No Quarter

by L. J. LaBarthe

  “Yes.” Tzadkiel pulled out his cell phone. “Just let me do that and then we’ll strategize, okay?”

  “Okay, fine.” With an annoyed huff, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned to stare out the window over the magnificent vista of the North Historic District and the river. As Tzadkiel watched, his phone pressed to his ear as he waited for Gabriel to answer, her shoulders slumped ever so slightly and she shook out her long black hair, letting it fall loose to her waist. Brieus walked over to stand beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder, and Tzadkiel sighed, slouching into his chair.

  The phone went straight to voice mail, and Tzadkiel ground his teeth together in frustration. He left Gabriel a curt message with a firm reminder not to contact him until he was finished and that he would call Gabriel back when he could. Sighing, he ended the call and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “All right.” Tzadkiel took a deep breath and leaned forward. “What have we got?”

  Sophiel moved away from the window and sat down in the chair opposite him. She was all business now, Tzadkiel noted. “Access to all the files and data on the computers. I’ve got one of the others sorting through it. Six demons with one of those charms each. And Lia Darguill herself.”

  “What do we know about her?” Tzadkiel pulled a beer to himself with his power and took a long drink.

  “Not a lot.” Brieus sat down and consulted a notepad in his hand. “Born and raised in Atlanta, went to a Catholic school, took two years of bookkeeping at college. When she was nineteen, her parents died and she was the sole heir. When she was twenty-one, she bought shares in a printing company which expanded from printing to both printing and publishing. She files her taxes, pays her bills, has a mortgage, single, no kids. That’s it.”

  Tzadkiel frowned. “What’s her connection to this New York business?”

  “That’s the head office of this printing and publishing company.” Sophiel pulled a laptop to her with her power and fired it up. “There’s a whole bunch of rumors on one of the humans’ social networks that she and the owner had an affair when she was younger.”

  “Any truth to that rumor?” Tzadkiel was thinking hard.

  “Hard to say.” Sophiel shrugged. “Neither of them confirmed or denied. He’s married, two kids, owns a house in the Hamptons. Apparently very rich, from his wife’s family.”

  “What are these seemingly normal humans doing getting mixed up with demons and Fallen Angels?” Brieus wondered.

  “I think we’re looking at this the wrong way.” Tzadkiel took another drink of his beer. “The Fallen One. Which one of them is it? And more importantly, why is a Fallen One working with humans?”

  Sophiel hummed thoughtfully. “Good point. Maybe the goal isn’t anything more than to create chaos. They don’t have the same kind of agendas as demons, and demons all fear them.”

  “Why would a Fallen One give up feathers, though?” Brieus tapped his fingers on his thigh.

  “Chaos.” Sophiel shrugged. “You tell me, Brieus. You keep Rabdos contained; why does that Archdemon do anything he does?”

  “Rabdos isn’t a Fallen One, though, so his motivations are completely different.” Brieus shook his head. “No, I don’t think chaos is the sole objective here. There’s something this Fallen One wants, and he’s using humans and demons to find it.”

  “That doesn’t really limit our choices much.” Sophiel sighed and sat back. “What do you think, Sir?”

  Tzadkiel shook his head. “I think we need Uriel’s input. I’ll call him over.” With that, he reached out with his mind and power, seeking the Archangel of Fire and Vengeance.

  A few moments later, Uriel was there, arching an eyebrow curiously. “Nice digs, Tzad,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  “Uri, when you’re policing the gates of Hell, do any of the Fallen Ones try to talk to you?” Tzadkiel pulled another beer from the ether and held it out to Uriel, who took it with a nod of thanks.

  “Sometimes.” Uriel shrugged. “Nothing very interesting, though. Usually variations on the theme of how they’re going to make us all pay and we’re all big meanie poopy heads.”

  Sophiel and Brieus burst out laughing, and Tzadkiel chuckled.

  “They don’t really use that terminology, do they?” Sophiel asked, her voice both amused and incredulous.

  “Nah.” Uriel took a drink of his beer and lit a cigarette, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke. “They get pissed that we get to do shit they couldn’t—things like smoke, drink, fuck—but they forget that we didn’t always have the freedom to do so. They think we had it all along, that free will and freedom of choice was always ours, but it wasn’t. As we all know.”

  “Right,” agreed Tzadkiel.

