The Wrong Enemy

by Jane Lebak

  When Tabris still hadn’t moved after a few minutes, Rachmiel’s heart ached. About to speak, his resolve broke, and he flashed over to the limp angel, wrapping his arms around him and projecting reassurance.

  And from Tabris, a raw burning: the image of Sebastian hurting. Alone. Crying.

  “He’s a liar,” Rachmiel whispered. “It’s just a lie.”

  Miriael and Mithra returned, their hands and clothes stained with residue from both the demon and Rachmiel’s emotional outburst. Miriael said, “Are you two okay?”

  Smoothing the brown feathers, Rachmiel projected affirmative.

  Mithra flashed outside, but Rachmiel thought he’d detected surprise about to pulse off him. Miriael checked on Elizabeth and then sat across the room.

  “Thank you for getting rid of him.”

  Miriael huffed. “He’s going to return. Pain never daunts those things.”

  Rachmiel kept preening Tabris. “But thank you. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No, but you nearly did!” Miriael laughed. “You exploded. Are you all right now?”

  Rachmiel projected he was fine, realizing as he did so that he had pulled himself together for Tabris.

  Tabris sat away from him. “He hurt you? I didn’t realize that!”

  Rachmiel demurred. “It was shock.” And he reached for Tabris again.

  Tabris withdrew, leaving Rachmiel unsteady. “You don’t have to. I’m okay.”

  Rachmiel projected his emotions before he realized—a mixture of need, care, asking, and self-consciousness. He swallowed. “I just want you to feel better.”

  Tabris’s eyes tightened. “I feel fine now. But you look rattled. Why don’t you get a break?”

  Rachmiel had just flooded over with emotion twice, and his control was shaken. He looked at Tabris’s eyes to find him frigid.

  He said, “You can leave Elizabeth with me.”

  Rachmiel shrank back from eyes fierce as ice picks.

  Miriael touched Tabris’s arm. “Hey, back off.”

  It would be the first time Rachmiel had left Elizabeth alone with Tabris. He looked over at her, watching the television.

  Tabris said, “You’re going to distress her if you stay. She picks up your feelings. You know that.”

  He might have been a demon himself, and Rachmiel couldn’t get his balance: everything Tabris said was correct, but maybe his conclusions were faulty. Maybe he should leave. Maybe it would be better if he stayed. Confusion swirled around him like a dust cloud, and he grabbed for God’s presence with his heart.

  Tabris said, “What’s the big deal? I can handle her.”

  Rachmiel waited until God prompted him that it was okay to leave. And then he flashed away.

  Tabris dropped back onto the couch, glowering.

  Miriael folded his arms. “You don’t play fair.”

  “I wasn’t aware this was a game.”

  Miriael shook his head. “Then don’t play Rachmiel like it is.”

  Tabris watched Elizabeth. “He’s trying too hard. I think he’d breathe for me if he could.”

  “He’s got a vested interest in you.” Miriael chuckled. “See that child? That’s his pearl of great price. He’d give up everything for her.”

  Tabris murmured, “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

  A mindless series of colors paraded across the television, serving only to dispel spiritual peace. Tabris pulled his wings closer to his body, still straightened and glossy from Rachmiel’s touch. “Do you hate me?”

  “No.”

  Tabris flashed to the floor beside Elizabeth.

  “Let me ask you, then,” Miriael said. “Do you hate Rachmiel?”

  “How could I?” Tabris followed the rug’s pattern with his eyes, a swirling design where the inside of a curve suddenly became the outside if you traveled far enough. “He’s a child of God in every sense you can imagine.” He didn’t need to look at Miriael to feel the projected challenge. “I can ask if you hate me because I’m not. I’m capable of being hated.”

  Miriael huffed. “God loves you too.”

  “Not like you. Not like Rachmiel.”

  “Would you want Him to? He loves us all differently.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Tabris could feel Miriael studying him, but he kept tracing the pattern on the carpet with his eyes. Inside of the loop, curl, pivot, turn, and suddenly you’re on the outside.

  He projected a question, pushing it toward Miriael with force, a combined dare and concept all in one unvoiced nugget: Trust?

  Miriael bowed and vanished.

