For a moment, there was a standoff as Samael and Jack stared each other down and Barton paced around them, his growl rumbling like a freight train. And then, Samael snapped all four wings out to their full length and launched herself upwards.
When she took to the air, it seemed less like a combat tactic and more like she was getting some breathing space. Not that it did her much good. Gabriel followed her upwards and grabbed her before she even realized she had been followed, wrapping his arms around her like a living straightjacket. Her legs kicked, and she clawed at his arms with her fingers, but he didn’t relinquish his hold on her.
Slowly, Gabriel began to land, the efforts largely smooth save for a few stutters when Samael struggled particularly hard, like a kitten trying to get out of someone’s grasp.
Siobhan didn’t shout in excitement when the signal finally fell silent, struggling feebly under the blanket of her willpower. Instead, all she shouted was, “Start talking, Gabe!” She huddled into a ball, drawing her knees up to her chest and ducking her forehead against them. She curled her arms over her head, blocking out as much of the rest of the world as she could.
Gabriel landed, his arms still wrapped around Samael tightly enough to keep her from squirming free but not enough to hurt her. She wasn’t making any efforts to fight, though, and instead, the placid expression on her face had morphed into quiet confusion.
“Gabriel,” she stated, her voice low and almost devoid of inflection, though not quite. “What is going on?”
Not one for mincing words when there wasn’t a clear idea of how long they had until the signal became stronger than Siobhan’s ability to suppress it, Gabriel simply stated, “There is a way to get rid of the Metatron’s ability to control you, but it involves becoming a vampire.”
“My actions would be my own again?” she asked simply, though there was a certain wariness to the words. Understandable, considering everything else that was going on. Siobhan was fairly sure she would distrust the sky itself if she were an angel.
(Siobhan wondered, for a moment, what the principalities were doing. If the Metatron had a purpose for them, or if they had been abandoned because they weren’t strong enough. She supposed there was no way for them to win; either they would be utterly outmatched, or they would be abandoned. She sort of felt bad for them when she looked at things from that perspective. Privately, she hoped they were abandoned; it seemed the less fatal and more peaceful of the two options.)
“So long as you don’t continue your violence, then yes,” Gabriel answered easily. “But you don’t have long to think about it, so I would decide quickly, were I you.”
Samael nodded once. “Very well,” she decided. “Go ahead.”
She inhaled sharply when Gabriel bit her, squirming for only a second before she fell still once again.
“Hurry up!” Siobhan snapped, her voice strained. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was digging her knuckles into her temples. Barton whined and nosed at her cheek, his claws clicking against the cement as he shuffled back and forth.
There was no point in shouting the warning, though. With an internal shriek of noise, the signal battered through her control and reared back to the forefront, loud and badgering and angry.
Samael went rigid in Gabriel’s hold before she began to thrash, her wings trying to stretch open to break his grip, though the effort was fruitless. He tightened his hold on her slightly, and she growled as he compressed her wings to her back.
Jack bit into his wrist and shoved his arm between the archangel’s, dripping blood over Samael’s bite wound, so Gabriel wouldn’t need to free up a hand and lose his hold on her.
With that accomplished, Gabriel released her, and she practically exploded away from him, spiraling higher into the air. Gabriel rose after her, knowing there was only so long before the change began.
Samael fought it off admirably, compared to others before her. For nearly five minutes, Gabriel herded her through the sky as she clawed at where her neck and shoulder joined, though the wound was already beginning to heal closed.
But finally, it was just a bit too much, and with a gasp, Samael’s eyes rolled back into her head and she wilted. She dropped through the air like a stone until Gabriel caught her a moment later. He looked down to where Jack and Siobhan were watching him, nodded once to acknowledge them, and vanished with Samael.
It was still slightly irritating, needing to wait for Gabriel to bring them all back in shifts. Siobhan got to her feet, and she, Jack, and Barton backed into an alley to avoid the worst of the sunlight and to wait for him to return. Absentmindedly, Siobhan pressed her fingers to her temples in a futile attempt to ease the ever-present headache.
*
As Dask’iya stepped out onto the balcony, she paused only to make sure it was not occupied, as it so often was of late. But it was empty for the moment, and Dask’iya hoisted herself up to sit on the balustrade. She crossed her ankles in a manner that seemed deceptively delicate, and she laid the Fang of Eden across her lap.
Unlike the broken Bough and the dented Scale, the Fang remained whole and undamaged, a gleaming short sword that any warrior would have been glad to wield. That was all it was, though. The power it had once granted to her was gone, and she knew it would shatter if she used even a fraction of her strength. It was pretty, and though its edge was still sharp, it was useless to her.
She trailed her fingers along the edge of the blade and lifted it over her head to watch the way the moonlight gleamed off of the silver of the blade.