  “So, they don’t know jack and shit about that,” Uriel continued. “They don’t realize that we were given these gifts around the time the mud monkeys ran away from Eden. Which wasn’t really that long ago.”

  “Billions of years is long ago to humans,” Brieus pointed out.

  “Pfft, who cares what they think. Mud monkeys think they know everything, and they don’t. If they weren’t God’s Creation, I would’ve burned the lot of them in Eden. Well. Maybe not Ishtahar or Adam, but the rest, definitely.”

  “Please don’t go off on your human-hating tangent, Uri,” Tzadkiel said with a put-upon sigh. “What else do the Fallen Ones complain to you about?”

  “Oh, right. Apart from the great injustices of their existences—and they chose to follow Lucifer in the first place, no one forced them—they like to bluster a lot. Tell me how they’re going to bring on the end of days, how they’re going to gut us, torture us, burn the Earth, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Any of them more vocal than the others?” Sophiel asked.

  Uriel’s brow furrowed with thought as he took another drink from his beer. “Actually,” he mused, “now you mention it, yeah. Three of them are louder than the rest. Shamshiel, Forcas, and Purah.”

  “Huh.” Tzadkiel considered that. “And which one of those three has mentioned using humans as part of some grand plan to get back at us?”

  “Oh easy, that’s Shamshiel.” Uriel sneered. “He thinks he’s the shit.”

  “The… shit?” Brieus blinked in confusion.

  “I’m picking up mud monkey slang.” Uriel wrinkled his nose. “It’s a disease.”

  “Shamshiel,” Tzadkiel interrupted, “is a Grigori. Do any of the other Grigori grumble at you?”

  “Nope.” Uriel drained his beer. “Just him.”

  “Interesting. Say, how do you feel about doing a little recon mission for me to Hell?” Tzadkiel looked at Uriel intently.

  “I can do that. What do you need?”

  “Check his wings.” Tzadkiel nodded. “See if he’s missing feathers.”

  Uriel quirked an eyebrow. “Can I kill him?”

  “No.” Tzadkiel shook his head. “Not unless Mike says so, anyway.”

  “Dammit. All right. I’ll be back.” With that, Uriel vanished.

  “Wasn’t he one of Uriel’s lieutenants in Eden?” Sophiel tilted her head slightly as she looked at Tzadkiel.

  “Yeah.” Tzadkiel sighed. “That was before he broke Celestial Law and taught humans forbidden knowledge, knowledge that they were supposed to learn for themselves.”

  “Sometimes, I think it would have been better if Michael and Gabriel had killed all of the Grigori,” Brieus said. “We’d have two hundred less Fallen Ones to worry about, at least.”

  “Maybe.” Tzadkiel shrugged. He kept his opinion on the matter to himself.

  Uriel returned then, brushing ash off himself. “Lovely,” he said dryly. “Hell stinks.”

  “I think it’s supposed to, Uri,” Tzadkiel said in amusement. “Brimstone isn’t exactly pleasant.”

  “Whatever. So, I went and had a look around. Shamshiel’s ranting at the other Grigori and his wings look a little bare. He looks like he’s a molting chicken.”

  Tzadkiel, Sophiel, and Brieus moved as
one, leaping to their feet.

  “Are you sure, Uri?” Tzadkiel asked urgently.

  “Positive, Tzad. All I did was look, but I didn’t have to get too close to him. He’s missing at least a quarter of his feathers.”

  Tzadkiel exchanged a look with his lieutenants. “Now we know who,” he mused.

  “We do indeed,” Sophiel agreed.

  “Uri, can you go to Mike and Gabe and let them know that Shamshiel is the Fallen One whose feathers are being used in these demon charms?” Tzadkiel asked.

  Uriel’s eyes narrowed, and his expression went flat. “I should have killed him,” he growled.

  “Ask Michael,” Tzadkiel said.

  “I will. I’ll go see them now. You three up to something?”

  “Yeah.” Tzadkiel nodded. “You want in?”

  “Damn right,” Uriel said.

  “Okay. Get back here at sunset. I’ll brief you and we’ll go in,” Tzadkiel said. “Oh, and Uri?”

  “Yeah?” Uriel paused, his wings half-unfurled.

  “Wear your armor and bring your sword.”

