by Amy Sumida
The final song was presented and I, as well as the entire audience, was completely enraptured by it. It continued to climb, gaining speed until it dropped and shifted into a new style of song altogether. As the song shifted, so did the orders of angels, moving in smaller groups up and down, horizontally and diagonally, dancing through each other in direct relation to their part in the music. This went on for over an hour, one continuous song that was more like a entire album blended smoothly together. By the time the angels all sank back to the ground and took their bow, I was emotionally exhausted but in the most delightful way.
Normally, at the end of a live performance you lean forward or stand to applaud but I had been straining towards them during the entire performance and the end of the song seemed to be a sort of release. I fell back into my seat as if someone had cut the cords holding me up, and I applauded along with everyone else. Then I turned to Azrael and gave him a long kiss.
“Thank you,” I whispered to him. “That was...”
“I know,” he saved me from having to form a proper description. Every word I could think of fell short; amazing, beautiful, haunting, unbelievable. Nothing worked, especially not the title of Song-Uttering Choirs. I mean really; who had come up with that dismally uncreative name?
“Thank you!” Tagas shouted. “And congratulations to the Song-Uttering Choirs for another spectacular performance!”
Spectacular... nope, that still wasn't good enough.
“Most honored angels, please stay and celebrate with us,” Tagas went on. “We have some very special guests in attendance tonight; Lord Azrael and his new wife, the Lady Vervain,” he waved back to us and the angels cheered.
I blinked at this, completely unprepared for such an exuberant reception. I did well with demons but angels were an iffy option for me. Some liked me alright but some, as I mentioned earlier, wanted to torture me to death. It must have been Azrael they were cheering for. Most everyone liked him, even after he'd brought the army of Hell into Heaven.
Tagas came back over to us as we stood and waved to the angelic host.
“How did you you find the performance?” He asked anxiously.
“I couldn't do justice to it with mere words,” I said with awe in my voice and he beamed.
“It was a wondrous adventure for both the eyes and ears,” Azrael shook Tagas' hand. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“Oh, you're always welcome here, Lord Azrael,” Tagas gushed. “I just thought you'd be more comfortable with Lord Samael away.”
“Samael?” I asked.
“He rules Makhon,” Tagas explained as the angels streamed down from their seats to mingle with the choirs below.
“We don't get along,” Azrael said judiciously.
“You don't get along with someone?” I laughed. “I didn't think that was possible.”
“I have had disagreements with numerous people,” Azrael huffed.
“Yeah, usually on my behalf,” I shook my head. “What did this guy do to get on your bad side?”
“He's a steadfast supporter of Jerry,” Azrael sighed.
“Lord Samael has strong beliefs,” Tagas said vaguely. “But he is busy with the Great Jehovah tonight and couldn't make it. So I thought it was the perfect opportunity to invite Lord Azrael and yourself.”
“Tagas, you know you can drop the title with me,” Azrael admonished. “We've been friends since we were little.”
“Propriety demands titles,” Tagas shook his head stubbornly. “And your very position demands respect.”
“What position would that be?” A low voice rolled into the conversation and Tagas blanched, his almond colored skin going ivory... or blanched almond, if you will.
We turned to see a gangly angel descending to the platform behind us. His wings were extended grandly, catching the air so he could alight gently upon the stone. They were just as dark as Azrael's wings but where Azrael's wings gleamed, this angel's were dull, a matte black, as if it sucked in the light around it instead of reflecting it back. He was easily as tall as Fenrir but lacked Fenrir's muscle. Still, there was a striking air about him. The more I looked at him, the more certain I was of it. Yes, striking, as in a sharp attack. In fact, he looked like a snake to me. I don't know what it was about him, probably nothing at all to the naked human eye. But I had an affinity for snakes, they were kind of cousins to my dragon, and I could sense a snake faster than a speeding ticket. This guy was definitely a snake.
