by Ee, Susan
“I’m sure it’ll come right out.” I’m babbling like the tipsy girl I’m supposed to be. The area around the booth has gone quiet and everyone watches us.
I hadn’t planned on that. If he was uncomfortable being watched surreptitiously, he probably hates being the center of attention in a stupid scenario like this.
He grabs my wrist and pulls it away from his suit. His grip is firm but not enough to cause pain. There’s no doubt that he could snap my wrist at the slightest whim.
“I’ll just go and deal with this.” Irritation edges his voice. Irritation is okay. That, I can handle. I decide he must be an okay guy, if you can ignore that he’s part of the team that brought fire and brimstone to earth.
He walks smoothly toward the bathroom, ignoring the stares from angel and human alike. I follow him quietly. I consider keeping up the drunken chick act but think better of it unless someone distracts him from going to the bathroom.
No one stops him, not even to say hello. I do a quick check for Raffe but don’t see him anywhere. I hope he isn’t counting on me keeping the albino in there until he feels like making an appearance.
As soon as the albino pushes his way into the bathroom, Raffe appears out of the shadows with a red cone and a fold-out maintenance sign that says “Temporarily out of order.” He drops the cone and sign in front of the bathroom door and slips in after the albino.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Should I stay out here and be a lookout? If I completely trusted Raffe, that’s exactly what I’d do.
I push my way into the men’s bathroom. I pass three guys who are rushing out. One of them is hastily zipping his pants. They’re human and probably won’t be questioning why an angel is kicking them out of the bathroom.
Raffe stands by the door, staring at the albino who stares back through the mirror above the sink. The albino looks cautious and wary.
“Hello, Josiah,” says Raffe.
Josiah’s bloody eyes narrow, staring hard at Raffe.
Then, the eyes widen in shock and recognition.
He spins to face Raffe. Disbelief wars with confusion, joy and alarm. I had no idea a person could feel all those things simultaneously, much less show them on his face.
He marshals his expression back to cool and in control. It looks like it takes some effort.
“Do I know you?” asks Josiah.
“It’s me, Josiah,” says Raffe, taking a step closer to him.
Josiah backs away along the marble counter. “No.” He shakes his head, his red eyes large and full of recognition. “I don’t think I know you.”
Raffe looks puzzled. “What’s going on, Josiah? I know it’s been a long time—.”
“A long time?” Josiah breathes an uncomfortable laugh, still inching back as though Raffe had the plague. “Yeah, you could say that.” He stretches his lips in a strained smile, white on white. “A long time, that’s funny. Yeah.”
Raffe stares at him, his head cocked to one side.
“Look,” says Josiah. “I gotta go. Don’t…don’t follow me out, okay? Please. Please. I can’t afford to be seen with…strangers.” He takes a shaky breath and takes a determined step toward the door.
Raffe stops him with a palm on his chest. “We haven’t been strangers since I pulled you out of the slave quarters to train you as a soldier.”
The albino cringes from Raffe’s touch like he’s been burned. “That was another life, another world.” He takes a shaky breath. He lowers his voice to a barely-audible whisper. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous for you now.”
“Really?” Raffe sounds bored.
Josiah turns and paces back to the counter. “A lot of things have changed. Things have gotten complicated.” Although his voice is losing its edge, I can’t help but notice that Josiah paces as far away from Raffe as he can get.
“So complicated that my own men have forgotten me?”
Josiah goes into a stall and flushes the toilet. “Oh, no one’s forgotten you.” I can barely catch his words over the roaring water so I’m pretty sure no one outside the bathroom can hear anything. “Just the opposite. You’ve become the talk of the aerie.” He walks into another stall and flushes. “There’s practically an anti-Raphael campaign.”
Raphael? Does he mean Raffe?
“Why? Who would bother?”
The albino shrugs. “I’m just a soldier. The machinations of archangels are beyond me. But if I was forced to guess…now that Gabriel has been shot down....”
“There’s a power vacuum. Who’s the Messenger now?”
Josiah flushes another toilet. “Nobody. There’s a standoff. We’d all agree on Michael, but he doesn’t want it. He likes being the general and won’t give up the military. Uriel, on the other hand, wants it so badly he’s practically combing our feathers with his own hands to get the supermajority support he needs.”
“That explains the non-stop party and the women. That’s a dangerous road he’s walking.”
“In the meantime, none of us know what in God’s name is going on or why the hell we’re here. As usual, Gabriel told us nothing. You know how he liked being dramatic. Everything was need-to-know only, and even then you were lucky if you got anything out of him that wasn’t all cryptic.”
Raffe nods. “So what’s keeping Uri from getting the support he needs?”
The albino flushes another toilet. And even with the thunderous sound of the water, he only points to Raffe and mouths the word “You.”
Raffe arches an eyebrow.
“Sure,” says Josiah. “There are those who don’t like the idea of Uriel becoming Messenger because he has too close of a tie to Hell. He keeps telling us that visiting the Pit is part of his job, but who knows what goes on down there? You know what I mean?”