  Tabris scanned the living room, empty now except for Elizabeth and the flatscreen god of electrodes and plastic. Mithra was with Andrew, shoveling. Katra’il and Miriael were with Martin and Kyle, helping. Alan played outside with Voriah. Josai’el and Hadriel were in the kitchen with Connie and Bridget. And Rachmiel, of course, was gone.

  He towered over Elizabeth, spreading his bi-color wings in a wide arc. She giggled at a funny commercial, and he knelt behind her, then put his hands around her neck.

  And waited.

  No one came.

  Tabris closed his eyes. God, he thought, “they do trust me.

  He flashed back to the couch, frowning. He’d expected the entire household would have been there, pulling him off her, screaming for Rachmiel.

  His hands tightened on the arm of the sofa. His sword appeared at his side.

  Elizabeth laughed again, the giggle of a soul untouched by serious sin, and Tabris looked into her heart where the light of God gleamed unrefracted. God and His creation, and His delight in her.

  A good guardian would be vigilant. What else would a good guardian do? Well, a good guardian would stand watch, always examine the charge’s soul for the first signs of demonic penetration. A perfect guardian wouldn’t get distracted by the first snowfall. He wouldn’t test the tether every night, rejoicing in every extra inch, because he’d dread to leave her. Her needs had to come first.

  You deserve the best, Elizabeth, he thought. And you’ve got me instead. Me and Rachmiel, but he’s good for you. Me, though—since God put me here, shouldn’t I do for you what I couldn’t do for Sebastian? I can’t promise perfection, but I’ll try to do better.

  He concentrated until his clothing changed into armor, darker and tighter, complete with boots and gloves. Standing, he rested his hand on his sword, glittering in the afternoon sunlight of Chittenden County, Vermont.

  Eight

  After an hour’s meditation, Rachmiel returned at peace. That peace splintered apart when he met Tabris armed for battle.

  “Welcome back.” Tabris even stood at attention. “It’s my impression she’s watching too much television. With your permission, I’d like to encourage her to play outside in the snow.”

  “Ah—sure.” Rachmiel looked at the girl and then back at Tabris. “You don’t need my okay.”

  Rachmiel felt Tabris surrounding Elizabeth’s mind with thoughts of snowballs and snowmen. When she ignored that, Rachmiel put an image of his own into her mind: icicles hanging from the corners of the house. She began staring out the window, and Rachmiel could feel the power of Tabris’s suggestion clinging to her.

  “Was she attacked?” Rachmiel asked.

  Tabris’s eyes widened. “Do you think she was?”

  “No, but—” Confusion churned inside, and he shook his head. “You’re armed. Battle-ready. That demon couldn’t possibly be ready to return by now.”

  “I’ve decided,” Tabris said without moving his gaze off Elizabeth, “that I need to take this guardianship seriously.”

  “I wasn’t under the impression that you didn’t.”

  Elizabeth walked to the window, where Tabris pointed out the berm kicked up by the snowblower on either side of the driveway, and what a great snow fort it would make. Rachmiel still studied Tabris. “Were you given a warning about your probation?”

  “No.” Rachmiel thought Tabris sounded a little panick
ed there. “I made a decision. You don’t need to question it. There’s nothing wrong.”

  For a long instant, Rachmiel teetered on the brink of saying this level of formality had to be wrong, but he couldn’t formulate why, only that it felt off. Elizabeth shut the television and ran to get her coat, Tabris following.

  Once outside, Tabris didn’t relax in the snow the way Rachmiel expected. He shadowed her as she made a snowball and hurled it at Alan, then deflected the snowball Alan hurled back.

  Voriah drifted toward Rachmiel, silently projecting, He’s gotten serious?

  Rachmiel sent a hesitant affirmative, followed by a question: wasn’t this odd?

  “A bit,” murmured Voriah.

  So while Tabris watched Elizabeth, Rachmiel watched them both, surveying Tabris’s technique and looking for any clue as to what Tabris meant by ‘taking it seriously.’ “He’s guarding her physically,” he murmured to Voriah. “I think intellectually, too, but I’m not as sure.”

  Voriah said, “Your forte is the spiritual?”

