The Wrong Enemy

by Jane Lebak

  None of the neighbors had let him guard theirs, of course. They used the excuse that Tabris was still tethered, but the tether had almost doubled by now. So at least everyone hadn’t lost their minds.

  Different souls needed different sorts of care, and Tabris remembered that now as he had to switch between different people. Until now he’d let Rachmiel provide the nurturing attention Elizabeth required and which Rachmiel gave instinctively: he’d been made for her, after all, the two paired in the mind of God since before creation.

  But now Tabris wondered if he should change his methods for her. He couldn’t treat her like Sebastian, but then again, he wasn’t truly aware of what he’d given to Sebastian that another angel would have found awkward or perplexing. He and Sebastian had interlocked like two gears in a machine, but he’d never analyzed how.

  Mimicking Rachmiel’s style would be ineffective at best, laughable at worst. But God had known that. With a billion Earthly households to choose from, surely God had accounted for Tabris’s style to be complementary to the style of the primary guardian. Otherwise God would have found a soul similar enough to Sebastian’s, with a primary guardian similar enough to Tabris, that the differences wouldn’t register. So maybe Tabris had something to offer Elizabeth after all.

  While Andrew worked, Tabris glanced out the window, noting how the sun glared off the snow. So bright. Clean light with no impurities. He felt a momentary jealousy.

  The demon, whatever he was calling himself today, popped into the room, grinning and rubbing his palms together.

  Tabris steeled himself. “You look pleased.”

  “Absolutely I’m pleased!” The demon chuckled. “You’re getting sacked!”

  Tabris made himself glow. “I was there when the Vandals sacked Rome—quite a day.”

  “Fired.” The demon stepped closer. “Fired in the fieriest way possible. As soon as you got down here in the dungeons, Mithra and Rachmiel switched places, and Rachmiel went straight to Raguel with a formal complaint. You desert Elizabeth far too easily! And Raguel admitted you wouldn’t be fit to guard the quarters inside a parking meter, but hey, God’s orders are orders even when they’re monumentally stupid. And they don’t want to hurt your feelings, poor thing, poor little Tabris.”

  Tabris called to mind the image of Rachmiel standing between him and Elizabeth with his sword on fire. Sparing his feelings hadn’t always been the order of the day. Probably lies.

  “Do you even listen to yourself?” Tabris said. “I’m still tethered to about three and a half miles. How can I desert her?”

  The demon dismissed him with a hand-wave. “So instead they’re getting their documentation together. When they’ve got enough, they’re going to head to God and say look, nice try, but it’s over. They think they can do it this week.” The demon’s wings curved around himself, and he beamed. “And then you’re mine! You won’t have anything to stay for, so you can come with me!”

  Tabris turned his back and made sure Andrew remained uncompromised. He was fine: working on a list of numbers rather than looking at his own anger toward his wife and mother.

  The demon said, “Don’t bother telling yourself Rachmiel isn’t that deceitful. You’re not special. You’re not the only one who can fake friendship when you’re really filled with fury.”

  Faking friendship. Interesting concept: he’d never decided if Rachmiel was his friend, or was just being friendly because God expected it. Familiarity would have been more comfortable than friendship. He’d expect less from a co-worker than a friend.

  The demon said, “You should ask Rachmiel when he gets back. He can’t lie yet. Not the way you can.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You believe me, don’t you?” The demon chuckled. “You know the score.”

  Tabris whirled. “Get out! Go!”

  The demon folded his arms. “I’ll be quiet. I’ll just stay in the corner until Rachmiel returns with Raguel, and when you get removed, you can curse God and come home with me.”

  Tabris’s eyes stung as he watched Andrew pouring all his frustration into paperwork behind a locked door in a wood-paneled basement office.

  The demon said, “If you haven’t prayed in months, how can God still love you?”

  Tabris went cold.

  “He’s got standards, and you’re failing them. All of them. Ask yourself, jailbird, how long it’s going to drag on until he says ‘Poorly done, wretched servant’?”

  Tabris forced himself to look bored, but he could feel his feathers standing out.

