“Who might that be?”
“You’ve already met him.”
“I meet men every day!” Sinclair exclaimed. “Can you offer no more clues than that?”
“He leaves marks upon your city, but you will uncover his tracks very soon. A friend will help.”
“Stop speaking in riddles!”
Anatole ignored the reprimand. “Tell me, Charles, what you think of this statue?”
The duke sighed in exasperation. “I think it’s an odd way to slay one’s enemy. Is Michael supposed to be raising the sword in preparation for battle or declaring victory?”
“Neither,” Anatole answered. “The artist’s name was Vincenzo di Sforza. He claimed to be the direct descendent of Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia.”
“Weren’t they brother and sister?” asked Sinclair.
“Yes, but history is somewhat murky regarding their private relationship. Let us assume, though, that di Sforza’s claim was true. If he was their descendent, that bloodline gained him position and power within Milanese society.”
“Isn’t Contessa di Specchio Milanese?”
The prince’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Very good, Charles. Now you begin to see. Serena’s past is also murky. Depending on her audience, Serena tells a variety of tales regarding herself, but she is also a di Sforza. Ask her about it sometime. Mention this statue and see how she jumps!”
“I will,” promised the duke, “if I ever see her again. The countess is somewhat elusive. Despite our best efforts, the circle can find no record of her in London.”
“She uses aliases and disguises. I shall arrange a meeting.”
“You know where she is?”
“Of course, but the timing of your meeting must be right. Wait until after Christmas. You’ll receive a message from me, when I’ve made the arrangements. Now, to this statue. Gaze upon it, Charles. Note the intricate detail; the finely chiseled lines within the two figures.”
“Why go to all this effort for a cemetery?”
“Precisely,” concurred the elohim. “When the last Earl of Heeverswick commissioned this tableau for himself, he intended to place it inside a magnificent mausoleum in his honour; but the very moment the first chip of marble fell away from the block, Heeverswick fell ill. As the statue took shape, the earl’s condition worsened; as though his life’s blood and energy were feeding the emerging figures. At only forty-three years old, he died. But at the same precise second, the artist also died. Both men breathed their last on the same night, thirteen miles apart. The earl choked on his own blood, and the artist snapped his neck in a fall. You can make out a slight blemish; just there, at the tip of the sword,” he explained, pointing with the cane. “That is where di Sforza struck his final mark. When the hammer sounded for that last time, the base of the ladder upon which he stood collapsed, and Vincenzo di Sforza fell to his death. It is a cautionary tale, you might say.”
“Anatole, why are you here?” asked Charles in frustration. “And why at this statue? Nothing you do is ever without meaning.”
“As I said, you need my help.”
“I’ve needed your help before, and yet you remained hidden. What’s changed? And how do I know I’m speaking to the real you?” asked the duke. “Raziel’s made great sport of taking your form in the past.”
The elohim laughed softly as he watched a pair of butterflies flit upon the rising winds. “As always, my dear Charles, you see beyond the obvious to ask a perceptive question. After all, Raziel and many others have taken my form often these many centuries.”
“Others? Are you saying there are other creatures like Raziel roaming the earth—besides the one Trent released last month? Other Watchers?”
One of the butterflies, a yellow and black swallowtail landed on Romanov’s forearm. The prince gently took it into his gloved hands.
“You and your sister should be sleeping, my little friend,” he told the insect. He glanced up at Charles. “Remarkable creatures, aren’t they? The delicate design on their wings has always reminded me of the stained-glass windows that decorate churches.” He gave a soft whistle and then a series of quick chirps. The second butterfly turned about and made its way to the prince’s arm as though responding to a call. “Here now,” he told them both as he used the cane to lift the insects into a deep hollow within the nearest yew tree. “Go to sleep until spring returns to warm the night air. It grows too cold for you now, my friends. Sleep.”
