Warring Angel

by Samantha L. Strong

  If only I knew what.

  Zaponsla looked dubious, but she’d relaxed and the scar over her eye wasn’t as menacing anymore. “I believe you, and I believe in you, truly I do. I’ve watched you do some fierce demon-slaying, and I know that when you stop worrying so much and let yourself act, you do the Source’s work. But…”

  “But what?”

  “I’m here for a reason, too. I have to help you listen to that voice. I have to help you keep on the path. Because sometimes you get too caught up in things, and you don’t make the right decisions.”

  “I don’t think I’m always going to be right, so I’m glad to have you keep me on my path. I appreciate it.” It was the truth.

  Zaponsla flapped across the room and swept me into a hug. “I’ve felt your blood surging through me, and I know the powerful things you’re capable of. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore. I’m sorry I lost my temper earlier.”

  I laughed as I hugged her back. “I’ve seen you lose your temper and that was far from it.” I was thinking of the time she’d impaled three demons in one thrust of her trident. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “My true name is Zaponsla-Abhen.”

  I took a step back.

  A wave of uncertainty flowed through the newly established bond as she sank to her knees and bowed her head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I pledge my service to the Cornerstone. In front of you, these oblivious humans that we love so dearly, and the Source, I declare my loyalty to you. I devote myself to prevailing over all the forces that oppose Heaven, and I will do whatever you ask of me.”

  She lifted her head. “I trust that you’ll bring us through this. None of the Seraphim—former or otherwise—has my true name. Talin is the only Archangel that does, and a few other lower ranked angels from when I was a Guardian.”

  I could sense through the bond it was the truth. I felt as though I should reciprocate, to solidify my trust in her. If I didn’t, we would forever be in an inequitable relationship. And I was done with inequitable relationships.

  But could I trust her enough to share my true name?

  It’s what I intended for the Nephilim, said the Source. I never intended for any angel to fear sharing his or her true name.

  My eyes widened—It had never spoken so directly without a question from me before. That had to mean something. If the Source was telling me to trust Zaponsla-Abhen…

  “Enael-Nehleaz,” I said. “That’s my true name.”

  Zaponsla grinned and flapped to her feet. “Pleased to meet you, Enael-Nehleaz.” She dropped into a curtsy that reminded me of Chana’s younger self.

  We burst into laughter.

  With all the turmoil in Heaven and on Earth, this felt right. I was finally learning to trust—myself and the right beings.

  Although Zaponsla’s declaration frightened me because I wasn’t sure if I was up to the challenge, it also excited me. Someone—other than the patient, steadfast, inert Source—believed in me.

  Maybe I should too.

  Across the room, Bernadette giggled in her sleep, and Chana kicked again, sharing in our joy.

  But our happiness would quickly turn to determination as the situation in Germany deteriorated.

  CHAPTER 25

  Adolf’s oppression became worse. He listened to his advisers and decreed more and more restrictions on the Jews. Demons became bold, harassing the Guardians of regular German citizens or marching behind some of the more depraved Nazis like they were Guardians themselves.

  Shortly after we arrived, Bernadette’s husband was dragged off to a concentration camp, accused of being a political dissident. He’d done nothing but be in the wrong place at the wrong time, spotted near a gathering of Jewish protesters who, too, met their fate soon after. Now Chana was fatherless.

  But we’d planned for that. Or so I reminded myself.

  Fearlings scurried underfoot. I’d never actually stepped on one before, but the occurrence became more and more frequent. Zaponsla and I took up a kill count, and soon, we were into the thousands.

  One morning, Bernadette was on her way to the marketplace, two-year-old Chana strapped to her back. Zaponsla and I flanked her, walking closer than I’d ever followed my Wards before. I felt more comfortable that way.

  Something inky ran along beside us.

  “That Fearling is back.” I didn’t look at it, but I knew it was the one that had been following us for weeks. We’d tried and failed to kill it on several occasions. I was certain it was something more than a Fearling—a Morph or a demon disguising itself as a Fearling. What I didn’t know was what it wanted.