“I heard your favorite position is with her on top,” deep sienna skin crinkled at the corners of the snake-angel's eyes but there was no humor to his look, just snide speculation. “You've been unmanned, Brother.”
“Brother?” I lifted a brow and looked to Azrael.
“Brother Archangel,” Azrael explained and then set his eyes back on the new guy. “Think whatever you will, Samael. I don't have to prove my manhood to you.”
“Well, I suppose that's true,” Samael slithered forward and then stopped, setting his eyes on me intensely. “And so is the rumor that you're a dragoness.”
“Yep,” I looked him over. “And what kind of snake are you exactly; a rattler?”
His face went slack with shock before he gave a surprised guffaw of laughter. Then he collected himself and pushed away all traces of a smile.
“No, Dragon Queen, I never give a warning before I attack,” his eyes tried to narrow on me but I could still see the smile in them. I'd made a good impression evidently and he didn't like that. No, this guy wanted to hate me. He wanted very much to hate me.
“I don't either,” I leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “But if it starts to get warm, you should probably run.”
His lips twitched and he turned away, schooling his expression before his smile broke free of its chains again. A small stretching of his shoulders was the only evidence of his irritation before he looked back at Azrael.
“Why are you in my heaven?”
“I invited him, Lord Samael,” Tagas said bravely. “It's his right to witness the Trisagion and the animosity between the two of you has prevented this for far too long.”
“His right,” Samael hissed. “What rights does a bastard have?”
“Oh, he's the bastard?” I stepped forward but Azrael immediately pulled me back, keeping his stare set on Samael.
“I'm not going to let you bait me this time, Samael,” Azrael said gently. “You're not angry with me, not really. Take your fury out on Jehovah, the one who disappointed you. The one who makes you do his dirty work for him.”
Samael punched Azrael in the face.
I started to growl and move forward but again, Azrael put a hand out and held me back. The punch had been strong enough to turn Azrael's head but he'd remained standing and even though trail of blood dripped from the corner of Azrael's mouth, I had a feeling that this guy could have done far worse. I realized then that I had been blindly reacting to Samael. Azrael was the one who knew this angel best. If he wanted to let Samael get away with the punch, then I should probably follow his lead.
“It was good to see you, Brother,” Azrael said genuinely to Samael and then offered me his hand.
I took his hand, looking back and forth between him and Samael as Azrael pulled me into his chest. His wings burst forth and I looked up into his face to see the hint of his death mask flash beneath his skin. The angelic script on his cheek began to glow but then a different color tinted his face. I turned my head to see the script on Samael's cheek glowing pale green, a color to match his eyes; whose pupils had thinned into serpentine slits.
I connected with Azrael and I suddenly knew why I'd been able to back down earlier. Normally, I'd never let anyone speak to someone I loved like Samael had spoken to Azrael, much less physically assault him. But Azrael had been calming me, subconsciously informing me that he had the situation under control. Then he spoke into my mind;
There is more to Samael than you see here and we are closely tied. He's an archangel of death, just as I am, but instea
d of being tempered by compassion and the gift of comforting the grieving, Samael only has vengeance to guide him. He is the dark half of death without any light to ease his pain. The Wrath of God made flesh. He lashes out because it's all he knows. And if I, his counterpart, cannot show him kindness, then who will?
I looked up at Azrael and was once again overwhelmed by what an insightful and amazing man he was. I nodded and looked back at the glaring Samael.
“If you ever have an interest in meeting other snake-shifters, let me know,” I offered, much to the shock of all three angels.
“What?” Samael gaped at me.
“I know people,” I shrugged and gave him a bittersweet smile. “It ain't easy being green, is it? But there are a few perks.”
I stretched up on my toes and licked the blood from Azrael's chin; one long lick up to his lips. Azrael's grip on me tightened and he leaned down to kiss me passionately.
“If that is being unmanned, Brother,” Azrael smiled broadly to Samael, “then I accept it gladly.”