  “Come with me now.” The demon’s voice turned pleading. “If you jump ship before He forces you to walk the plank, at least you’ll keep your dignity.”

  Tabris summoned his sword to his hands.

  “You really do belong with me, see? True angels aren’t this short-tempered.”

  Tabris drove him off then, a combination of will-power and spiritual steel, then Guarded the room and stood with his arms crossed and eyes closed. He didn’t dissolve the sword, but he did sheathe it.

  A knock at the door: Connie. Tabris brought down the Guard so Hadriel could enter, but Andrew called through the door that he was too busy to talk.

  Hadriel spoke through the door as though there were none. “Can you get Andrew to let her inside? She’s very upset.”

  “I can tell.” Tabris made his face a mask. “I’ll try, but I won’t have the same influence Mithra has. Can you go find him?”

  “I’ll mound a universe-wide search.” Hadriel chuckled. “Or maybe I’ll just call up the stairs. He’s with Elizabeth.”

  Fear shot through Tabris like a lance. “With Rachmiel?”

  His voice broke, but attending to Connie’s troubled heart, Hadriel didn’t notice. “Rachmiel went somewhere else, so Mithra’s with Elizabeth and you’re with Andrew.” Hadriel shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed odd to me too.”

  Tabris glared at Andrew, and about to flash upstairs to Elizabeth’s side, he wondered if that would mean he was deserting the person in his care. But they needed to switch places: surely someone had to go first? Tabris stuck his head through the door into the hallway. “Go get Mithra. Call back Rachmiel. And you know what?” His voice trembled again. “You’re exhausted. I’ll stay with Connie, and you get rested up.”

  Relief came to Hadriel’s eyes. “Really?”

  “Of course.” Enough of this guardian-angel pachinko. “You’re hemorrhaging energy into her, and you can’t keep doing that. You’ll help her better if you recover your strength.”

  A minute later, Tabris was following Connie back up the stairs to the sink, where she let her pent-up tears mingle with the steam from the dishwater. I’m your battery right now, Connie. Take my spiritual energy. It’s yours. I’m sorry it’s tainted.

  Tabris plugged into her and let her draw strength from him, and in moments he felt her wear the sharp edges off his awareness. Good. Pull all his energy inside. Make everything go away.

  Before the dishes were done, Tabris felt Josai’el appear at his back. “Tabris? Connie is—What’s wrong?”

  He pivoted to face her, and it was hard to concentrate. “Connie’s distressed, and I gave Hadriel some time to recover. What about Connie?”

  “Bridget’s upset because she thinks Connie will break all the dishes if she keeps clattering them around. You’re not all right.”

  Tabris managed a perfectly-executed smile. “Connie pulls the energy out of you. You told me Bridget used to do the same thing. Well, you’ve got an extra angel around here, so why should Hadriel collapse with exhaustion when I can help?”

  Josai’el hesitated. “Do you want me to get Rachmiel?”

  “I’m fine!” Tabris tightened his arms and glared at the no-wax floor while Connie stared out the window. “Hadriel does this every day. Surely I can manage a few hours.”

  Josai’el paused a long time, as if decoding the things Tabris wasn’t saying, and Tabris buckled down hard on his heart. Connie could rub off the rough edges
, but she couldn’t numb the betrayed feeling. Mithra helping Rachmiel cull him away from Elizabeth. Rachmiel ratting him out to Raguel. And everyone going along with it. He might as well let Connie have his energy. It wasn’t as if he’d be doing anything useful with it if Rachmiel succeeded.

  Josai’el touched his arm. “Don’t push too hard,” was all she said before returning to Bridget.

  Tabris stood, hands on Connie’s shoulders, wondering whether Mithra would get Andrew to come upstairs and help Connie, or whether Mithra would fail and leave Tabris alone. As time passed and the dishes returned to their cabinets, it became apparent that Andrew would not leave the retreat of his basement office any time before dinner.

  Connie sapped the remaining energy from Tabris, leaving little for dwelling on betrayal. By dinner time, he found himself listless behind her chair, wondering how he’d gotten there. Staring at the top of her head, he managed until bedtime without speaking to either Rachmiel or Mithra.

