He had gone through the Swiss Alps with painstaking care, considering a cave hidden somewhere behind snow and ice, inaccessible to humans or animals, but nowhere really fit what he was looking for. Gabriel had the sense of not really knowing exactly what it was the Grail’s home should be, but he knew what it should not be.
He sat back in his chair and scrubbed his face with both hands, letting out a weary sigh. His shoulders ached from leaning forward, and his eyes were watery from staring at tiny notations on giant maps and the infinitesimal flickers of the computer screens. He thought back to that cave beneath the Little Langdale Tarn where the Grail had lain concealed for centuries protected only by secrecy and a blind, aging vampire. The cave had been difficult to reach, certainly, and Gabriel had no doubt that with a few additional precautions in the nature of sigils and protection spells, the place would be impenetrable.
He stiffened in his chair, lowering his hands to the desk. Why was he going through all these maps, when the place the Grail should rest was so obvious to him? That cave, roofed in crystal, hidden from everyone so completely that none outside the Archangels and their attendants, the Venatores, a small group of Archdemons, Lucifer, and God knew where it was, was perfect. The Venatores were bound by oath not to reveal secrets; Gabriel was certain that similar oaths could be extracted from the Archdemons and the rest of the Brotherhood of Archangels. Shateiel, Asaf, Vel, and Camael would follow orders, and Agrat and Ishtahar would promise never to speak of it, as would Hiwa and Ahijah and the shifters and magic users who knew of it.
It seemed like a long list, but, Gabriel thought pragmatically, a goodly number of those on the list would die. It would not be long—to an Archangel—before Angelique’s pack of Venatores grew old and passed away, nor would it be long for Declan and Liam to go the way of all flesh. The shifters in Armenia would live a little longer, but they too, along with the witches and shamen, would die before the century was over.
Gabriel decided not to tell Michael that part of his thought process. Michael tended to grow upset at the subject of human mortality when it was applied to his Venatores on a good day, and right now, there were few good days. Gabriel did not want to cause his lover any unnecessary pain. He knew that Tzadkiel, Raziel, and Remiel would see what it was he didn’t say, and that Samael would understand instantly. Those with mortal lifespans who knew of the cave would die and take the secret with them to the grave, just as Joseph of Arimathea and his people had done.
It was the best solution, Gabriel thought. It felt right, too, and he was relieved by the sense of calm serenity that washed over him. Yes, the cave would be perfect. It had been home to the Grail for so long that it was only right that the Grail return to where it had lain in perfect secrecy.
“Gabriel?” Michael called from the other end of the house, and Gabriel began to gather up his collection of maps into a neat stack.
“In the study,” he called back as he shut down the computers.
Michael entered the room. He looked tired, dark circles beneath his eyes, and there was a tense set to his shoulders that he himself was probably not even aware of. Gabriel, however, frowned as he took in the sight of his lover and leaned back in his chair once again, holding his arms out.
Michael went to him, sitting on his lap and leaning into Gabriel so quickly that Gabriel was a little surprised. Usually, Michael would argue, but right now, Gabriel could feel the slight trembling of his beloved and his worry grew.
“What happened?” Gabriel asked.
“Pardon? Oh. Nothing. I took the information that Adramelek gave me to my people and the Necromancer and his brother. Raphael was dealing with Tabbris’s sulks and Israfel was trying to ignore them both as he concentrated on the music that he could hear from the planet and the trees. It was quite stressful.” Michael shook his head against Gabriel’s chest. “Their youth wears me down from time to time.”
Gabriel hummed. “Aye, that’s the truth. I take it, though, that they all found the information helpful?”
“Oh yes.” Michael sounded a little happier. “I am confident that we will prevail against Naamah and her plots.”
“And I’ve some news too,” Gabriel said.
“Oh?”
“Aye. I think when we get the Grail back, we should put it in the cave where we found the vampire. It was there for so long anyway, and the cave’s almost like a cathedral, a private one dedicated to the Holy Grail. It makes sense for it go there again. It’ll be safe, it’ll be hidden, we can use our mojo to add some more protections to it, and it can slowly be forgotten again, which, I reckon, is for the best.”