As if they understood, both crawled into the warm hollow and burrowed into a waiting nest of soft, dry grasses. Anatole sang softly to the tree, and a collection of tender branches turned round to form a protective lattice of deep green across the hibernating insects’ hideaway.
“Do you speak to all God’s creation?” a surprised Sinclair asked him.
“Of course, but as with humans, not all will listen. Now,” he said, resuming his seat, “to answer your question, there are many of us walking the earth. It is why the Apostle Paul admonished believers to show hospitality to strangers; for in so doing, they may also entertain angels.”
“And are all these disguised angels loyal?”
“Some, but not all,” Romanov replied. “As you know, last month, Redwing unleashed my brother Saraqael. He is a particularly devious sort of fellow. Sara was once fiercely loyal and battled alongside me in the great wars, but a darkness took root in him many aeons ago and began to twist his mind. Only recently, did I witness the fruit of that fateful twisting. He’s become vengeful and determined to overturn the current order of things.”
“Vengeful against whom? God?”
“Yes, but also against his loyal brethren; particularly against me. It was my hand that turned the key on his prison. Sara was one of my failures. I should have seen what he’d become before he... Well, before he did any harm.”
“You imprisoned him? When?”
“Nearly three decades ago, according to human reckoning.”
“Three decades? Has this anything to do with me?” Charles asked.
“You’re not ready for that conversation, my friend. Not yet,” Romanov replied gently. “One day, you and I shall speak more of it, but know this: Saraqael is far more dangerous than Raziel. Raziel Grigor was once immensely powerful, for he understood the sacred words. He recorded them in a great book known as Sefer Raziel: every word that he heard spoken by the One. It is a dangerous book, containing sounds to reorder Creation. When I imprisoned Raziel, I seized the book and cast it to the winds.”
“You didn’t destroy it?”
“God’s word cannot be destroyed, only hidden. The One has a plan to use these words, but those plans are not yet revealed to anyone but the Son. Even now, Redwing and other, similar organisations of evil men seek the remnants of Raziel’s book. I have orders to allow them to hunt. The One is setting a trap, Charles, but Raziel refuses to see it. His eyes are blinded by greed and lust. This makes him vulnerable. Though he believes himself wise, Raziel is merely a tool in the hands of something far older, and much more cunning. One of the Seven.”
“Can you explain that?”
“The One has Seven Spirits round his throne. The Evil One also has Seven Spirits round his infernal throne. These take many forms, but usually a dragon, for they were born from Chaos, an ancient primordial sea monster. You might know it as Leviathan.”
Charles stared up at the marble figures. The dream preyed upon his mind. “Someone killed my father, Anatole, and I do not think it coincidence that you imprisoned Saraqael right after it happened.”
As if to distract the human from the troubling memory, Anatole used the cane to point to the carved, angelic being. “There is more to the di Sforza tale. Though you would assume the statue portrays Michael and the Dragon; it does not. Di Sforza knew his true subject, for he’d struck a deal with an archdemon named Asmodeus. I know this, for I’ve read the sculptor’s diaries.”
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“You mean you knew him personally,” Charles corrected.
Anatole smiled. “Yes, perhaps I did. The artist had an insatiable desire for greater talent and struck the bargain to achieve it. The demon vowed to make him the greatest sculptor of his generation, if di Sforza would follow his instructions. This deceptive statue is the twisted result of the demon’s dark inspiration. It is a prophecy in stone, Charles, and it depicts an ancient, fallen-realm belief that a human who would one day arise to become a god and rule the entire earth; a human who will side with the Evil One. This is what Redwing’s rituals are all about: the quest for this deified man.”
Sinclair stared at the marble statue, tracing the curve of the Dragon’s tail with his right hand. He could almost hear taunting whispers coming from the Dragon’s mouth; memories of long ago, of the ticking clock in his bedchamber and of a black mirror within a darkened corner; blood-red eyes surrounded by glittering shadow set within flames.
But there was more to the memory: Confusion and shouting. His mother weeping, and a tall man standing over a body; a smoking pistol in his hand. Charles could smell blood, feel wind upon his face, almost see the scene through a misty veil...