  Rachmiel nodded. “They’re all important, but if she had to lose a leg or her soul, I’d choose the leg, you know?” A snowball shot toward Alan’s head, and Rachmiel swatted it off course so it grazed his shoulder.

  “Thanks,” said Voriah. “Yeah, I agree with you. But Satan would maul every one of them if he got the chance, and that’s not a fair fight.”

  “I never said it was.” Rachmiel frowned. “But if you think about it, a lot of temptations are mental, not physical. Even lust is largely mental.”

  “Don’t over-analyze,” Voriah said. “He’s been like this for what, an hour? Anything he does is extra help anyhow. You managed perfectly well for a decade.”

  Rachmiel felt Katra’il catch his attention, and when he glanced at her, he felt her question: Should Tabris be doing that?

  Instead of looking at Tabris, Rachmiel looked at Elizabeth. Two sprays on her coat showed where she’d been hit by snowballs, but she was unharmed. He winced as Martin hurled a snowball at her and it exploded into powder, and then realized Tabris had broken the snowball apart only a micrometer away from her. She’d felt the blow because the air and snow were moving, but no pain.

  “Tabris,” Rachmiel called across the yard, “you can’t do that.”

  “Of course I can.” He didn’t look away from Elizabeth. “I just did.”

  Rachmiel flashed near to him. “If you do that, she’s not going to learn to dodge them, only that snowballs don’t hurt.”

  “Why should they have to hurt?” Tabris frowned. “I can keep them from hitting her.”

  “Because actions have consequences, and she should be protecting herself. It’s a healthy fear. The one time Martin throws an ice ball at her head and we miss, she can save her own life.”

  Rachmiel punctuated this by changing the flight path of a snowball so it only glanced by her shoulder, and Tabris broke it apart.

  “Working together, we won’t miss,” Tabris said. “We can keep her perfectly sheltered.”

  Frustration frothed inside, and the next minute Rachmiel realized Voriah had flashed over to them.

  “The object of the assignment,” said Rachmiel, struggling to keep from raising his voice, “is not to shield her from every opportunity of pain, but to shape her into a child of God. Pain isn’t pleasant, but that’s part of how God deepens their ability to love Him. That’s how He changes them.”

  Tabris swung around to face Rachmiel. “What would you know about pain?”

  Rachmiel recoiled.

  Tabris flashed to the nearest tree and watched Elizabeth from there, and Voriah pulled Rachmiel back toward the house.

  From Martin’s side, Katra’il sent Rachmiel an apology.

  Rachmiel stood smoldering, his eyes on Elizabeth alone, counting the snowballs and avoiding any look toward Tabris. God, please send a message. I want Raguel to visit tonight. We need an arbiter.

  As soon as Elizabeth fell asleep, Raguel summoned Tabris and Rachmiel onto the driveway (spattered with snowball detritus) and then, on second thought, invited Josai’el to join them.

  “I’ve reviewed the incident,” Raguel said when all three had gathered, “and first, I’m glad you’re negotiating this now rather than waiting until you have more serious problems.” Although Rachmiel was looking him straight in the eye, Tabris seemed unimpressed. Arms folded, he leaned back on one leg and watched the pavement in silence. Not a good sign. “I also don’t think either of you is entirely wrong, and I know you both want what’s best for Elizabeth.”

  Rachmiel glanced at Tabris, then tightened up.

  “Rachmiel,” said Raguel, and Rachmiel turned to him, “Tabris has a few more years experience than you, and his previous charge was a boy. The average boy does require more physical protection than the average girl, and no doubt he’s acting on his own experiences. He’s still settling into his new role, so I would ask you to please be more understanding.”

  Rachmiel deflated. “I will.”

  He hadn’t wanted to do that, but Tabris needed to feel he’d been even-handed. Raguel said to him, “Since Rachmiel has been Elizabeth’s guardian from the start, he’s got the expertise on her specific needs. As her primary guardian, he has the right to make all decisions about her care, and in this case, I also believe he’s correct. You exceeded the scope of your duties. You have to shield her without being overprotective.”

  Tabris acknowledged, blank-faced.

  “They have to be allowed to grow on their own into the creatures God intended, and that means that while we’re minimizing the demons’ intrusions into their lives, we also need to minimize our own.”

