Draconel’s words confirmed Alexandriel’s own hunch. “Isn’t that more reason to bring it to everyone’s attention?”
The archangel scoffed. “Them? You know as well as I do that they are afraid of making any moves on Earth. They’ll be more likely to issue a blanket order banning any angel from going near the woman than they are to give her aid. If we make this out to be a chance encounter with nothing special about your Zara, then maybe they’ll just issue you penance and we can do what’s necessary to protect her ourselves.”
Alexandriel’s mind churned. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Had an archangel really just told him to lie to the Court? Still, Draconel’s reasoning mirrored Alexandriel’s. If he was honest, there was a good chance that Zara would be left with no protection from infernal forces. Hell wouldn’t stop at two Dark mages and a couple of minor demons.
Or was it a trap—had the Court sent Draconel to test his loyalty and commitment to the truth? Would he follow the archangel’s advice only to find himself in even worse punishment? Angels didn’t lie. They weren’t incapable, but their own personal code of honor forbade it. What happened when there was a more important, more honorable consideration than the truth?
“You’ll help me protect her?” Alexandriel asked.
Draconel nodded. “As soon as the Court finishes making their judgment, we will talk and discover this mortal woman’s secrets and what they mean for the Light. I’ll ensure that she’s kept safe against whatever Hell is planning.”
“Then I’ll do it.” He’d only known Zara for a few hours, but he was convinced that she was key to his future—he felt the pull of the Light, the tug of destiny.
“Good luck.” Draconel withdrew, walking up the hill to the Courthouse.
Alexandriel didn’t have long to wait upon finding himself alone. A bell tolled from the top of the Courthouse, the loud, pure tone rolling through the landscape in an otherworldly manner. Physics worked differently on this plane of existence.
As he entered the Courthouse, Alexandriel was caught off guard by the sheer numbers of his own kind filling the halls. The building was grand, with many rows of benches arrayed around a central dais. Each of the benches was packed with angelic forms, so many that angels also hovered in the air above the seating. On the dais sat the High Court, the five most powerful archangels arrayed before him.
It felt like every angel in Heaven had shown up for his hearing. And maybe they had—it was the most exciting thing to happen for two thousand years. Alexandriel was already somewhat of a scandalous figure among Heaven’s angels. His former peers murmured amongst themselves as they watched him take position at the focal point of the room.
Despite the vast numbers of angels there to witness the meeting, Alexandriel didn’t see a single Guardian. They had better things to do than amuse themselves with juicy gossip. That’s part of why he’d left Heaven.
The archangel in the center of the dais signaled for quiet, and the spacious hall fell quiet. Metatron, highest of the angels, spoke, his voice quiet thunder that demanded attention and respect. “Alexandriel, you’ve been called before the High Court to explain your actions on Earth in which you used the Light to enact judgment upon two Dark mages and two demons. This action was undertaken in front of a mortal witness. Present your testimony so the Court may deliberate.”
All in the room were servants of the Light, but Alexandriel couldn’t help but feel small in the midst of such regard. He’d expected only a couple of the Court to show for this trial, not all five. Draconel had been correct when he’d said they were looking to make an example of Alexandriel.
Fools.
They were so far removed from the state of things on Earth that they actively worked against maintaining balance and the Light’s work among the people.
“Four hours and thirty-seven minutes ago, I was walking down a street in New York City and a woman bumped into me. She looked into my eyes and apologized, thanking me for catching her, before continuing.”
Michael interjected. “You were walking around with no veils between you and the mortals? That is counter to the Council’s guidelines, Alexandriel.”
Alexandriel shook his head. “I was not fully in the world, Michael. I’d been using the standard level of separation—she should not have been able to detect my presence. This development caught me by surprise.”
That started a storm of whispers from the observers, their pure voices combining in a harmonious wind that swept through the Courthouse.
“You must have gotten lax with your veils,” Michael said. “Dropped them while distracted.”
“That’s not what happened. Even as I stared after the mortal woman, pedestrians continued to walk through me. She did it again later as well, as I’ll get to.”
Michael looked sideways, exchanging a look with Metatron. “Very well. Proceed, Guardian.”
Alexandriel did as requested, outlining how he’d followed the curious mortal and was about to leave her when he spotted the demons stalking her. Once he got to the part where the Dark mages assaulted her, he hesitated.
Draconel suggested hiding her ability to call the Light.
It wasn’t that he disagreed with the archangel’s reasoning, but that meant lying, if only by omission, to the High Court of Heaven.
Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake that would follow him through eternity, Alexandriel neglected to mention the blast of Light that Zara had used to rebuff her attackers, instead skipping forward to his own intervention.
So far, he had done nothing that would warrant more than a simple wrist slap. The Council of Archangels endorsed a stance of noninterference with matters on Earth except for incidents involving one of the Disgraced themselves, but defending a mortal from demons was defensible.
His next admission would be the one that garnered him discipline.