Hello, boy. Let’s play.
Then someone touched him.
Charles shuddered back to reality. He’d been drawn so deeply into the cold, dark reverie that it took a moment to realise Anatole had left the bench and now stood beside him, a comforting hand placed on the young duke’s shoulder.
“Do not fear the Dragon’s voice, Charles. He has permission to sift you; not to slay you. But you never stand alone.”
“Then why do I feel so alone?” he asked plaintively. “I try to keep strong, Anatole, but more and more these memories press down upon me, and I can tell no one about them. Beth has to see me as her protector, not a terrified child!”
“I understand, my friend. I do. The Dragon wants you to feel like that cowering child. It’s why he calls you ‘boy’, but that child is far stronger than you might imagine. And you can always talk to me, if you wish.”
Sinclair pulled away, suddenly distrustful of the mysterious entity. “How do I know I can believe anything you tell me? You do nothing but obfuscate and mislead!”
Romanov took no offence, answering softly, “I understand why you might think that, for my behaviour does not always conform to a human’s perception of trustworthiness, or even obedience. My missions often require me to employ the art of subterfuge. The elohim of all the realms are at war, Charles. Our battles cover aeons and vast expanses of space. They make your human wars seem like child’s play.”
“You’re a soldier?”
“Of a type,” Romanov explained. “My role is difficult to categorise, but it is similar to your own; a law enforcement officer of sorts, which sometimes requires concealment within the Council of Rebels. To act as a spy, you might say.”
“If you can hide within the rebel ranks, then surely they can conceal themselves as well. I ask you again, how do I know I’m not speaking with Saraqael or Raziel right now; or even some other rebel Watcher?” Sinclair asked angrily.
The prince smiled patiently. “Darkness will always reveal itself in the presence of light. Raziel and Sara may be cunning when it comes to masquerade, but a pleasing carapace cannot disguise a rebel heart.”
“I try to understand, Anatole, but it’s difficult. I feel completely inadequate to this task.”
The elohim’s pale eyes grew thoughtful. “Charles, I sense something else troubling your thoughts. You have doubts about my motives. You wonder why I allowed the castle to be breached.”
“Yes, I do!” he admitted, still standing by the statue. “To be honest, it’s but one of a hundred concerns about you and your kind. After the castle fire, you simply vanished! You claim that you’re on my side, but how was that helpful?”
“I did not vanish, but merely altered my appearance. You and the duchess were never out of my sight. Also, I called on Lorena at Queen Anne House, if you’ll recall. She told you of our conversation and my warnings regarding Redwing, did she not?”
“Yes, but now she’s disappeared as well, and neither I nor Paul can find any trace of her. Have you hidden her away somewhere? Anatole, Lorena was close to accepting Christ, which makes her a target as a traitor. We must find her before Redwing kills her!”
“I have not hidden her away,” Romanov told him. “However, I do know where she has gone.”
“Where?” Sinclair demanded.
“Lorena is safe, Charles. That must suffice for now. Other matters take precedence for her path, and she needs to walk it alone for the present. However, she is protected. You will hear from her again, when the time is right.”
Charles struck the statue with his right palm, anger colouring his face. “You speak in riddles! Why am I supposed to believe any of this? Anatole, there are times I wish I’d never met you!”
Ever calm, the elohim spoke softly. “I understand, Charles. Were I in your shoes, I would feel much the same, but if you find you cannot trust me, then trust in the One. He will never forsake you. He designed you for this task. From the foundation of the world, He knew your path and prepared you for it.”
Sinclair grew quiet, his azure eyes fixed on the murder of crows now gathering in the trees overhead. Their numbers had increased markedly, filling every limb and twig with ripples of sinister black. On the highest branch of the tree, perched an enormous raven, much larger than his fellow birds. The raven stared back at the human, its yellow eyes blinking rhythmically. For a moment, Sinclair’s thoughts returned to the Stone Realms and the hideous gatekeeper who’d tried to entrap him there.