  Zaponsla created and threw a knife in one lightning movement, but the Fearling danced away and chittered. Its eight black eyes—I’d seen it enough that I’d counted them more than once—were glossy in the dull light. A permanent mist lay over the city, the light refusing to penetrate to the sorrows below.

  Bernadette moved faster as the Fearling skittered sideways next to her. Toddler Chana caught my eye and despite my soothing coos, she burst into tears. A couple of previous Wards had been able to see me as young children, but the ability always faded by age four. I was curious to see if and when our Dominion would lose her sight into the spiritual realm.

  “What is that thing?” said Zaponsla. “I’ve had about enough of it.”

  She leapt after it and chased it into the alleyway, emerging a moment later empty-handed and shrugging. She flew to catch up.

  “It’s got to be a demon. But which one?” Kaspen wouldn’t be following me. He had better things to do. Was it a random demon whose attention our family had attracted? Perhaps it saw our humans as easy marks.

  The Jewish marketplace was busy but the chatter was subdued. Whereas before, hawkers would cry their wares loudly, the shopkeepers only addressed the patrons that stepped close and inspected their displays. Police, some followed by terrified-looking Guardians, some followed by demons, strode through the crowd. They all wore swastikas from which puffs of smoke emerged. Each one eyed our Ward up and down, lecherous gazes causing her to wrap her jacket tighter around herself, despite the warm weather.

  “I hate it when we have to go out in public,” I murmured.

  “There it is again.” Zaponsla inclined her head toward a building.

  The Fearling was sitting on the red brick and rubbing two of its legs together. I threw a knife, but the thing barely moved to dodge it. The knife lodged into the wall and disappeared. The Fearling pressed its legs together underneath its mess of eyes, and the gesture looked like a wide grin.

  I wasn’t sure if Chana could see all the beings surrounding her or only us, her protectors, so I was glad she was facing away from the creature. It made me feel cold inside—and I wasn’t a young human child.

  “Stay here.” I leapt into the air. Heads of Guardians and demons below turned toward me, but Zaponsla kept watch on the surroundings.

  For the first time, the Fearling didn’t hurry away. As I flew toward it, its limbs stretched, its body contorted, and it grew in size. Soon it was as large as an adult human, and its inky limbs faded into a more human skin color. Finally, it resolved itself into a familiar demonic shape, though its legs and arms jutted at impossible angles.

  “Hello, Osubatz.” I hovered next to where he was lounging sideways on the brick wall.

  “Hello to you, my delicious Nephil. You are looking mighty”—he licked his lips—”tasty today.”

  I didn’t want to know what that meant. “Stop following us. Go harass someone else.”

  “But you are so genuinely interesting.” He stretched an arm and snapped it into a more natural position with a horrifying crack. “The love you carry for these humans is…” he sniffed the air, “… pungent.”

  Every word that came from his mouth was more and more abhorrent. I called a trident to hand. “Do you want to leave or do you want me to make you leave?”

  “The baby can see you, you know.” He gaz
ed off toward the horizon as though we were having a friendly chat. “Even Older One can see you sometimes. Barely a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but I taste it when she sees you. I think it’s the love.”

  I was flabbergasted that he knew so much about us. Brandishing a weapon seemed to have no effect. Threatening him seemed to have no effect. What is this thing’s problem?

  “I don’t know much about love,” he said. “It tastes so much sweeter than all this black stuff floating in the air. Sickeningly sweet, perhaps. And much more difficult to find, distill, use. It’s why we only feed on the bad human emotions.”

  “You used to be a Fearling.”

  “Yes.”

  He cocked his head in a birdlike gesture that made more sense now that I knew his origin. Rarely does a Fearling consume enough of the Source to become a Fearmorph. Even more rarely does a Fearmorph feed sufficiently to become a full-fledged demon—but they’re far from a true former angel. They’re mere wisps of discarded emotion, cobbled together in an unfortunate accident, sentient but utterly lacking in important ways.