“It was at this point that the mortal woman woke from her spell of unconsciousness. I had hidden myself behind so many veils I could barely interact with anything on the Earthly plane, and yet she looked straight at me and spoke.”
Gasps fell from the hovering onlookers above. This was the big news that had been hidden from most of the angels, the big piece of gossip they’d hoped to hear. The angels forgot themselves, turning to their neighbors and chattering, the loud buzz filling the hall to bursting.
Metatron dropped his palm flat on the bench in front of him. It had been a casual motion, like he’d just grown tired of holding it in his lap, but a massive boom shook the Courthouse, echoing and oppressive in its might.
Silence reigned as the echoes died.
“Proceed.” The chief archangel did not indicate what he thought about Alexandriel’s words.
Expecting questions and not hearing any from the Court, Alexandriel was unnerved but continued in his recounting of events.
“Since the speech barrier had already been broken and disappearing on the woman would have caused more questions and damage than staying, I walked her back to her place of residence, presenting myself as a human male. I questioned her, attempting to discover how she could pierce my veils so effectively.”
“And what were your conclusions?” asked Uriel from his perch on the dais.
Again, Alexandriel paused. Draconel had warned that making much of her may encourage the archangels to do something about her. He’d already obfuscated the truth, hiding Zara’s magical abilities. Her talent for seeing the hidden must be tied up with those and that strange aura, but he couldn’t say that. Instead, he could deliver a broader truth.
“There was nothing in her answers that led me to believe there was anything infernal at work, and she does not have the aura of a mage. My suspicion is that she possesses an innate talent at this very particular skill. It may be a genetic trait that was passed down as the only remnant of a Light mage’s abilities.”
“Only the Beacons of Light were strong enough to see angels when they wished to remain hidden,” Raphael said. “And even most of those could be fooled w
ith enough effort and attention on the matter. I find it hard to believe this talent could be passed on by itself.”
Alexandriel held his breath. Had he stretched the truth too far?
Michael shrugged. “It’s possible it’s a latent ability we’ve never noticed.”
The archangels didn’t seem inclined to pursue the line of questioning any further.
“Do you have anything else to add?” Raziel asked.
He shook his head, not trusting his voice.
“Very well,” Metatron said. “Await our decision.”
The central dais brightened until the Light dazzled. It was impossible to peer through the Light. It formed an impenetrable barrier that blocked sights and sounds from passing through as the Court discussed Alexandriel’s evidence.
Would they know he’d omitted key observations? He’d been careful not to make any outright lies, but he’d answered a few questions in an oblique manner and not given a full statement of events. He had to trust that Draconel knew what he was talking about.
Time dragged on as Alexandriel fought to ignore the looks and whispers of the ranks of angels watching him wait. He’d once counted them as friends before he grew dissatisfied with Heaven.
As the Light from the dais dimmed, what had felt like too long of a wait was now too short.
The archangels stood, gathered at the very center of the bench set above him.
Metatron’s soft yet booming voice spoke. “Alexandriel, you have revealed yourself and spoken to a mortal. You risked this mortal seeing you in the full glory of your powers and spent more time in her presence than necessary. This is the fourth instance of you breaking the rules set forth by decree of the Council of Archangels, and so requires a more complete penance.”
Alexandriel bowed his head, ready to receive judgment. The roiling thoughts in his mind slowed and halted, unable to change the consequences of his actions.
“As you have exhibited an unrelenting fascination with mortals and their world, you will assume a mortal form for the length of one mortal lifetime.”
The words echoed in Alexandriel’s head, the implications so vast they escaped him.
“What?” Alexandriel’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
Metatron continued on as though he hadn’t been interrupted, his powerful voice carrying above the shouts of astonishment from the ranks of angels.
“You will be stripped of your powers and abilities and take the form of a mortal man in his thirtieth year, to live a full life. Once you die, you will regain your angelic form and powers. You are forbidden from purposefully seeking death or putting your mortal form in harm’s way to prematurely end this sentence. We cannot limit the free will of your mortal form, but if you circumvent this ruling, you will be judged again and more harshly.”
He’d never even heard of such a thing. It seemed like it shouldn’t be possible.
“But, what about…” he trailed off. There were so many unanswered questions.
How long did he have?
Metatron extended his arm out at shoulder height. It held there for a moment and then fell toward the bench. Alexandriel watched in fascination as it gathered speed, dread welling within him at the graceful arc cut by the archangel’s arm.
It contacted the surface gently, but terrible rolling thunder erupted all around Alexandriel at that instant, enveloping him, carrying him away, filling his senses until he could hear, see, think of nothing else.
And then just like that, all was silent.
He opened his eyes—when had he closed them?
A concrete wall rose in front of him, the damp surface covered in graffiti. Aside from the typical gang tags, a large mural depicted a large tree withering under a black sun. It was an intricate work of art and brilliantly executed, but an unsettled shiver ran down his back at the sight of the sun. A dumpster sat against the wall, its top open and the overwhelming stench of rotting garbage rolling out.