  The pair stayed silent. Between them Josai’el projected her understanding.

  Either this was the easiest mediation in history, or else someone was repressing a whole lot of anger. “Do either of you have any questions?”

  Tabris glared at the ground. “Why am I here?”

  And there it was. “You’re the secondary guardian,” said Raguel. “You’re subordinated to Rachmiel but still responsible for the care of Elizabeth’s soul and body. You’ll be following the course of a regular guardianship, and over time your insight into her heart will be equal to Rachmiel’s.”

  “But if I have all the responsibilities of a full guardian then how can you justify—”

  Tabris cut off both the words and the burgeoning sense of anger. As if he’d slammed a door, his soul reverted to emotional silence.

  “Excuse me?” Rachmiel sounded tentative. “I asked you to arbitrate because I shouldn’t rank over Tabris. We’re co-guardians, and our power with respect to her will be equal in a very short time.”

  Raguel looked him in the eyes, projecting surprise.

  Rachmiel trembled. “Since Tabris’s arrival, I’ve tried not to pull rank, and for the next eighty to a hundred years, I intend to do the same. I didn’t want to give him orders. But we were deadlocked, so I needed you to negotiate a consensus.”

  Raguel looked at Josai’el to find her just as surprised as he felt. Raguel projected a question, and Rachmiel returned an affirmation.

  “You have to be committed if that’s what you want,” Raguel said. “You can’t be a team until the first serious disagreement and then override him.”

  Rachmiel hesitated, then said, “I’m committed.”

  Raguel turned to Tabris, expecting to find the mahogany eyes ice-hard and his mouth tight. Instead, Tabris was trembling, and tendrils of confusion kept escaping. His feathers were flared.

  Josai’el reached for him. “Tabris?”

  He sidled out of her reach. “I’m all right.” His voice sounded too thin.

  Raguel said, “Why are you upset that he trusts you?”

  Tabris shook his head. “I was doing my best this afternoon. And you said that wasn’t good enough.” He looked at Rachmiel. “But you want me coequal to you?”

  Raguel said, “Are you willing to commit to that?”

  And for a momen
t, Raguel had the impression that Tabris wasn’t, a sensation of vertigo and freedom he shouldn’t have. But then Tabris avoided their eyes again and the feeling vanished. “I am.”

  Raguel let it go. “The two of you should work out the details of your partnership, since you have a better understanding of how you work together than I do. But for now, it’s inadvisable to keep Elizabeth wrapped in a cocoon. Deflect obvious threats to her well-being, but avoid being overprotective.”

  Rachmiel opened his hands. “He didn’t think he was being overprotective. That’s the problem.”

  Tabris folded his arms. “Well, we need to work out a base level of acceptable risk because the next time a projectile hurtles toward her skull, I don’t want to have to schedule a committee meeting on whether deflecting it constitutes overprotectiveness.”

  Josai’el snickered, and Rachmiel’s jaw dropped. Tabris’s eyes glittered, and Rachmiel, fighting a grin, said, “Of course not! I expect you to carry around the minutes of the last twenty committee meetings and look it up yourself.”

  At that moment, Raguel knew they’d be able to work it out. Laughing, he clapped a hand on Rachmiel’s shoulder. “You’re very brave.”

  Taken aback, Rachmiel said, “It’s not brave. I can’t subordinate him just because he came second.”

  Raguel nodded. “As you wish. Do the two of you think you can work this out on your own now?”

  Rachmiel projected assent. Tabris said, “We will.”

  They sat on the roof afterward, Rachmiel watching the constellations while Tabris focused on the gutters and tried to prevent ice dams.

  Rachmiel glanced at Tabris, wondering why the concept of trust had caused him fear, except that maybe Tabris didn’t trust himself. It made sense, but then it didn’t. If Tabris mistrusted himself, that might mean he wasn’t fully responsible for what happened to Sebastian, and maybe God had forgiven him because Tabris hadn’t done anything not to forgive. But that first angel who fled to them, begging for prayers...Raguel and his early explanations...the angels from other households who had been told not to let the pressure build up... All those pointed to a deliberate action.