  That would explain why Osubatz was so interested in love. And I, with my newfound family, would be a fascinating study for him.

  It was unfortunate I’d caught his eye. Unfortunate for me—and for the humans I needed to keep safe. I wouldn’t be able to kill him because he was no longer merely a Fearling. Even if I was able to stab him through the heart, he would bleed gobs of black blood, limp off into Hell, and find something to imbibe and heal himself. He would live on and on, until a creature saw fit to love him and kill him to put him out of his misery.

  Like that would ever happen.

  “Stay away from them.”

  “I remember the taste of Older One.” He was referring to when Harbinger, as Miriam, was a ghost, when those loyal to Yasva fed on her. “I miss her agony. It was Heavenly.” His laugh was horrible. “Perhaps her love would be even tastier. Might I have some?”

  “Absolutely not. You’re repugnant,” I said. “One of the aspects of love is a fierce protectiveness. So you listen to me carefully. You stay away from my humans. They do not belong to you. Do you understand?”

  His eyes widened and a manic grin crossed his face.

  That was not the reaction I intended.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “I understand. Oh, yes, I understand indeed.”

  His body shrank and turned inky. His limbs jutted and twisted, and his eyes multiplied. Soon, he resembled a Fearling again. He shrieked out a laugh, leapt up, and scurried up the building in an insect-like scuttle of limbs.

  Bernadette had woven through the crowd to a fruit stand, where she was haggling with the shop owner over a shriveled, overripe apple.

  “What was that about?” asked Zaponsla.

  “That demon used to be a Fearling. It’s taken an interest in us. And I think I’ve made it worse. I told it to stay away, and it seemed to take that as a challenge. It’s run off to whatever corner of Hell it keeps its lair, I’m sure.”

  “Disgusting.”

  I nodded.

  Disgusting, indeed.

  CHAPTER 26

  Chana was five years old when the Nazis began systematically murdering Jews in 1941.

  I didn’t have to return to Heaven to know how stunned every member of the angelic ranks was. I could only imagine how overrun the Afterlife Ward was, how desperately the Engineers were working to try to bring Incarnation Plans under control. The Seraphim would be peering into the clouds of the Orb of Seeing, trying to get a glimpse at the future—in which the window had shrank to two months. And the Nephilim would be fighting battles on every front.

  And where was Asorat? Sitting in his fortress, day after day, planning the demise of Earth so that he could rule Heaven.

  Zaponsla and I shielded our Wards as best as we could. We found them hiding places when the soldiers marched through the cities, and we cajoled the remaining Guardians to convince their German neighbors to keep them secret. We made bargains to get them food, though they were both far too thin.

  Their Incarnation Plans were veering far afield, and neither of us knew how long we could keep them from becoming casualties instead of the influencers they were meant to be.

  Chana’s dark eyes and hair were a problem. She would never pass for Aryan, which meant we couldn’t hide her in plain sight. The cadre of Engineers had thought her distinctive features an excellent choice when we were in the bright, white Foresight Room, planning for this life. They agreed that she needed to look like one of her people in order to lead them. We never realized the liability it would become.

  One afternoon when Chana was seven, she and Bernadette were eating a meager meal of dry bread and water. Three Engineers and four Nephilim guards swooped in from the north. Our humans took no notice of the arrivals. Chana’s tears from her hunger soaked the bread, and her mother was giving her helpless looks.

  “Good day, Enael, Zaponsla,” said one of the Engineers. “How fare your Wards?”

  None of them were looking at our humans. I decided to dispense with the pleasantries. “Not well, as you can imagine. Please, why have you come?” Engineers had never visited me during all the time I’d been a Guardian—I couldn’t think of a time I’d even seen one on Earth.

  “We’ve been calculating the chances of Chana fulfilling her Incarnation Plan. Miraculously, her mind seems to be intact, so if she stays alive, she should be able to pull us through this.”