  Hadriel returned, recovered, and then Miriael pulled Tabris aside. “Go spend time at the pond. You need it.”

  Enervated, Tabris went. You desert Elizabeth far too easily. He might as well go. They could talk in the open without him home.

  Except that when he arrived at the pond, he found Rachmiel there ahead of him.

  “What are you doing here?” Tabris went cold. “Who’s with Elizabeth?”

  “Miriael’s watching her. You’re the one I’m worried about.”

  Tabris wrapped up his heart with his will, a tourniquet around a gushing limb.

  Rachmiel approached, but Tabris flared his wings and set his jaw.

  Rachmiel stopped in his tracks. “Why are you so upset?”

  “Could you leave me alone?” Tabris’s voice was pitched too high, but he couldn’t get it back where it should be. “It’s not a crime to want some quiet.”

  Rachmiel’s heart radiated hurt, and Tabris felt the emotion like fire. “I’ll be quiet. I wanted to pray with you.”

  “You can pray for me from Elizabeth’s room.” His heart hammered. “Unless you think I’m deserting her. Does it really take two of us to keep her from kicking off the extra blanket?”

  Rachmiel’s eyes had gone purple, and his wings faded. Unflinching, Tabris folded his arms.

  Rachmiel flashed back home.

  Tabris faced the pond, a sheet of glass disturbed by the occasional ripple, struggling not to feel the pain in a distant house with a two-car garage and an office in the basement. He couldn’t get Rachmiel’s last look out of his mind, but then he thought about his partner lying to him and wondered how anyone could pretend to be hurt after all that. But he wasn’t pretending. And yet he’d lied to Tabris. Who hadn’t prayed in five months.

  How long would God let that go on?

  Keeping himself fully shielded, Tabris whispered, “God?”

  They couldn’t be doing this to him—God couldn’t be allowing it to happen this way, could He? How was it fair to tell Tabris it was fine to leave Elizabeth and then punish him for leaving Elizabeth? Even human unemployment boards understood the concept of constructive dismissal.

  He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on folded arms. His wings came up around himself like a cocoon as he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. God, I can’t keep doing this. I need something from you. I need you to show me what to do.

  Only a wicked generation would ask for a sign, but that part had already been established, so he might as well. He needed more than just stubbornness to keep going, but opening up and trying to pray—what if God refused? Refused now, when he was already at the end of what he could do? He couldn’t chance it. One open moment risked everything. But he needed a sign. Something to give hope.

  God would want him to uncoil himself. It felt safer for now to keep tight, to make himself small, to try to disappear.

  Rachmiel blazed back into the house like a comet, trailing a tail of confusion and rejection. He flung himself at Voriah, who wrapped around him and let him cry, releasing all his emotions without channeling them at all.

  “Rock!” Voriah pulled him close. “What happened?”

  He couldn’t gather himself enough to talk. Tabris. Anger. Refusal. Anger. So much anger, and all focused on him.

  The other household angels packed into the room, and they absorbed the emotions from Rachmiel even as they returned to him their own peace, their calm—their strength. He felt them praying for him, around him. After a while he was able to focus on the image of God in them, then from there the image of God stamped in himself, and then finally to look into God’s heart directly. The tension melted, and the uncertainty firmed into strength. Rachmiel thanked God, and then he raised his head.

  After all that spiritual contact, the other angels had learned everything that happened by the pond. The others wore an assortment of their own feelings: questions, irritation, and from Katra’il outright anger. She tried to flash out of the room—and didn’t get anywhere.

  Mithra was looking right at her. “You’re going to attack him?”

  “Someone needs to talk sense to Tabris!” She kept trying to flash away. “Let me go!”

  Whatever Mithra was doing kept Katra’il pinned to the room, but Rachmiel had no idea what.

  Josai’el shook her head, looking Katra’il in the eyes. “Don’t go. Anger isn’t the answer.”

  Katra’il folded her arms. “Fine, then call Raguel to us. Get Tabris transferred.”

  Rachmiel sent a negation. “I’m all right. Please don’t.”

  Katra’il’s eyes and hair glared with white light. “He’s got to be part of the team. He can’t just treat you like a nuisance.”