“Hm.” Michael was silent for several long moments, and then he nodded. “As you say. I think you are right.”
Gabriel was pleased. “Now all we need to do is convince the others.”
“I do not think they will disagree, Gabriel.” Michael shifted a little on Gabriel’s lap. “In truth, I think they will be relieved that you have come up with a good solution.”
“Aye, well, let’s hope so.” Gabriel kissed the top of Michael’s head.
LYUDMILA SET aside the reports with a sigh. Piotr, seated on the floor, looked up at her with an expression of concern on his face.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Da, I am well,” Lyudmila said. “It is just that these reports are so detailed, and I did not expect them to be.”
“Was there anything from the clans about another traitor?” Piotr asked.
“Nyet.” And she was thankful for that, more than she could say. The idea of another Arkady lurking among her people had given her nightmares for several nights running. Now that she had finished reading the reports, Lyudmila was indescribably grateful that the only aberrations or problems that had been reported had to do with things with no connection to assassins, Naamah, or the Holy Grail.
“And what have you learned?” Piotr asked, leaning forward.
Lyudmila gave him a crooked smile. “The King of the Australian-New Zealand Weres is extremely angry, but he agrees to wait until this business with the Holy Grail is concluded before launching an action against the assassins and Arkady’s relatives. The Queen Regent of the Southeast Asian Weres agrees with him, but it is clear they are impatient. The Prince Regent of the United Kingdom Weres is wary, as is the Queen of the United States Weres. The Queen of the Canadian Weres thinks they are being overly cautious and sides with Oceania and South-Central Asia. The European leaders have not, as yet, made up their minds.”
“So there is talk,” Piotr surmised.
“Da,” Lyudmila laughed, “there is plenty of that.”
“Well, if they are talking and arguing, that will take time. Hopefully, the Archangels will be able to conclude their business before the talking and the arguing sees any resolution.” Piotr leaned back again.
“I am saddened, though,” Lyudmila said.
“About Arkady?” Piotr asked.
“He was a good friend to us for so many years, Piotr. How could he have betrayed us so?”
“I believe I can answer that.”
Lyudmila turned at the sound of Eleanora’s voice. Her friend had been gone for several days, visiting with witches’ covens around Armenia and crossing into Russia to speak with some of the Russian witches and priests and priestesses of the old gods.
“Ellie, come in,” Lyudmila said, gesturing for her friend to enter. “Please, sit. Would you care for a cup of coffee? Or tea?”
“Coffee, merci beaucoup,” Eleanora said. She sat down on the sofa beside Lyudmila and smiled at her and then at Piotr. “It is good to see you two again. It’s been several hard days of travel for me. I feared I would never be warm again! It was very cold where I visited, despite the sun shining brightly above me.”
“Soon it will be so warm that you will be cursing the heat,” Piotr said.
“I do not doubt it,” Eleanora said. “Weather is always fickle and marches to the beat of its own drum.”
“That is so.” Lyudmila
prepared coffee for them all, and when she was finished, having handed around the cups, she got comfortable on her sofa and took a sip. The coffee was strong and hot, thick and rich, and she savored the bitter bite of it. Piotr drank with the gusto he always did—sometimes he said she made the coffee so strong that spoons could stand upright in it, but he always drank it down as if he were dying of thirst.
Eleanora took a sip and made a contented noise. “Your coffee is always the best, Lyudmila.”
“I try,” Lyudmila said. “So, what news?”
“We know of Arkady’s family’s loyalty to Naamah, dating back to Noah’s Flood. We know, too, that he himself hired the Order of Midnight to throw us off his scent. What we did not know is that he wanted Naamah to turn him into an immortal and to erase his shifting ability.”
Lyudmila gaped at her, stunned. Piotr swore and then demanded, “What is he doing?”