  That wasn’t miraculous. It was a direct result of Zaponsla’s and my efforts. I spent most of every night resettling strands in her mind that had been misplaced due to the terrible things she’d seen—friends dragged off in cattle cars, a friend murdered in front of her—and singing the few songs I knew. Desperate to save our crumbling world, I’d long since given up my vanity around my lack of musical acumen. Zaponsla was good at chasing away the Fearlings and demons, and I was good at keeping Chana open and loving, though what good it would do if we couldn’t keep her out of a death camp, I didn’t know.

  “We need to get them out of the city,” continued the Engineer. “We’ve orchestrated some events. One of the neighbors you’ve convinced to help hide them has an out-of-town cousin coming to visit in one week. There’s a brief window of time when you can get them through the streets at night and to where she’s staying across town. Once you get them there, they’ll be safe and we’ll have further instructions.”

  Relief flooded me.

  “Can you tell us anything else?” Zaponsla’s relief coursed through our bond, though her narrowed eyes gave her an annoyed look. She was much better at hiding her emotions on the outside, but we were both worried. Knowing she felt things as strongly as I made me feel less alone.

  “We don’t want to clutter you with worries of the future.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “We’ll ensure things go smoothly.”

  The Engineers inclined their heads. “We’ll send our Nephilim once we have all the details for you.”

  Without even giving the angelic greeting, the group leapt into the air.

  A few days into our week-long wait, I noticed the entire room held an uncomfortable twisted sensation—more potent but invisible, unlike than the cloudy haze that had settled over the city years ago. I was pacing in the middle of the night when Zaponsla pointed out my consternation. “Why so worried?”

  “You don’t feel it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Something’s not right. Not right at all.”

  “Of course not, but we’re going to get them out soon.”

  “It’s not that. It’s like… like two people yanking on a tapestry.” I hoped I was explaining it clearly. “Like the threads are on their breaking point. Only the tapestry is the air, and I’m being pulled in two different directions.”

  Zaponsla looked around the room. “No, I don’t feel that.”

  “Maybe it’s because Harbinger and Chana are so far off any Incarnation Plan branches that I can feel the threads of fate wor
n thin.”

  “I suppose,” she said slowly. “Are you sure you’re just not—”

  “Of course I’m sure!” The last thing I need is for Zaponsla to think I’m losing my mind again.

  She shut her mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I understand. We’re both under pressure. We’ll make it through this.”

  Her kindness made me feel more awful, but I stopped wondering aloud about the strange sensation. It would do us no good, anyway.

  Two nights before the one week deadline, a Nephilim pair visited. “The cousin is en route via train from Switzerland. All you have to do is get your humans to 145 Gegenshein Strasse. Their neighbor will tell Bernadette about it tomorrow, and you must convince her to go.”

  I prepared Bernadette for the conversation by arranging the threads of her mind during the night. In the morning, the conversation went smoothly—perhaps too smoothly, I feared.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Harbinger-Bernadette’s blonde-haired, blue-eyed neighbor as they hugged for the last time. “I wish I could do more.”

  “This is enough,” said Bernadette, grateful anyway.

  Chana had grown into a wide-eyed, tight-lipped little girl, and exact mirror of who she was in Heaven. She’d learned early on to stay silent no matter how frightened she became. Though we’d had no time for her to live a full life before being incarnated as a Cornerstone, she’d been the right selection for this assignment. Perhaps that was a bit of my own pride, but her stoicism spoke of her spiritual maturity.

  After dark, the two packed their belongings—a few dresses and a stuffed rabbit. Bernadette knelt down and held up a necklace, a delicate Star of David. “This is for protection.” She fastened it around Chana’s neck and then tucked it inside her shirt, inspecting to ensure not even the silver chain showed.

  Chana hugged her, holding back tears, and they headed out into the night.

  Curfew had long since passed. The street lamps were dim, and they were able to dart between the alleyways. Zaponsla and I were vigilant.