that bottle, it’s old as hell and has demon blood in it, contained behind spells that keep it fresh and sentient.”

  “Sentient blood? Even demon blood doesn’t think after it leaves the body, Lieutenant.”

  “Whatever demon ichor is in that bottle opened it and let itself out, Havoc. None of us have ever seen anything like it. We can’t even find any precedent in the metaphysical database, so we reached out to the College of Angels. This thing took out some of my best people; if we hadn’t had a containment spell box made by one of the best wizards in the country, God knows what harm that damn bottle would have done before help could have arrived,” Charleston said.

  “Fair point, Lieutenant,” I said. I wondered which of my old classmates or teachers was in the building. It didn’t really matter; I didn’t want to see any of them. “I’m surprised the College sent someone this quickly. Going through channels usually takes days.”

  “They already knew about the unusual angel activity in the city.” Charleston had said it that way on purpose, because he wasn’t going to talk in more detail about the angel at the first crime scene today than was needed for my medical care in front of outsiders. It was an ongoing case.

  “Who told them that anyway?” MacGregor asked.

  “The angels did,” I said, without thinking about it.

  “They went and tattled on themselves?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Some Angel Speakers become Angeli Auditor, Listeners. They might not know all the details, but they’ll know it was unusual and they’ll flag it.”

  I could still see that room with its couches and cushions where the Listeners lounged and spent the rest of their lives listening to the singing of angels with human scribes taking notes. It was supposed to be an honor to be offered a place there. Only the purest of angelic channels could even do it.
At thirteen I’d been offered a tour, because they thought I might be able to become an Angelus Auditor, a listener to angels. I’d had nightmares for weeks after being shown inside that room. Nightmares of being fed through tubes because I’d been consumed by the music of the spheres. One of my classmates, Ambriel, had taken the honor. If she hadn’t been driven completely insane, or died, she’d still be there reporting the Celestial news and being cared for like a coma patient. Between twelve and fourteen they divided the Angel Speaker candidates up into specialty studies. A few narrowed down to one specialty and that was that for them, but the rest of us had two to three possibilities for a few more years. I’d begun studies with the higher order of angels and would have eventually become an Angelus Lucis—it translated to angel of light, but that could only refer to true angels, so we were just referred to as Lights—if I wasn’t consumed mentally or physically by the progressively higher energy levels of the angels I was exposed to. At thirteen I hadn’t even been afraid of the possibility, just honored to be singled out. I’d also been sent to train with Master Donel and the Sentinels—Angeli Extium, Angels of Destruction. There were rumors that to truly join their ranks you had to fight an angel and win like Jacob in the Old Testament. At fifteen I’d believed the rumor; by nineteen I didn’t. It had been the training with Master Donel that had helped me shine during some of Basic and not die in my first battle. Ambriel had trained as a Listener at thirteen, and at fifteen she went into the room of Angeli Auditor and never came out again.

  “You all right, big guy? You look pale,” MacGregor said.

  “Sit back down before you fall down,” Becki said.

  “I’m okay, just . . . worried about my friend.”

  “Sure, you are,” she said, and the cynicism was as thick as her sarcasm had been earlier.

  I looked down at her, way down; she had to be barely five feet tall. I felt even taller than I was and awkward around her, like I was fifteen again and not used to my size. “I am worried about Ravensong.”

  “You better be worried about yourself,” she said.

  “Once they’ve seen Ravensong they want to see you, too,” Charleston said.

  “How do you know they’ll want to see me?”

  “Because they said so on the phone when they agreed to send someone out. They wanted to see all the police involved in the incident.”

  “Did they ask for the names of the officers involved?” I asked.

  “They did.”

  I wanted to ask if they’d agreed to send someone out once they heard my name, but I didn’t want to say that in front of anyone but Charleston, not even MacGregor, let alone two paramedics I’d just met. Was it arrogant of me to think they’d sent someone because I was involved? The anxiety that made my pulse and heart rate speed up didn’t feel arrogant. If I hadn’t been all grown-up and not a kid, I’d have said I was afraid.

  “I need to go check on Ravensong and the specialist,” Charleston said. “Maybe you should go to the bunk room and lie down until they want to see you.”

  What I wanted to do was go home; even my tiny apartment seemed like a good idea. I wanted to run away, the way I had when I left the City of Angels and joined the army, but I couldn’t leave Ravensong to them. God knew what they might decide for the betterment of humankind, or to support the latest treaty between Heaven and Hell. I couldn’t leave her with no one here who understood that the betterment of humankind wasn’t always better for the single person involved.

  “I’m fine, sir.”