Josiah paces back to the first stall to fill the bathroom with another thunderous flush. “But the bigger problem for Uriel is your men. Blockheaded, stubborn lot, every one of them. They’re so pissed off at your abandonment of them, they’d tear you to pieces themselves, but they’re not going to let an outsider do it. They’re saying all the surviving archangels should be in the running for Messenger, including you. Uriel hasn’t managed to win them over. Yet.”
“Them?”
Josiah closes his blood-red eyes. “You know I’m not in a position to take a stand, Raphael. I never have been. I never will be. I’ll be lucky if I’m not washing dishes by the end. I’m barely hanging on as part of the group as it is.” He spits this out with bubbling frustration.
“What are they saying about me?”
Josiah’s voice turns gentle as if reluctant to be the bearer of such bad news. “That no angel could withstand being alone for this long. That if you haven’t come back to us by now, it can only mean you’re dead. Or that you’ve joined the other side.”
“That I’ve fallen?” Raffe asks. A muscle in his jaw pulses as he grinds his teeth.
“There are rumors that you committed the same sin as the Watchers. That you haven’t come back because you’re not allowed back. That you cleverly escaped humiliation and eternal torture by concocting a story about sparing your Watchers the pain of hunting their own children. That all the Nephilim running around earth is proof that you never even tried.”
“What Nephilim?”
“Are you serious?” Josiah looks at Raffe as though he’s looking at a madman. “They’re everywhere. The humans are terrified to be out at night. Every one of the servants has stories of seeing half eaten bodies or their group being attacked by the Nephilim.”
Raffe blinks, taking a moment to absorb what Josiah said. “Those aren’t Nephilim. They don’t look anything like Nephilim.”
“They sound like Nephilim. They eat like Nephilim. They terrorize like Nephilim. You and the Watchers are the only ones alive who know what they’re supposed to look like. And you’re not exactly credible witnesses.”
“I’ve seen these things and they aren’t Nephilim.”
“Whate
ver they are, I swear it’ll be easier for you to hunt down every last one of them than to convince the masses that they aren’t. Because, what else could they be?”
Raffe steals a glance at me. He looks at the polished floor as he answers. “I have no idea. We’ve been calling them ‘low demons.’”
“We?” Josiah glances at me as I try to become invisible by the door. “You and your Daughter of Man?” His tone is part accusation, part disappointment.
“It’s not like that. Jesus, Josiah. Come on. You know I’d be the last one to go there, not after what happened to my Watchers, not to mention their wives.” Raffe paces the marbled floor in frustration. “Besides, this is the last place to throw that accusation.”
“No one’s crossed the line here as far as I know,” says Josiah. “Some of the guys claim to have, but those are the same guys who say they slew dragons back in the day, with their wings and hands tied up just to make it fair.”
The albino flushes again in the next stall. “You, on the other hand, you’re going to have a tougher time convincing people of—you know.” He glances my way again. “You need to counter the propaganda against you with your own campaign before trying any kind of a comeback. Otherwise, you could face a lynch mob. So I suggest you leave by the nearest exit.”
“I can’t. I need a surgeon.”
Josiah raises his white brows in surprise. “For what?”
Raffe stares at Josiah’s blood-red eyes. He doesn’t want to say it. Come on, Raffe. We don’t have time for delicate psychological moments. I know it’s cold of me, but someone could walk through that door any moment now, and we haven’t even gotten to asking about Paige yet. I’m on the verge of opening my mouth to say something when Raffe talks.
“My wings have been cut.”
Now, it’s Josiah’s turn to stare at Raffe. “Cut how?”
“Cut off.”
The albino’s eyes widen in shock and horror. It’s strange to see such an evil-looking pair of eyes fill with pity. You couldn’t get a more sympathetic response if Raffe had just told him they’d castrated him. Josiah opens his mouth to say something, then closes it as though deciding it’s a stupid thing to say. He glances at Raffe’s jacket with his wings peeking out, then back at his face.
“I need someone who can sew them back on. Someone good enough to make them functional again.”
Josiah turns away from Raffe and leans against a sink. “I can’t help you.” There’s doubt in his voice.
“All you have to do is ask around, make the introduction.”
“Raphael, only the head physician can set up surgery here.”
“Great. That makes your task a simple one.”
“The head physician is Laylah.”
Raffe looks at Josiah as if hoping he didn’t hear correctly. “She’s the only one who can do it?” There is dread in his voice.
“Yeah.”
Raffe runs his hand through his hair, looking like he wants to tear it out. “Are you still…?”
“Yeah,” Josiah says grudgingly, almost embarrassed.
“Can you talk her into it?”
“You know I can’t afford to stick my neck out.” The albino paces, obviously agitated.
“I wouldn’t ask if I had another choice.”
“You do have another choice. They have physicians.”
“That’s not a choice, Josiah. Will you do it?”
Josiah sighs heavily, obviously regretting what he’s about to say. “I’ll see what I can do. Hide out in a room. I’ll find you in a couple of hours.”
Raffe nods. Josiah turns to go. I open my mouth to say something, worried that Raffe’s forgotten my sister.
