by Jane Lebak
When the darkness cleared, Michael looked for Remiel and Zadkiel only to find they’d disappeared.
In the far corner, the other Cherub stared with wide eyes. “It worked!”
“What did you just do? What was that?” Michael rushed Satrinah, but she didn’t attempt to flee. He shoved her against the wall. “Saraquael! I need you here, now!”
Saraquael appeared with several soldiers in time to seize the two minor demons who had been powering the Guard. “Where’s Zadkiel?”
Michael pushed his sword against Satrinah. “What did that weapon do?”
She regarded him in silence, her eyes orange and brittle.
“We’ve got no time. She’s calling Asmodeus.” Saraquael put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Give me orders.”
“Guard the room. Secure the weapons.”
Saraquael cast a Guard on the ruined cavern, then called another Dominion. “I need help. There isn’t enough of a structure for a strong Guard.”
“Michael,” called another of Saraquael’s crew, “there are no weapons.”
Michael turned. The bench was clear. Where before there had been an assortment of boxes and implements, now there was nothing.
“Asmodeus!” Saraquael called.
His Guard shattered, and Saraquael fell to his knees with his hands over his eyes.
Asmodeus burst into the room, wrenched Satrinah away from Michael, and vanished with her.
Michael rushed over to Saraquael, who murmured, “I’ll be all right. I knew that wasn’t going to work.” He rubbed his temples. “Secure the area,” he managed to tell another of his team. “Do a better job than those demons two did.” He smiled wryly. “Do a better job than I did, too.”
Michael lowered his head and rested his hands on his knees, trying to steady himself. He probed outward into the universe and couldn’t detect Zadkiel. True, it was hard to scan for things in Hell, but he should be able to turn up at least her signature. Instead, nothing.
And Remiel—it did no good to scan for Remiel’s signature because any scan would turn up another one of her. Her identical twin. Her identical fallen twin, Camael.
Saraquael had grown steadier, and got to his feet. “You can’t find them either? Whatever this did might have left them unconscious.” He sighed “I’m going to have our team secure the premises and remove everything from this room that they can. Something’s going to give us a clue. I don’t suppose Belior left us his lab notes, but at least we have his lab rats.”
Michael followed Saraquael over to the two demon soldiers they’d seized, the guards left behind when Belior vanished and Asmodeus rescued Satrinah. There was nothing special about either of them until the moment Michael recognized one.
“Hastiel,” he breathed.
The demon glared at him. “I hate you,” he hissed. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“No kidding,” Saraquael said, binding him for transport back to Heaven. “But I look forward to asking you lots of questions about it.”
FOUR
Heaviness. At first that was all Zadkiel could think of, the clumsiness and heaviness of whatever she was in and wherever she was. She tried to raise her head, but nothing moved the way it should. Her wings wouldn’t flex, and she couldn’t see a thing.
Was she in Hell’s lab areas? What had happened after she’d been hit in the ice cavern?
For a while she rested, waiting for the heaviness to subside. In addition to seeing nothing, she heard nothing that sounded threatening, so she took her time. Eventually she decided she must be on the plane of Creation, probably on Earth. The first sound she eventually recognized was a susurration like leaves brushing against one another. You might hear that in Heaven too, but maybe the heaviness meant gravity.
She pushed up, and her body ached. A body: she was in a human form, solid, and she was on Earth. She traced her hands over the ground beneath her and felt it damp, sharp. Maybe she was in a cave.
Enough of this. She reached for her angelic form so she could shed the solid body, but it didn’t come. Instead her head pounded, and the axis of the world spun like a gyroscope, and she had to lie prone again for a few minutes.
This was wrong. Why couldn’t she change back? Why couldn’t she remember changing in the first place?
And that explained the darkness, didn’t it? Because in human form, she was blind.
God, this is no good.
She reached again for her subtle body, but she couldn’t transform. She kept pushing, even when a needles and pins sensation shot through her and the dizziness frightened her, and then she reached all the way to try to completely dissociate, but nothing happened. She was stuck.