And with that, my death angel took us up into the sky of Makhon. Azrael flew us back to the palace at the end of the forest. The palace which I assumed belonged to Samael. Tagas waved goodbye to us as we left and I waved back merrily. Samael just crossed his arms and stared after us but the stare wasn't resentful or belligerent, it was simply contemplative.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The next day, Wren, one of my lions, came running into my bedroom waving the Samedi spying plate, his blonde curls bouncing and his tanned skin flushed. Yes, his name was Wren, a fact for which he was teased mercilessly. Usually it was Footloose jokes but Wren was too old for his name to have been inspired by the film. His mother had been a bird lover not a Kevin Bacon fan.
“Tima,” he called, startling me and Nick, who was curled up in my lap purring. Nick jumped up, gave Wren an affronted look, and stalked away in kitty indignation. “Sorry,” his boyish face twisted in remorse.
“It's okay. He'll come back, he always does,” I put my book down. “What's going on?”
“I think you need to see this,” he laid the plate before me on the bed and I leaned in.
“Samedi was having a heated conversation with this guy,” Wren tapped the image on the plate. “And now he's in some kind of trance.”
The “guy” Wren pointed to was one of the Gede. I think his name was Nibo; the only Gede who had acted a little reserved towards me. He was sitting in a chair with his eyes closed but as I watched, those eyes opened, revealing glowing white orbs instead of his usual nut-brown irises, and Nibo sat up straight. Unfortunately, there was no sound, so I couldn't hear what Nibo was telling Sam but whatever it was, it made the Cemetery Lwa nervous. Samedi started pacing and shouting at Nibo, waving his arms about furiously. Then he picked a candelabra up off the table and threw it across the room. Nibo collapsed back into his seat and closed his eyes again.
“What the hell just happened?” I gaped at the plate.
“I don't know, Tima,” Wren shook his head, “but I'm glad I didn't have to watch it alone. That was fuc-” he saw my lifted brow and switched out his swear word, “fudgin' creepy.”
“Yes it was fudgin' creepy,” I sighed. “Is Yemanja still here?”
“Yeah, she's in the pool again,” he shook his head. “That lady sure likes to be wet,” his shamrock green eyes went wide as he realized what he'd said and then he started to blush.
“I'm sure she does, like most of us women,” I chuckled. “Can you go get her for me? I need to ask her about this?”
“About what?” Kirill came into the bedroom.
“Something I just saw in the plate,” I waved the plate at him. “Have you seen Odin and Trevor? I know Az went to check on Shehaquim so he's not here.”
Azrael had temporarily handed over the running of Shehaquim, the Third Heaven, to the Archangel Michael and although he trusted Mike, the angel could get forgetful. Plus, Mike had his own Heaven to run and all his archangel duties, whatever those were. So Az liked to check in with Mike a lot.
“Odin vent on run vith volves,” Kirill shrugged, “and Trevor vent along.”
“In wolf form?” I lifted a brow. “Both of them?”
Odin could shapeshift into anything he wanted and he enjoyed running with Geri and Freki as a wolf himself. The wolves loved it too.
“Da,” Kirill took a seat on the bed as Wren left to fetch Yemanja. “Trevor said he doesn't get ze chance to run vith real volves very often and so he vanted to start joining Odin on his runs.”
“I wish I could join them,” I sighed.
“You can still join ze Pride on our hunts,” he started stroking my hair soothingly. “Your hair is almost as long as mine now,” he mused. “I like it.”
“Me too,” I sighed and leaned into his touch but then I jerked upright. “What if I can't?”
“Vhat?”
“What if I can't shift into a lioness?” I swallowed hard. “I told you I wasn't sure and I still haven't tried.”
“Zen you vill try,” he said simply. “Today.”
“I don't want to,” I whispered, feeling my beasts start to circle my belly.
“You vill try,” Kirill stated again. “Because my Tima is not a cowardly lioness and only a coward vould give up before zey even begin.”
“Well that's both insulting and uplifting,” I grumbled.