“Josiah,” says Raffe before I can get my question out. “What do you know about human children being taken?”
Josiah stops on his way past us to the door. His profile is very still. Too still. “What children?”
“I think you know what children. You don’t need to tell me what’s going on. I just want to know where they’re being kept.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” He still hasn’t looked at us. He stands frozen in profile, talking to the door.
The jazz outside the door drifts in. The buzz of the party breaks into bits of conversation as a couple of men approach the bathroom, then recede into background noise as they leave the area. The maintenance sign must be working to keep people out.
“Okay,” says Raffe. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Josiah pushes out the door as if he can’t get out fast enough.
CHAPTER 32
My mind swirls with what I just heard. Not even the angels know why they are here. Does that mean there’s room to convince them that they should leave? Could Raffe be the key to igniting an angel civil war? My mind stretches to make sense of angel politics and the opportunities it might present.
But I rein in my thoughts. Because none of it will help me find Paige.
“You spend all that time talking to him, and ask only one question about my sister?” I glare at him. “He knows something.”
“Only enough to be cautious.”
“How would you know? You didn’t even pump him for information.”
“I know him. Something has him spooked. This is as far as he’ll go for now. And if I push, he won’t even go that far.”
“You don’t think he’s involved?”
“In kidnapping children? Not his style. Don’t worry. It’s damned near impossible to keep a secret among angels. We’ll find someone who’s willing to tell.”
He heads for the door.
“Are you really an archangel?” I whisper.
He gives me a cocky grin. “Impressed?”
“No,” I lie. “But I have some complaints I’d like to file about your personnel.”
“Talk to middle management.”
I follow him out the door, giving him my death-by-glare expression.
~
As soon as we push out of the double doors from the club, we’re out of the stifling heat and noise. We head into the cool marble foyer toward a row of elevators. We take the long way through the room, staying near the walls where the shadows are thickest.
Raffe makes a quick stop at the check-in counter where a blond servant stands behind the counter in a suit. He stands like a robot as though his mind is elsewhere until we come near him. As soon as we’re in smiling range, his face animates into a courteous and professional mask.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Up close, his smile looks a little stiff. His eyes, although deferential when looking at Raffe, turn cold when he looks at me. Good for him. He doesn’t like working for the angels, and he likes humans cozying up to them even less.
“Give me a room.” Raffe’s arrogance dial is cranked all the way up. He stands at his full height and doesn’t bother to do more than glance at the man as he talks. Either he wants the clerk intimidated enough to not ask any questions, or all the angels behave like that toward humans and he doesn’t want to be remembered as being different. I’m guessing both.
“The top floors are already all taken, sir. Will something a little lower be all right?”
Raffe sighs as though that’s an imposition. “Fine.”
The clerk glances my way, then scribbles something in his old-fashioned ledger. The clerk hands Raffe a key and says we’re in room 1712. I want to ask for an extra one for me, but think better of opening my mouth. Based on the women trying to find escorts into the building, I have a suspicion that the only humans allowed to move around on their own are the servants. So much for asking for my own room.
The clerk turns to me and says, “Feel free to take the elevator, Miss. The power is reliable here. The only reason we use keys instead of electronic cards is because the masters prefer it.”
Did he actually call the angels the masters? My fingers turn cold at the thought. Despite my determination to grab Paige and get the hell out of here, I can’t help but wonder if there’s anything I can do to help
bring down these bastards.
It’s true that their control of what was once our world boggles my mind. They can power lights and elevators and ensure a steady supply of gourmet food. I suppose it could be magic. That seems to be as good an explanation as any these days. But I’m not quite ready to throw away centuries of scientific progress to start thinking like a medieval peasant.
I wonder if, a generation from now, people will assume everything in this building is run by magic. I clench my teeth at the thought. This is what the angels have reduced us to.
I take a good look at Raffe’s perfectly formed profile. No human could look that good. Just one more reminder that he’s not one of us.
I catch a glimpse of the clerk’s face as I look away. His eyes warm just enough to let me know that he approves of the grim look on my face when I look at Raffe. Smoothing his face back to polite professionalism, he tells Raffe to call on him should he need anything.
The short elevator hall leads to a vast open area. I take a quick peek after pushing the button for the elevator. Above me are rows and rows of balconies that go all the way up to the glass domed ceiling.
Angels circle above, flying in short hops from floor to floor. An outer ring of angels spiral up, while an inner ring of angels spiral down.
I suppose they do this in order to avoid collisions, just the way our traffic patterns look organized from above. But despite its practical origins, the total effect is a stunning array of celestial bodies in a seemingly choreographed air ballet. If Michelangelo had seen this in daylight with the sun streaming down from the glass dome, he’d have fallen to his knees and painted ’til he was blind.
The elevator doors slide open with a ding, and I tear my eyes away from the magnificence above me.
Raffe stands beside me watching his peers flying. Before he shutters his eyes, I catch something that might have been despair.
Or longing.
I refuse to feel bad for him. Refuse to feel anything for him other than anger and hatred for the things his people have done to mine.