“I do not know. I met with a witch in Smolensk, a very old witch,” Eleanora said. Her tone was full of respect. “This witch, Nadezhda, was shunned by most humans and, indeed, witches, for her Path is that of the darker magics, the blacker arts. I, who walk a central Path, work with both the lighter and the darker, so it matters not to me.
“In any case, she invited me into her home and we drank vodka and ate pierogi,” Eleanora said. “They were delicious. She was an exceptionally good cook.”
“All you witches are,” Piotr said. “It is because of your affinity for herbs and potions.”
“Perhaps. We shared food and drink, and I cleaned her home for her, as she suffers terrible rheumatism and I felt sorry for her. Her cat, a beautiful Siamese, thanked me for coming. I intend to visit with her again, for she is a good woman and I enjoyed her conversation. But to the matter at hand. She told me that the spirits had warned her of Naamah some time ago, years ago, when the war was raging. The spirits told her then that the war was but a prelude to a greater concern, something that could become the biggest disaster the universe has ever seen, or the greatest triumph. She said that Arkady was known to her, for he had visited with her several times seeking immortality and a way to rid himself of his shifter. She told him the latter was impossible—you are born with it and it is a part of you, a piece of your soul, your DNA. He did not like this answer at all and told her that one had said it was possible.
“Nadezhda found this ludicrous and told him so, but he laughed at her and spoke of Naamah. He had come to her to see what a human witch thought of the idea, and as he had suspected, Nadezhda had dismissed it. Only Naamah would do it, and Naamah would bring about a new existence, destroy Lucifer, Michael, and God, and rule all. With Arkady as her right hand, he would be given immortality for serving so faithfully, and have his shifter removed.”
“I did not know he hated being a shifter so much,” Lyudmila exclaimed.
“Nor I,” Piotr said. “Did honored Nadezhda say more?”
“She did. We spoke of the Archangels and Archdemons, and she smiled when I said they were working together. And then she told me a very strange thing, dear friends, a thing I have not been able to dismiss. She said that the greatest blessing is ours if we succeed. That Hell and Heaven will reconcile, and that Earth will know peace for a million generations.”
Lyudmila stared at her. “Am I to understand that Hell and Heaven will become one?”
“No, no. It is more… there will not be any more war between the two. Hell will exist as always, as will Heaven. There will be no more wars inspired by demons or angels. What demons do come to Earth will do so because they are sent as agents of Lucifer or one of his Archdemons or because witches have summoned them. Angels will be messengers of God or the Archangels. The Archangels and some of the Archdemons will continue to walk the Earth as they have in the past, but now they will serve properly as caretakers, not as fighting one another to gain an upper hand in a war that has endured since before the beginning of time. It will be the end of the War in Heaven, when Lucifer was cast out by Michael on God’s command, and finally, creation will exist as it was always meant to.”
Lyudmila turned her head to look at Piotr. Her beloved looked stunned, just as much as she felt. It had been so long since Lyudmila had lived in a world that did not endure war somewhere because of angels or demons or humans or any of the monsters, that she wasn’t certain she could conceive of it happening at all.
“It sounds like a fairy tale,” Piotr said. His voice was wistful.
“I know,” Eleanora said. “And that is why I cannot erase it from my thoughts. It is a dream. It will not happen. Can it?”
“If it does happen,” Lyudmila said slowly, “it will be the most remarkable thing. It will be wonderful.”
“And so now we all wonder and watch,” Eleanora said.
“We could ask Raziel,” Piotr suggested.
Eleanora chuckled. “I love him dearly, but he would not tell us. Not something like this. No, we will have to wait and see, I think.”
“I think you are right,” Lyudmila said. She took another sip of coffee, absently noting that it had gone lukewarm. “What an afternoon this has been!”
Chapter Nine
AGRAT SAT on the bed, brushing her hair. She was feeling pensive, reflecting back over the last few days.