  Uriel grinned wolfishly. “Fun. Right, see you at sunset.” He vanished with the sound of rustling feathers.

  “This reminds me of the beginning of a bad joke,” Sophiel said as she sat down again.

  “Oh?” Brieus raised an eyebrow.

  “Two Archangels and two angels walk into a bar.” She shrugged.

  “I see what you mean.” Brieus let out a slow breath.

  “Let’s get to work,” Tzadkiel said firmly. “We have much to do before sunset, so let’s get to doing it.”

  “Right, boss,” Brieus agreed, pulling his own laptop to him with his power.

  “Yes, Sir.” Sophiel nodded, turning her attention to her own computer.

  Tzadkiel watched them both for a moment, then closed his eyes and reached out with his power toward the city of Atlanta and the warehouse and office of Lia Darguill.

  GABRIEL was frowning as he materialized beside Uriel in Tzadkiel’s airy apartment.

  “Don’t think you can get me to stay home, Tzadkiel,” he said firmly. “As soon as Uri told us what was happening, I sent a patrol of Seraphim to guard the kids and asked Sammy and Remi to stay with them. I’ve got another patrol sitting on your roof, awaiting my orders.”

  “Gabriel worries too much about his mud monkeys.” Uriel rolled his shoulders to settle his armor.

  “Uri, hush.” Gabriel shot Uriel a hard look, and Uriel muttered something under his breath and then fell silent.

  Frowning, Tzadkiel paused in the act of pulling on his thick leather gauntlets. “You didn’t have to do that, Gabriel.”

  “We’re not taking any chances. End of discussion.” Gabriel looked at Tzadkiel’s two lieutenants, who immediately bowed to him. “Hey, you two.”

  “My lord,” Sophiel said. She was dressed in the light armor of the Chinese medieval warrior—the brigandine made out of large, boiled leather plates riveted together and covered with soft leather, resembling a sleeveless armored jacket. Beneath it, she wore a dark calf-length tunic and thick trousers. Around her waist was a sword belt, her liu-ye-dao sword sheathed with her Japanese tanto dagger.

  “Lord Gabriel,” Brieus said. His armor was a stark contrast to the light armor of Sophiel—he wore plate mail as had the Spanish from the fifteenth century, and his sword blade was slightly curved—a traditional Spanish saber.

  “Angels. So”—Gabriel turned back to Tzadkiel, who was clad in chain mail, like Gabriel himself—“Uriel says you’re going in to investigate this warehouse after hours. My Seraphim and I will keep watch on the perimeter to make sure no one comes along to interrupt you. We’ll alert you if we see anything.”

  “Okay.” Tzadkiel shook his head ruefully. “To be honest, having you and your troops outside makes this a little less risky.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Gabriel grinned. “When do we go?”

  Tzadkiel looked at the clock and grinned in return. “Now.”

  They landed silently on the roof of the warehouse, invisible to human eyes. A line of angels in armor stood at attention as Tzadkiel led Sophiel, Brieus, Uriel, and Gabriel toward the skylight that would provide an excellent vantage point to watch over whatever happened in the warehouse below.

  Gabriel couldn’t shake the feeling he had that something bad was going to happen. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was that caused the premonition exactly, but he trusted his gut, and something was telling him that this whole mission was a very bad idea.

  “Are you absolutely sure you have to do this?” Gabriel’s voice was barely a whisper as he murmured to Tzadkiel.

  “It’s the only way to get the intel,” Tzadkiel said. “The data Sophiel’s toys can grab from their electronic contraptions will be useful, but I’d put money on the fact that the real information won’t be on any computer or hard drive.”

  Gabriel grunted at that, peering cautiously down through the skylight. The warehouse floor was quiet, dimly lit by perimeter lights that were on a minimum setting around the edge of the space. “I don’t like this,” he muttered to himself.

  “I’ll keep an eye on them,” Uriel said quietly in Gabriel’s ear.

  “Fine, but who’s going to keep an eye on you?” Gabriel shook his head. “If you’re dead set on doing this, then do it, but I think it’s a bad idea.”

  “Noted,” Tzadkiel said, tightening the straps of the vanguard on his left arm. “Let’s go.” Without a sound, he, Uriel, Sophiel, and Brieus vanished.