It had been a good tool for the short amount of time she had wielded it. She supposed she would hold onto it. She didn’t know if it could be restored, but perhaps, one day, she would find someone who needed a simple blade. At that, at least, she knew it would still excel.
She lowered the blade to her lap once more and closed her eyes.
Meditation was not something she engaged in frequently. It always seemed to her that there were better ways for her to spend her time, better ways to calm herself, better ways to center herself. But she supposed not all problems could simply be burned through, even if most of them could be.
It took a few moments for her to get into it. Her thoughts kept drifting to other matters, as if the act of simply closing her eyes and deciding she needed to focus had robbed her of the ability to do so. Finally, she curled her fingers around the Fang’s hilt, letting its weight in her hand, minimal though it felt, keep her grounded.
She let her thoughts shift focus from the Fang itself to the trial keeper she got it from, and the frosted, frozen tundra where they’d last spoken. It was not the place she would have ever expected to find a snake (least of all one of truly prehistoric proportions), but she supposed that had all been part of the game.
And what a strange game to play. Playing word games and puzzles with a serpent, to see if it might deign to help her save the world. She couldn’t say it had been an especially enjoyable game. But she would play it as many times as she needed to in order to keep winning.
That was the important part, wasn’t it?
She felt cold, as if the balustrade beneath her had turned to ice. Though she kept her eyes closed and could see nothing, she heard the sound of a snake’s rattling tail slowly getting closer. Soon enough, she heard a familiar, sibilant voice hissing in her ear, “Hello there.” A forked tongue brushed her cheek before the serpent withdrew slightly. “I didn’t expect to see you again. And you didn’t even cheat this time.”
“I maintain that using fire was not cheating,” she returned. “You needed to be warmed up. I had the means to do so expediently. Using my own abilities is not cheating.”
“Fair enough,” the snake conceded with some amusement.
The blade shifted on her lap, as if it was being prodded, and when the serpent next spoke, the genderless voice was coming from the vicinity of Dask’iya’s knees. “A pity, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Dask’iya agreed easily. “I was rather fond of it. It was a noble
weapon.”
The snake hissed out a sigh, and its tail rattled in agitation. “All the time I dedicated to keeping it safe, and this is what it gets,” it scoffed. “You know, I was made for this blade.”
“I imagine its loss is a bit of a slap in the face,” Dask’iya acknowledged, and there was honest sympathy in her voice.
The snake paused for a moment. “Something like that,” it agreed quietly, and it gave the sword a final prod with its nose. “Yes, that’s an apt description.” It sounded thoughtful, and soon, its voice was coming from in front of her face. On a whim, Dask’iya reached up to press a hand to its nose, her fingers splaying over it.
They were silent for a moment, and then the snake leaned forward, pressing its head more firmly against her hand. “I can help you,” it volunteered, it’s voice low and secretive but playful at the same time. “That’s why you’re here, is it not? You need my help—all of our help—to be rid of the Metatron.”
Dask’iya nodded once, just a quiet dip of her chin towards her chest.
“I can help you,” it repeated, sounding more thoughtful that time. “Others of us have already agreed to.”
“Will you?” Dask’iya asked, her voice level. Curious, but mild. “It’s a grievous insult to be made irrelevant. If you help, then it is you who shall make him irrelevant instead.”
There was a quiet hiss and a gentle, slow rattle. “Yes,” it agreed slowly. “Yes, I think I shall. But,” and it pressed its head more firmly against her fingers, “the question is, what is it, specifically, you are asking for my help with? I can get you into Heaven, true enough, but is that all?”
“Not quite,” Dask’iya conceded easily. “We’ve been informed that all of you in concert can get us and him out of Heaven. To make it safer for us.”
“We can,” the snake confirmed easily. “And I suppose I shall,” it sighed, its words escaping as more of a quiet hiss. “I would be done with him, if it’s possible. I think we’re all getting rather tired of the mayhem he’s brought. To add insult to injury is the final straw.”
“Thank you.” Dask’iya pressed her hand against its nose more firmly, and it pushed back, only to withdraw a moment later.
Its voice hissed against her ear, “I believe that’s all you came here for.”
Dask’iya opened her eyes, and she found herself looking over the manor’s grounds. She looked down, and she was still seated on the balcony’s railing. With a quiet sigh, she lifted the Fang of Eden once again, watching the way the light played over it.
It would have been fitting, she thought, if the Metatron could be bested with his own weapons. But it wasn’t to be, she supposed. No matter. With or without irony, they would do away with him, and they would be done with his chaos. Their world would be safe, and they could all be done with the angels pouring out of the woodwork.
Of course, that wasn’t to say other problems wouldn’t arise later. The world was never so organized. Never so neat. It hadn’t been during her reign. She doubted it would be at any point in the future. But she supposed she had no complaints about that. It made the world… charming. She imagined she would get bored if everything was always exactly as it should be. And truly, ‘bored’ was not something anyone ever wanted the Vampire Lords to be.