“No…” Alexandriel said softly.
It was a gut reaction, but five seconds later, the enormity of what had just happened caught up to him. He fell to his knees, a terrible pain flooding his mind with mental anguish.
No, it wasn’t a pain. It was an emptiness. His mind wasn’t the same as it had always been. There were massive parts of it shrouded in darkness, blocked off and inaccessible to him. He reached for his extensive angelic senses, trying to listen for the balance of power around him, and was foiled. It felt like a burned stump, a complete lack of sensation.
His stomach sinking, he reached for his sense of the planes, tried to move out of this world. Instead of the deepness he associated with the sense, which he used most often to transition to Heaven, all he could feel was the stark reality of Earth.
Finally, he lifted his hand and concentrated on the palm and that most basic of abilities—calling Light.
No matter how hard he pressed against the stubbornly empty corners of his mind and depths of his soul, no holy comfort rose from his hand. The Light was shuttered from him.
Not only was he mortal, but they hadn’t even allowed him the limited abilities of a Light mage. He was mundane.
Reeling, Alexandriel fought to get to his feet. His head felt stuffy, numb. Did all mortals feel this… limited?
Mere minutes into his sentence, and he’d already gained new appreciation for how mortals must live their lives.
They should put every angel through a day of this. Especially the Heavenly angels. That would humble them.
What did he do now?
Only then did he take further stock of himself and his surroundings. He recognized the location immediately. He was around the corner from Zara’s apartment, in the last place he’d occupied on the Earthly plane before transitioning to Heaven.
He wore a pair of jeans and a simple, grey v-neck shirt. A bulge in his pocket became a wallet when he fished it out. It only contained a driver’s license and some bills.
Alexander Goodman.
He snorted. At least whoever had been responsible for this had a sense of humor—he bet it was Raziel. There was no doubt that the license was official identification. If he looked up government records, there would be an entry for Alexander Goodman and all the right boxes would be checked off.
In fact… he concentrated, and there was a separate store of memories buried in his mind. He could picture parents he’d never met, the public school where he’d learned basic mathematics, and even his first date.
He’d spare time later to delve through the fake memories and learn his back story. That wasn’t the most important task facing him.
Alexandriel counted the bills.
Five thousand. Not that much in this city, but I won’t have trouble finding work.
He would be the most over-qualified candidate for any position he would apply for.
And no more thinking of myself as Alexandriel. That only has the potential to cause problems later. From now on, I’m Alex.
He’d given that name to Zara last night, but it had felt unnatural. Now he had no choice but to get used to the idea. Alex would be an easier change than Alexander, which was too close to his real name.
Now he had to start a life as a mortal. Starting with nothing but five thousand dollars to his name, he could make anything of it he wanted. He had the knowledge and the skills to do wondrous things. He could spread the Light and make the Earth a better place.
There was only one thing he wanted to do.
One person he wanted to see.
Zara was still in danger, and even if he didn’t have his powers, he would be damned if he let the Darkness take the woman. He couldn’t afford to take his time getting to her—the Dark mages had ambushed her close enough to her apartment last night that they probably knew where she lived.
And if they come again, I might not be able to help her.
It was a sobering thought. If he died trying to protect her, would the archangels see it as him purposefully killing his mortal body?
He was a
t Zara’s apartment in no time, his mind barely on where his feet were going as they fought to catch up with all the ramifications of the Court’s decision.
Another resident was leaving as he walked up, allowing him to enter the building. He knew which apartment was Zara’s—he had looked through the building to watch her get home before he left for Heaven the night before.
He knocked on her door, thoughts still occupied with determining the ideal strategy. It wasn’t until Zara opened the door that he realized he had no idea what to say to her.
Zara paced her small studio.
She’d always been a pacer. The habit developed during a few stints in bigger places her mother had been able to afford for a brief period in Zara’s early teens before her mother’s cancer returned. She found that moving her legs blessed her with distance from her thoughts, allowed her to find separation when they threatened to overtake her with their immediacy.
In the studio apartment, the habit was almost more frustrating than lying still and letting her thoughts overwhelm her. She could take only a few steps before turning.
Just forget about him. You won’t ever see him again, and you have no way to track him down. He didn’t even give you his last name. Do you know how many guys have the name Alex in this city?
She’d been stuck on the events of the previous night all day. Alex’s chiseled face had dogged her thoughts at work, almost getting her fired when Patricia timed her sitting still and doing nothing for twenty minutes. Zara had been too embarrassed to even defend herself, furious at herself for giving that bitch of a woman any further reason to hold her in contempt.
The four walls of her apartment enclosed a space too tiny to allow her to deal with her fired up passions. Her double bed was crammed into the corner, leaving just enough room for a love seat and a chair around a tiny coffee table in front of the third-hand television. The kitchenette was of a similar size, and Zara had to move the chair to open the oven.
Fallen: An Angel Romance Page 4