“Your balance has been shifted,” he pulled me into his lap and kissed my cheek. “And now you totter, trying to find solid ground. It's okay to flounder but you must find footing and fast.”
“Yeah sure, thanks for the imagery,” I muttered into his chest. “I think I liked the Fates' frayed thread description better.”
“Speaking of Fates; vhere's zat courage zey gave you?”
“I don't know,” I sighed. “Maybe now is not the moment I need it most.”
Oh he smelled good; like musky lion fur and clean man. I wanted to just bury my face in his chest and pretend nothing was wrong. Didn't I deserve that; a little denial? But then I thought of my twin sons and knew that denial was a thing of the past. A mother needed to accept the truth without hiding from it. And that was okay because I would give anything to see my children safe. I would give up every moment of solace I could find if it meant my sons would live happy and be healthy. I looked up at Kirill and knew that my children weren't the only ones I'd sacrifice for.
I'd kill for the man who held me; kill and die without giving it the barest thought. But dying had ceased to be an option for me a long time ago, so all I had left was the fight. And not just in the physical way. I had to wage a mental battle inside myself to protect the people I loved. So if Kirill told me to try, I would try. I would get over my stupid fear of failure and try to shift. Because I wouldn't fix my star by just laying in bed all day reading books.. and everyone knew I needed to fix that damn star.
“Alright,” I whispered to Kirill. “I'll try.”
“Today,” he reasserted.
“Today,” I pulled his face down toward mine. “But I need just the smallest bit of encouragement.”
His mouth on mine was magic, more magical than the energy inside me. It had the power to grant courage and strength. It changed sloth into determination and fear into passion. I climbed up on my knees, straddling his lap as our arms slid around each other, our hair swaddling us like a cocoon. No one could touch us here, it was just us in that moment-
“Um,” Yemanja cleared her throat. “Should I come back later?”
I ended the kiss with a sigh and Kirill's large palm went to my cheek, holding me still as we shared an intense stare.
“You and I are going on run right after zis,” he said.
“Okay,” I whispered and kissed him quickly before sliding off his lap. “Come on in, Yemanja,” I waved to the little dining set in our kitchenette. “Sorry about that, we got distracted. Oh, Kirill, can you bring the plate?” I looked back and saw that he already had it in his hand as he walked over to the table with me. “You a
lways know what I want,” I laughed and reached back to smack his ass.
“And you are quite vise in vays of knowing vhat I vant too,” he smiled and laid the plate on the table.
“Has something happened?” Yemanja peered into the plate as she took her seat.
Samedi was calm again, sitting in an elaborate, throne-like chair as he drank out of a clay jug. But it was obvious that he was still upset and brooding over whatever Nibo had said to him. Samedi's jaws kept tightening and his eyes were narrowed on some distant spot. His free hand clenched over the arm of his chair.
“Yes, something I need you to explain,” I sat too. “Nibo looked like he went into a trance and then Samedi got very upset about the things Nibo was saying. Do you know what was possibly happening?”
“Nibo went into a trance?” She blinked in surprise. “Sam was speaking to the dead.”
“I'm sorry,” I leaned forward to hear better, “I thought you just said Samedi was talking to dead people.”
“I did. Gede Nibo has the ability to channel souls in Ginen,” she explained. “He is an intermediary between realms and can give voice to the dead.”
“Give voice?” I thought it over. “So Sam asked Nibo to contact a dead person?”
“It sounds like it,” Yemanja nodded. “And you say he looked upset about what he heard?”
“Nervous,” I nodded. “I'm not sure if that's an admission of guilt or a mark of innocence.”
“Guilt?” Kirill asked.
“He could have been nervous to hear that the souls have been contacting their lwas and reporting the thefts,” I shrugged.
“Or he could be nervous because he looks guilty and he's actually not,” Yemanja offered.
“Exactly,” I agreed. “So this does nothing for us but raise more questions.”
“Like vhat?” Kirill cocked his head at me.