  “We’re not a ready-made structure that each of us had to fit.” Rachmiel rubbed his forehead. “The team changed for each of us as we arrived.” He looked up, a little dizzy. “We’re still adjusting to each other.”

  “He’d better do some adjusting for us, too.” She huffed. “You’re acting like a puppy that wants to please its master the more it gets beaten. Just because your name means Compassion doesn’t mean you have to get walked on by everyone who wants to use you as his personal doormat!” She turned to Josai’el. “Why aren’t you doing something?”

  Josai’el said, “They’re divine orders.”

  Katra’il said, “It’s a divine order that he has to be here. It’s not a divine order that we have to let him destroy our family.”

  Rachmiel had recoiled into Voriah’s wings. Voriah said, “Calm down, Kat. You’re not being fair.”

  “Fair to Tabris?” She opened her hands. “Tabris arrived five months ago and has done nothing but sulk, and if he doesn’t change things in the next eighty years he’s going to sulk his way through three households and any friendships he manages to pick up. He’s nothing but dead weight, and he can’t be trusted.”

  Josai’el whistled sharply. Miriael and Mithra were frowning.

  Katra’il folded her arms. “See if I’m wrong. He’ll move on Elizabeth soon, and then where will you be?”

  She vanished. Rachmiel was shaking.

  Josai’el turned to Hadriel. “Do go calm her.” Hadriel left. Josai’el scanned the others before continuing, her long hair framing her face. “Do the rest of you feel the same?”

  Mithra, Miriael and Voriah projected that they had their feelings under control.

  Josai’el crouched before Rachmiel. “Do you want him removed?”

  “No! I just want—” and as the emotions surged again, he leaned against Voriah. The touch calmed him. “I want to know why he was angry. I wanted to help.”

  Mithra said, “Do you think it had to do with empowering Connie?”

  Rachmiel said, “Why would he be angry about that?”

  Voriah touched Rachmiel’s wings again and projected that with Tabris keeping everything to himself, all intuition was pure speculation.

  Miriael said, “Then I’ll go to him and ask.”

  “He told me he wanted to be alone.”r />
  Miriael’s eyes narrowed. “He said he wanted to be alone. We have no idea what he actually wants.” He turned to Josai’el. “Maybe Katra’il wasn’t that far off in wanting to start a fight. I’ll offer to spar with him. Afterward I’ll ask him what in blazes he thought he was doing.”

  Mithra folded his arms. “I don’t know if that’s right either. When Andrew’s sulking, it gives him a lot of power when they knock on the door and beg him to come out.”

  Voriah said, “Do you think Andrew’s silent treatment is contagious?”

  “Well, he was fine until I left them together.” Mithra sighed. “Maybe it is.”

  Miriael said, “And that’s about the time he started dampening conversation and just getting...darker. I don’t think that’s depression or a power play. I think something’s really wrong. I’ll get it out of him.”

  Josai’el folded her arms. “I think Mithra has a point. Tabris knows how to ask for what he wants or what he needs. We’ve been forthcoming about providing anything necessary. He told Rachmiel he wanted to be alone, and I’m going to say we need to honor that.”

  Miriael blew off a cloud of irritation, but stared at the floor, and Rachmiel knew he’d abide by Josai’el’s decision.

  Josai’el said, “He’s also perfectly capable of apologizing for himself, so I’m going to suggest the rest of us stay out of it.” She looked abruptly worried. “Rachmiel, can you handle that?”

  Could he handle that? Interesting question. “I’ll manage.” Rachmiel’s mouth trembled. “Even though I kind-of want to Guard the room against him.”

  They all fell silent, and then Mithra said, “You’re at the end of your rope, aren’t you?”

  Rachmiel closed his eyes tight.

  Voriah gripped his shoulder. “No, I didn’t think you could go on this way.”

  Josai’el said, “Would you like some advice?”

  Rachmiel took a deep breath. “Always.”

  She crouched in front of him and put her hand on his. “You’ve been very accommodating to Tabris, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have input into how you’re treated. In the long run it benefits Elizabeth if you work as a team, and that means mutual respect.”