Arthur and Morgana, Naamah’s children, had been cautious and frightened of both Agrat and Lilith. No matter how they had tried, neither of them had opened up, and Morgana had run away as soon as she possibly could. Lilith had tried to engage Morgana in conversation only to have the girl burst into tears and flee, leaving Lilith baffled. Agrat had tried the same, talking to Arthur whenever she saw him, but his answers were evasive, and he ran from her as soon as he could.
Naamah, on the other hand, once she had decided that Agrat and Lilith were wholly on her side, had been the most gracious of hosts. The room that Agrat shared with Lilith was rather nice, overall; it was private and the windows let in a gentle breeze that was refreshing and cooling. The giant house itself was a myriad of mazes and corridors, and Agrat had given up trying to figure out the layout, although Lilith had taken it upon herself to spend her time in the kitchen with those who worked there for Naamah.
That was where Lilith was now, and Agrat was sitting by herself, thinking hard. Since the first glimpse of a being who could only be an angel, both she and Lilith had tried to discover who it was they had seen, but to no avail. They had spent a long time in Naamah’s living room, looking at the collection of books and artifacts, all of them related to the Grail and Grail magic, and all of them valuable. Agrat rather imagined Raziel would weep when he saw the collection—and then promptly hoard the lot for his own study.
Usually, that sort of thought would make her smile. Today, it only made her sigh. She pulled the brush through her hair again, heaving a deep breath as she pondered how to find out where Naamah was keeping the Grail and what the third part of corrupting it would involve. She was also extremely curious about Purgatory beyond the walls of the house; were the citizens there just as frightened and cowed as the ones who worked within? Or were they paying lip service to Naamah and gearing up to rebel against her?
So many questions, and no answers in sight. Agrat and Lilith had discussed contacting Shateiel and Lucifer the previous evening, speaking in hushed Aramaic, but they had both agreed that as yet, they really had nothing concrete to report apart from the information regarding the angel who had visited Naamah. Agrat could only imagine how frustrated everyone on Earth was, waiting was never fun, and in such a tense time, it would be nearly unbearable.
She missed Shateiel too. She missed his strong, silent presence, his broad smile, his voice in her mind. She could feel their bond, a tenuous thread of a thing here in Purgatory, but a welcome one. With a shudder, Agrat remembered that time, not long after the war, that she had been completely cut off from him by a collar contrived by rogue Archdemons seeking to avenge themselves on all of angelkind, and humans who sought to make money by trafficking angels for vast sums of money. A faint tou
ch was far preferable to none, and late at night while Lilith lay silent, Agrat would retreat into herself and clutch at the fragile link to her bonded and her own kind.
There was a soft tapping on her door and Agrat turned, startled. She was astonished to see standing on the threshold her niece and nephew, Morgana and Arthur. The two of them were holding hands, and their expressions were frightened, their eyes wide.
“Yes?” Agrat asked, keeping her tone light as she faced them with a warm smile. She set aside the brush. “What can I do for you, Morgana and Arthur?”
The two of them looked at each other, Morgana biting her lower lip. Arthur turned back to Agrat and took a deep breath. “Can we talk to you, Aunt Agrat?”
“Of course. Come in, children, sit down.” Agrat gestured to the bedroom.
The two entered, Arthur closing the door behind them, and then they walked to the beds and sat down on Lilith’s, side by side, close together. Agrat regarded them with growing curiosity, wondering what it was that had finally brought her skittish relatives to face her.
“Are you really an angel?” Morgana asked.
That wasn’t what Agrat was expecting. She blinked, surprised, but nodded. “I am, yes. I am the Angel of Sex and Prostitution.”
“Were you a succubus once, like Mother?” Arthur asked.
Agrat canted her head to one side. “All four of us were made as succubi,” she said, “but we each made choices that allowed us to evolve as we have. I chose to remain in Heaven and help God and His angels, Lilith chose to go to Lucifer, Eisheth chose to go to the stars, and Naamah chose… well, she chose several things, from what I understand.”
“The sea and then Purgatory,” Morgana said in a singsong voice. “That’s what she told us.”
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