You’ve never left us, stupid human! he heard it screech. That is the reason behind the despair in your heart. You remain in prison. The Stone King and his Great Dragon are your masters now!
Perceiving the human’s dilemma, Romanov whistled loudly, and then called out a series of unintelligible words. The raven flew high into the air, soaring up over the church steeple and then downwards at tremendous speed, aiming for Sinclair’s head. Charles stared at the oncoming threat, frozen as though mesmerised.
Without a word, Romanov raised his cane as if it were a sword and aimed it at the attacking bird. Two of the carved symbols brightened as though lit from the inside, and the raven suddenly pulled up, breaking off the attack. Charles could hear the hideous bird screaming brackish sounding words—no doubt, threats of some kind—before it vanished into the rain clouds.
“Uriens grows stronger,” the elohim said. “But his threats have no substance, Charles. Pay him no heed. That is what he wants—to lure you into a false belief; a terrible choice.”
“Uriens?” asked the human, snapping out of his trance. “Is that the creature’s name?”
“One of them. As with all spirit creatures, he possesses many names, each describing an aspect of his history. Uriens serves a horrid and very powerful king, but the king’s authority comes from the Dragon he rides.”
“Is that supposed to comfort me?” Sinclair whispered as he leaned against the statue to hide his anxiety.
“Be strong and of good courage, Charles Robert Arthur,” Romanov said. “Even though you walk through fire and feel the heat, the flames will never burn you, for you rest within the One’s mighty palm. It is a place of complete safety.”
“I want to believe that,” Charles muttered darkly.
Anatole whispered to himself; the language completely unknown to the human, and then he placed a hand on Charles’s shoulder, sending a warm sensation of strength coursing throughout his body. The elohim closed his eyes, whispering in that same, unknown tongue. When the eyes opened again, he spoke in English.
“I have been given permission to answer any question you wish to ask of me, Charles. Speak, my friend. What would you know?”
“Given permission? By whom?”
; “By the One, of course. I follow only His commands. Ask what is in your heart, dear friend.”
Charles voiced the first thought that came into his mind. “Who attacked the castle and why?”
“Raziel and his battalion,” replied Romanov without hesitation. “His intent was to abduct the duchess, but the One had foreseen that plan and prepared for it.”
“Yet, you left her alone!” Sinclair volleyed back in frustration. “Why would you do that, if you knew Raziel planned to attack?”
Romanov’s voice remained remarkably gentle. “I left because I was ordered to stand aside and permit the assault. I understand your anger, Charles, but let me remind you that in certain battles, the best stratagem is a feint. A wise general—and the One is the wisest of all—will lay a trap to lure his enemy into making a foolish move. It is why I told Lord Salperton I would be away until the following morning. I knew Henry would use my absence to escape that night and find you.”
“Which left Beth alone, without a protector.”
Anatole leaned forward, his eyes misting with compassion. “Charles, my very dear friend, that sweet lady’s safety was never in doubt. Do you think I would intentionally harm her?”
“I don’t know. It’s clear you love her, but I find little comfort in that, Anatole.”
The elohim returned to the bench, taking a deep breath as though contemplating his reply. His tapering fingers danced along the ebony cane’s silver handle, and his eyes took on a faraway look. Charles noticed that he touched several of the carved names as though remembering his past.
“What you say is true,” he said after many minutes. “I have come to care deeply for Elizabeth since first meeting her, but I would never act on that affection as a human might. Never. Charles, I have seen what the so-called love of my kind does to the daughters of Eve. It is cruel, selfish, destructive—and sinful. Unlike my unrepentant brethren, I do not see Elizabeth as flesh to be conquered, but as a soul to be protected. And I will continue to do all within my power to help her. But I must never cross the line into sin. Raziel tried to tempt me into doing so, when he drew the two of you into the Stone Realms.”
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