Now she gathered herself again and prayed, prayed with a fear she hadn’t felt even when Belior had opened that box at her. She couldn’t be stuck in a human body, could she? Not forever. Not without eyes.
She tried to remember the taste of wine, and it came immediately. Soothing, perfect, the wine steadied her. This she remembered, and it gave her strength.
“Remiel?” she called. “Are you there?”
No answer. Zadkiel sat herself upright and ran her hands over her body. Her fingers gave her information about the form she was in: for one thing, she was wearing clothing. That was good to know. There were sandals on her feet, and when she prodded her hair, she found it bound up with a hair pin.
So not only was she in a human form, but it was the last human form she’d used. That meant she was female, in her prime, and wearing high-class Greek clothing. Good information to have.
Am I in Greece?, she prayed, and then when she heard no answer, she tucked up her knees and stopped praying with words. Instead she prayed with her soul. She offered to God her confusion and her fear, and she tried not to think too much about what she was going to do to help herself. Not yet. Right now was the time to wait and to trust. She’d pray for God to bless her plans, and then after praying, then she’d plan something.
“Zadkiel?”
Zadkiel’s head snapped up. “Remiel? Where are you? I can’t move.”
“Wait, I’ll come to you.” Remiel sounded breathless and a little shaken. “Keep talking. Recite something. Sing. I need to hear you.”
Zadkiel started one of the psalms David had played in the palace at Jerusalem, keeping it slow and trying to steady her voice. Remiel had to get to her by navigating through the intervening space, and that meant Remiel was trapped in a human form too. Because if she wasn’t, she’d have been able to think, To Zadkiel, and just flash to her side.
Zadkiel finished that psalm and then started to sing the morning offering prayer. Was it morning? She had no idea, but she’d just awoken, and whatever they were doing had only started, so it seemed appropriate.
Remiel joined her in the prayer, and her voice grew louder over time, closer. Zadkiel pivoted to face the direction of the sound, and shortly she could hear stones scraping against other stones, and leaves snapping, more motion, and then finally felt a touch on her arm.
Zadkiel clutched at Remiel, surprised by how quickly her body reacted to the presence of another. The fear swept through her, and her voice wobbled. “What happened? Where are we?”
“In the middle of nowhere? I can’t tell which nowhere, though. Are you stuck too?”
Zadkiel’s hands tightened into the thick fabric covering Remiel’s arm. “I’m in the same form I had the last time I used a human body.”
“Yeah, I think that may be me too.” Laughter. “That would explain my clothing, at least. Hang on. I need you to let go before I die of heat stroke.”
Reluctantly Zadkiel released her grip, and next she heard the sounds of cloth. Remiel stood, and a heap of something fell to the ground. When Remiel spoke, she sounded tentative. “Are you hurt? You said you couldn’t move.”
Zadkiel said, “I can’t see.”
“Oh no! What happened to you? Did you land on your head?” Remiel’s hands went to Zadkiel’s face. “You’re not bruised. Do you ha
ve a concussion? Are you in pain?”
“No, I’m just blind. In human form, I’m blind. It’s part of the agreement.” Zadkiel closed her eyes against the tears that sprang up. She’d never figured it would happen like this; she so seldom used a human form in the first place that she’d said God sold her the eternal memory of wine at far too cheap a price. But this?
“What did you agree to? Disagree to it.” Remiel’s hands went to hers. “Stand up. I want to make sure you aren’t hurt.”
Zadkiel got to her feet, swaying because she wan’t used to poising herself in a body, and especially not when she couldn’t correct her position by sight. “Easy,” Remiel said. “You haven’t got wings, so don’t try to counterbalance with them or you’ll take me down too.” Remiel moved around her, keeping a hand on her at all times so Zadkiel could follow her motion. “You look all right. Your chiton is a bit stained, but you’re not hurt.”
“You really can’t tell where we are?”