  They reappeared in the warehouse, moving slowly and cautiously, their weapons in their hands. Gabriel watched intently through the skylight as the four angels moved stealthily through the room, reaching out with their power as well as using their eyes and ears.

  Absently, Gabriel scratched the back of his neck. The minutes ticked on slowly, and it grew cold. The darkness was nearly total, clouds moving across the stars and the moon, and the air seemed still, as if the city were holding its breath. The hackles rose on the back of Gabriel’s neck as he watched what was going on below.

  The attack came without warning. Gabriel swore sulfurously as a group of demons rushed Tzadkiel and Uriel. In the half-light of the dim interior of the warehouse, the silver of the angel charms around their necks glinted like a score of mocking eyes. Gabriel got to his feet as the sounds of steel clashing on steel filled the air and brought down his sword, smashing the glass of the skylight.

  Barking a sharp command, Gabriel, with three of his Seraphim, jumped down through the skylight to the room below to join the fight and help get the other angels to safety.

  These demons were not like the usual breed that Gabriel fought. He perceived immediately that they were old, perhaps even as old as Archangels, older than Time, older than Earth. Their eyes glowed faintly yellow and red, their weapons showed evidence of long use. They fought cautiously, intelligently, not just rushing the angels and expecting to win, but with experience, using tactics and cohesion that pressed the angels hard.

  Still swearing, Gabriel gave up on fencing, and, dagger in one hand, sword in the other, marched into a knot of demons who were trying to outflank Tzadkiel. Gabriel cut them down, his great blade shearing through bone and sinew like a hot knife through butter. The screams of the dying were loud, and the thick black blood from the mortal wounds he inflicted on the demons oozed and stank. Gabriel’s swearing grew louder as he turned on his heel, ten demons dead and lying at his feet.

  “Tzad! Uri!” he yelled urgently. “We got ourselves the army of an Archdemon.”

  Uriel swore ferociously and changed fighting tactics midswing of his broadsword. As Gabriel moved back into the fray, he could see that Sophiel’s swift slash and dash tactics were working well. He abandoned his own tactics and adopted hers, using his heavy-bladed sword lightly, flicking lethal slashes at the demons as they moved to engage him.

  Gabriel with his three Seraphim, and Tzadkiel with Sophiel and Brieus flanking him, methodically
cut, slashed, and hacked their way through the demons whose ranks seemed to be never-ending. Uriel, however, was harder pressed, and Gabriel impaled a demon on his sword, kicking the body away as he started toward the younger Archangel.

  It happened so fast that Gabriel wasn’t entirely sure what he saw. One minute, Uriel was fighting three demons at once and being backed into the wall; the next, a demon had sneaked around behind him and stabbed him in the shoulder with a dagger. The scream that Uriel let out turned Gabriel’s blood cold and the demon, struggling to pull the dagger out of Uriel’s body, gave up and ran.

  “Get down,” Gabriel barked in Aramaic. It was time for power over steel, and before his horrified eyes, Uriel slowly sank to his knees, reaching up to try and pull the dagger out of his shoulder. Gabriel saw the other angels drop to the ground and raised his sword.

  Power the color of mercury surged out of the blade, and Gabriel concentrated, shedding his physical form and becoming a being of energy. Silver light surrounding pure white incandescence crackled as it filled the room, lighting up the entire warehouse brighter than midday in summertime. The demons moaned, trying to shield their eyes, but to no avail. Gabriel, in true Archangel form, unleashed the might of his power and destroyed them utterly, the silver light shearing through their forms with ease and the white incandescence burning their essence to nothingness.

  Drawing his power back into his form, Gabriel resumed his human shape and rushed to Uriel, who was panting harshly.

  “Uri,” he said urgently. “C’mon, Uri, talk to me.”

  “You whine too much,” Uriel grumbled. “And the damn dagger is stuck in the bone.”

  Gabriel growled, turning to Tzadkiel, Sophiel, and Brieus who were rushing to join them. “Sophiel, get Raphael and Raziel. Brieus, go with my Seraphim and secure the perimeter. Tzadkiel, help me here.”

  Tzadkiel didn’t fight Gabriel taking over the command of his two lieutenants, and Gabriel was grateful. Right now, there were more pressing things to worry about than who was in command. As the other angels disappeared to follow his orders, Gabriel and Tzadkiel slowly helped Uriel to a chair and pressed him down onto it.