Let them keep wondering. Let the world never run out of things to show them or ways to surprise them. Let the world forever hold their attention. She was not naïve enough or optimistic enough to think that they could get by on good will alone.
*
“We haven’t run into Raphael yet,” Siobhan mused, voice partially muffled as she dug through the fridge for something involving the appropriate amount of sugar. (Who knew? Turning into a vampire didn’t break an addiction to processed sugar. Siobhan couldn’t even be disappointed, because really, why would she complain that she still craved cookies and frosting periodically?) As she emerged from the fridge with a brownie, she wondered, “Who’s left, other than him?”
“Just Remael,” Gabriel replied, eying the confection dubiously. Siobhan thought about offering him a bite, but he always remained adamant in his denial. (“Having never eaten actual food before, I’m not sure what I would get out of it now,” had been his exact words the first time Siobhan tried to insist.) So she paid no mind to the whim and, instead, took a bite that nearly filled her mouth.
“Have I met him yet?” she asked, her voice muffled once again, that time by the sheer amount of food in her mouth.
Finally, Jack chimed in, “Barbarian,” before he turned his attention back to his phone. Siobhan cheerfully flipped him off with the hand that wasn’t holding the brownie.
“No, you haven’t,” Gabriel sighed, leaning back slightly, as if she was going to spray crumbs all over him. “He tended to avoid leaving Heaven unless he was strictly ordered to.”
Slowly, Jack peered up from his phone. “He doesn’t sound like the type who will agree to being turned, since he would never be allowed back,” he pointed out.
“He probably won’t,” Gabriel agreed, his voice low. His wings flexed slightly behind him, feathers rustling, before he pulled them in tight to his back again.
Siobhan swallowed, set her snack down on the counter, and gave Gabriel’s shoulder a delicate punch. “We’re doing the best we can, Gabe,” she reminded him, bonking her shoulder into his.
“True enough,” he agreed, followed by, “You’re getting crumbs on me.”
That was the end of that conversation, evidently. Siobhan pulled a wide-eyed, apologetic face and all but swooned away from him, one forearm across her forehead as she did. “How ever shall I apologize?” she cried, as she instead wilted over Jack’s shoulder.
“With your mouth and your words, probably,” he suggested wryly, before he added, “Or, more likely, not at all.”
Siobhan punched his shoulder considerably less delicately, and sulked when he gave a couple of her curls a tug.
“I don’t even know why I spend time with you two,” Gabriel deadpanned, shaking his head.
Siobhan grinned at him beatifically. “We’re adorable. Like puppies.”
*
When Samael awoke once again, it was without fanfare. Siobhan, Jack, Gabriel, and Anael didn’t even realize she was awake until Alistair ushered her nervously onto the balcony and informed them, “I found her wandering around in the hallway, so I brought her to you.” With that said, he turned on his heel and scampered away. While Siobhan was still very fond of him, she did sometimes wish he’d been granted the opportunity to grow a bit beyond his teenage flightiness. Ah, well. It wasn’t as if he was causing any problems, and she was sure he had more than a few things he could have complained about in regards to her.
For a few moments, Samael stood in silence, observing them. The air was tense, but not as tense as it could have been. While it was true enough that they had only Samael’s word that she intended to behave and leave well enough alone, and that word was not exactly a binding contract, it was also true that, if she tried anything, Gabriel and Anael could deal with the problem without any trouble. Regardless of whether or not Samael truly wanted to behave, it was in her best interest to do so, lest she find her life expectancy abruptly shortened.
Eventually, she opened her mouth to speak, before Anael cut her off. “You can still hear it.”
“We know,” Gabriel added. “It’s fine.”
Samael closed her mouth and nodded slowly. “Will it go away?” she wondered quietly after a moment of thought.
“Presumably once the Metatron is dead,” Gabriel answered simply.
Samael didn’t look entirely comfortable with the idea, but Siobhan supposed she could give her a pass. When one was millennia old, adjusting to an entirely new way of living couldn’t be an easy thing. If she was anything like her brother and her sister, then she would be fine.
“You’re alright?” Gabriel wondered after a moment, his head cocked to one side as he watched her expectantly.
Samael jerked slightly, start
led, as if her thoughts had been in another universe entirely. She nodded once, quickly. “More or less,” she replied, linking her hands together in front of herself and folding her wings tightly to her back. “I will… adjust, I suppose,” she added, though she sounded faintly unsure.
“I can help,” Anael assured her. “I leave the heavy lifting to Gabriel, so if you need me, I’m never far off.”
Hesitantly, Samael smiled.
Things would be okay, probably. That was what Siobhan liked to believe, at any rate. It made life easier. It gave her something to look forward to. Maybe some people thought it was more realistic to expect the worst in everything, but she couldn’t imagine they were particularly happy with their lots in life if they were never actually taking the time to appreciate any of it.
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