“It’s a temperate area, lots of vegetation, plenty of water. We’re on a hill, and there are trees below us. It might be Mediterranean, but I can’t be sure. The ground won’t talk to me.” She chuckled. “God’s not answering explicitly. So…” She took a deep breath and called, “Michael! Are you out there? Saraquael!”
Zadkiel reached inside for wine, for the Vision of God’s eyes and the steadiness of His love. She presented her unease and then her gratitude that she and Remiel were at least together; she presented her thanks for the body she inhabited, and finally her need to get home. Please bless Remiel’s call and make it fruitful.
Remiel had gone silent, praying as well, and then Zadkiel felt a prickle on the edge of her consciousness. An angel had noticed them and flagged them that help was on the way.
Remiel clenched Zadkiel’s hand, and then Saraquael’s voice came to her: “Thank you, God!” Someone grabbed Zadkiel in a hug. “What did they do to you?”
“Whatever it was,” Remiel said, “we’re stuck in human form.”
Saraquael let go of Zadkiel as if dropping her. “Stuck?”
“Can’t transcend back into an angel. Fully human.” Remiel sighed. “I have no idea why, but apparently Belior was working on Angel Plaster, and now we’ve been molded.”
“I don’t believe that.” That was Michael’s voice, so he must have arrived too. “Raphael! We need you.”
Saraquael said, “What have you tried?”
“What’s there to try?” Remiel sounded partly irritated, partly amused. “You return to your regular form. It’s not working.”
“Whoa,” said Raphael’s voice abruptly. It was smooth, assertive. But most of all it was calm. “You’re all banged up.”
Zadkiel turned toward where she thought Remiel was. “You got hurt?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Nothing very deep, but we should patch that up.” A pause. “No broken bones. No internals.”
Zadkiel said, “How’d you get hurt?”
“Beats me,” Remiel said. “I woke up like this.”
“Like what?”
“Given the way your clothes are torn over the lacerations, I’d guess you fell onto the rocks.” Raphael sounded absolutely unworried. “I’ll check you for a concussion in a minute.”
Michael said, “Could a concussion keep her stuck in human form?”
“You’re stuck?” For the first time Raphael sounded surprised. “Now why would that be?”
From Michael: “You see, we kind of hoped you’d be the one to answer that for us.”
Zadkiel said, “But you’re not talking to me. Is Remiel all right? What happened to her?”
Saraquael put his arms around Zadkiel again. “She got banged up. She’s okay.”
“You didn’t say anything to me.” Zadkiel frowned. “You should have told me you needed help.”
Remiel sounded unconcerned. “You needed it more.”
“Hmm?” Raphael looked up. “Why is that?”
“She’s blind,” said Remiel.
“Okay, can we roll the scroll back a few pages?” Raphael touched Zadkiel, and she turned her face toward him. As he traced his fingers over her face, he said, “Why don’t we start this from the beginning so you don’t keep surprising me. Next thing I know you’re going to tell me she’s blind because of the dragon that’s hovering right over my head with its jaws open, but that’s okay because the whole Earth is being swallowed by Dark Matter.”
Remiel said, “Dark Matter? I wonder if that’s Belior’s weapon.”
“Stop!” Saraquael sounded tense. “This is too much confusion. Here.”
Zadkiel couldn’t feel what happened next, but she suspected Saraquael formed up all the facts into one little pellet of information and put it in Raphael’s mind. Raphael’s hands on her face felt warm, smooth, and she relaxed her neck as he tilted up her chin, then rested his fingers over her eyelids.
“We can rule out your eyes as a problem. Nothing’s wrong.” He sighed. “This is just the outcome of the deal you made, and it’s a bit inconvenient, but also not an illness, so it’s not fixable by me.”
Zadkiel swallowed. “It’s fixable if I turn back into an angel.”
“And that’s another thing I’m not able to fix right now.” Raphael let her go, and it sounded as if he moved back to Remiel. “I’m not picking up anything wrong with either of them. If you gave them to me without any kind of introduction, I’d say they were human beings. There isn’t a strong angelic signature on either one, and I’m not detecting anything that blocks them from reaching their true forms.”