  He looked at me like he didn’t believe me, but he let it go. The paramedics didn’t believe me either, but Becki finally started working on her partner’s nose. When he took the dressing off, I knew I owed him more than just one drink; maybe a case of his favorite liquor would say I’m sorry I broke your nose.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I couldn’t see Ravensong, but I could ask to be introduced to the Infernalist who had come to help us. Once I knew who it was, if it was someone I knew from before, I knew then I had a starting point and maybe I could advocate for Ravensong even if they wouldn’t let me in the room with her. I’d have walked out in the bloody T-shirt and slacks, but Charleston caught me in time. I didn’t have another pair of slacks to wear, so he suggested I change into the only outfit left in my locker, so I was dressed for the gym when I came out: an oversized tank top that had started as a T-shirt that I’d cut the arms and neck out of, so it was great for lifting weights but left way too much of my upper body exposed for comfort. At least the running pants were the loose ones and not skintight. My dress shoes had been the only things I’d been wearing that didn’t have blood on them, but they looked too weird with the exercise gear, so I put on the cross trainers and short exercise socks, and clipped my badge to the drawstring top of the pants. I ended up clipping my backup gun, a Sig Sauer 380, in an appendix carry; both my badge and my gun were completely hidden under the loose tank top. I tried to put my tactical flashlight and folding blade in the pockets, but there wasn’t room for them and my wallet. Besides, the pockets were deep, but the material wasn’t heavy enough for too much tactical. If I left the building, I’d need to transfer my badge to a lanyard so I could wear it around my neck, or flash my badge and identify myself fast to any other cops if needed. I so did not look like a cop in this outfit unless I was going undercover at a gym.

  There were Infernalists at the College who predated me by decades. It could have been one of them, but the moment I saw the woman standing with her back to me I knew it wasn’t any of the old guard. She’d cut her hair short since I’d seen her last, so that it was curly and blond like when she was seven. The bright yellow of her hair looked stark and wrong above the black of her robes. Suriel hadn’t taken the final loose-fitting robes when I last saw her; she’d still been in street clothes, or what passed for street clothes at the College. Until I left the College, I hadn’t realized how outdated the fashions had been; at least they’d let the girls wear pants. Now here she was in black robes like a priest; becoming an Infernalist took longer than almost any other specialty because of the dangers involved. I hadn’t realized until this moment that I’d never doubted she would succeed. Suriel never failed unless she decided that she no longer wanted the goal.

  She’d been there to see me take the white and even to have the golden sash added, but I hadn’t been there to see her finish her studies and take on her mantle of responsibility. She was almost as delicate as the paramedic Becki was. Somehow, I’d forgotten that Suriel was so small. She’d always been the strongest of the three of us, the most determined. She never seemed small; shorter than me, but never small.

  She turned and the shock of seeing her after all this time thrilled through me almost like fear. Her eyes were still that pale, bright blue that I remembered, her blond curls like a short startling halo around the triangle of her face. The black robes looked less like a priest from the front: no high, stiff collar, just a rounded neckline more like a regular T-shirt, though I realized for the first time that it was cut more like a woman’s T-shirt than a unisex one. There was nothing but the unadorned black, no red sash to mark her as an Infernalist or badge to tell me her rank or if she’d specialized further, though I knew she must have, or she wouldn’t have been sent here today. She had to have earned her blue sash for healing, because she was here to help Ravensong, wasn’t she?

  She smiled and her face looked genuinely happy to see me, though her gaze took in my outfit like it was unexpected. We hadn’t been allowed to cut up our clothes at the College, so exercise was always white T-shirts with black shorts or pants; sweatshirts were allowed when it was cold. There had been a uniform for everything we did at the College of Angels.

  There were smile lines around her mouth and the edges of her eyes now, but I thought it added to her beauty. I knew that my face had new lines for her to see. I was so happy to see her that it was all I could do not to hug her. I forgot about Ravensong being hurt, or that there was a major relic in a magical contain
ment box on the floor, or that I’d bled through wounds that two medical professionals had said were too healed to bleed. All I could think of was here was my friend, the first girl I’d had a crush on, the person who had helped me study for Celestial mathematics or I’d have failed. She’d simply been Surrie, back when Jamie was still Levanael, Lev, and I had been Z, until we got older and then she didn’t like her nickname anymore.

  Suriel extended both hands to me in the greeting that we all did at the College, like a double handshake.

  “Zaniel, it is so good to see you.”

  “It is good to see you, too, Suriel,” I said, taking her hands in mine. I did remember her hands being small in mine once I’d hit my growth spurt, but somehow that never made me think the rest of her was small, too. She was just one of those people who took up more space than her physical body did, like she was concentrated awesomeness.

  The handshake wasn’t enough. “May I hug you, or is that not permitted since I’m an outsider?”

  She smiled, but looked down and then said, “It isn’t allowed, but you know that as well as I do, Zaniel.”

  “You’re right, I know the rules,” I said, squeezing her hands and letting them go. I started to step back, but Suriel stepped into me and wrapped her arms around my waist. I didn’t hesitate, just bent over her and hugged her back. The size difference might have made it awkward, but I’d spent a lot of years dating smaller women, because I didn’t have much choice. I knew how to fold myself down and around her. I buried my face in her hair and the smell was like coming home. She still smelled like herself, and like the College. It was both comforting and frightening that it wasn’t just the scent of Suriel’s hair that was comforting but the familiarity of the place I was raised. Be it ever so traumatic, it was still the only home I had ever known.

  “Hey, Havoc, I didn’t know that the two of you knew each other that well,” Lila said; her voice had that teasing drawl to it.