Remiel said, “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be an angel.”
“I’m pretty sure too, and the good thing is, if I reach all the way down, your soul feels like an angelic soul. In fact,” and Raphael’s voice was a smile, “it’s a Virtue soul. But everything overtop it functions as if it’s human. It’s seamless, without any kind of wrongness that feels as if it’s locking you down. You’re just…human.”
Remiel sighed. “Not exactly what I wanted to hear.”
Zadkiel said, “By the way, where are we?”
“Eastern part of the Kushan Empire,” Saraquael said. “Hill country.”
Raphael said, “Tell me more about the weapon that did this. We should get Gabriel working on the problem.”
“Trust me, he already is,” Saraquael said. “I delivered him the entire contents of the workroom where Belior and Satrinah developed the weapon, and after he finished thanking God for unending puzzles, he called in five friends and didn’t even notice when I left.”
Raphael was laughing so hard by the end of the sentence that Zadkiel found herself smiling too.
“Satrinah!” Remiel exclaimed. “That’s her name. It was driving me crazy.”
“Well, I’ve got these two patched up as much as I can. You,” he said toward Zadkiel, “try to stay calm, and don’t worry about your eyesight. There’s nothing actually wrong. And you,” that went toward Remiel, “try not to fall off any more cliffs.”
“I was hoping to make a sport of it.” Despite the words, she sounded tense. “And in the meantime?”
“I want you somewhere safe,” Michael said. “We don’t know if Asmodeus or Satrinah will come back for you, or even what happened to Belior. When you’ve rested and recovered a bit more, we’ll move you. In the meantime, Saraquael, you stay with them for protection.” For the first time, Michael sounded weary. “And right now, I’ve got an assignment of my own.”
FIVE
Saraquael would have wanted to be with him for this. Saraquael would never complain about being excluded, but he’d register his disappointment and then would resign himself to not having been there.
Michael felt a little guilty about this, but he squared his shoulders and headed to Heaven’s holding chambers.
Heaven didn’t have a lot, never having needed many. Demons as a rule didn’t want to come into Heaven, and Michael wanted them not to be there, so in the rare instances whe
re a demon did need to be held and questioned, and where the holding couldn’t take place in Hell itself, they’d constructed a series of buildings. Each building had one room, and each had been designed to reinforce the strength of a Guard.
From the outside, each was identical: a stone structure with no windows and no doors. But the interiors were all different as over time various angels had adopted one and decorated, outfitting each building in a slightly different way to better suit different types of demon personalities. The prison cells were actually comfortable places to be, if you didn’t mind being imprisoned.
Of course, the first thing a demon in custody would do was destroy the entire interior. But Michael consoled himself that at least they’d made the effort.
The current two prisoners had been separated, and Michael stood before the building containing one of them. If memory served right, this interior was of Zadkiel’s design. Ironic.
But now it was time to do what he’d come here to do. Michael had permission to get through any of the military Guards, so it let him pass with no resistance. That was to say, no resistance other than his own reluctance.
Just inside, Michael took form and stayed against the far wall. The prisoner, one of the two demon soldiers Asmodeus had left behind in the snow cavern, sat against the far wall, knees tucked up and wings folded with the tips crossed over his ankles. He glared up with eyes still filled with ice.
Michael said, “Hello, Hastiel.”
“Hastle,” spat the demon. “I don’t want His name attached to mine anymore. He has nothing to give me, and I owe Him nothing.”
Flinching, Michael averted his eyes. The decor did look like Zadkiel’s work: the color scheme and the untouched selection of books felt like something she would do, and Hastiel…Hastle hadn’t bothered torching it.
The demon added, “And you also don’t have anything to say to me. Leave.”
“As it turns out,” Michael said, looking back into the demon’s face, “I have plenty of things to say to you, and I’ll stay as long as I want.” He folded his arms. “Let’s talk about Belior’s little project, the one you seemed to think was beyond my ability to understand.”