“Demon, be silent.” Michael had read the letter and held it out to Gabriel. “You have no right to comment on my—or anyone else’s—form.”
Markus rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “But it’s such a delightfully sexy and hard form.”
Michael immediately blushed, and Gabriel grabbed the letter with his free hand, gesturing to Michael to join him as he walked to the dining table.
“Breathe,” he muttered as he unfolded the letter.
“I am trying, da bao.” Michael was glaring in Markus’s direction. “He is pushing me.”
“Aye, and all demons do. Don’t think about it. Tell me about this.” Gabriel quickly read the letter, his eyebrows shooting up almost to his hairline. “And tell me how we’re gonna keep Uriel from attacking Adramelek soon as he sees him? Or Raphael from practicing darts using poison-filled syringes as the darts and Uphir as the dartboard?”
Michael sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. “I confess, I do not know. Hold them back, I suppose.”
“Great.” Gabriel shook his head. “So Ondrass, Adramelek, Uphir, Lix Tetrax, and Melcherisa want to meet up for a chat about an alliance and treaty, huh? This is fishy.”
“I know.” Michael looked once more at Markus. “However, this… creature is Ondrass’s favorite. He wouldn’t have sent him to us with this letter if it were not, at least on Ondrass’s part, genuine.”
Gabriel grunted at that. “I don’t like it,” he said. “Not just because Adramelek’s a Fallen Angel. Uphir is a thorn in Raph’s side, Lix Tetrax pisses Haniel off, Melcherisa pisses off Metatron an’ as for Ondrass himself, well, Raziel might have a sort of grudging respect for him, but that’s not strong enough.”
Michael took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Some time ago, you agreed with me that we were losing the ongoing struggle. We must adapt, Gabriel. You are better at that than I. However, I fear that we must make alliances with those we would not do so otherwise.”
“What cost is winning?” Gabriel’s voice was low. “And don’t tell me winning ain’t the object, because it is the damn object. If Earth is to remain neutral territory, the balance between all three planes of existence maintained… we have to win this thing!”
“I know, Gabriel.” Michael gripped his arm. “I am very aware. But consider. If we can treat with these Archdemons and have them blood swear to remain neutral and keep their legions out of the conflict….”
“Oh. Oh my.” Gabriel blinked as he quickly calculated how many demons that was. “That means two hundred legions that we don’t have to fight.”
“Exactly. And,” Michael said, drawing closer and lowering his voice even more, “as a gesture of good faith, we can have Ondrass obtain this information that Tzadkiel requires from Bob Taytton’s home.”
Gabriel grinned. “I like that idea.” He nodded. “Okay. I’ll back you. You’re right.”
“Thank you, Gabriel.” Michael smiled.
“Though everyone’s gonna yell,” Gabriel predicted.
“I anticipate it.” Michael shrugged. “I have ear plugs.”
Gabriel burst out laughing. “You’re terrible, Mishka.”
“Thank you.” Michael lightly touched Gabriel’s cheek. “Come. We must fill in the others and send Markus back to Ondrass with a suitable answer.”
“Okay.” Gabriel followed Michael back to the rest of the Brotherhood, sheathing his sword as he did so.
That, Gabriel noted, was not lost on Uriel and Samael, both of whom raised their eyebrows at him, but followed his lead. Gabriel gave them a faint shake of his head in reply, a gesture of reassurance, and turned his attention to Michael.
“First,” Michael began in a tone that would brook no argument, “I am going to order you, Uriel, and you, Raphael, to remain calm. If you cannot control your tempers, then I suggest you leave now.” He looked up at the ceiling. “And I am ordering you, Metatron, and you, Haniel, to remain in Heaven until this business is concluded.”
There was an angry rumble from the sky outside at that, but Michael’s expression remained resolute and the rumble faded. Uriel and Raphael, their expressions a mixture of suspicion and confusion, looked at each other and then at Michael.
“Okay, Michael,” Raphael said slowly, “we’ll do this your way.”
“Thank you.” Michael turned to Markus. “I will give you your answer, demon, and then you may return unharmed to your master. Tell him we will meet him at the suggested location tomorrow at midday.”
“So that’s a yes, then?” Markus grinned. “Ondrass was right.”
“Be that as it may,” Michael said firmly, “do not count your chickens until they are hatched, as I believe the saying is.”
Markus bowed floridly. “Whatever you say, Archangel. Is that what you want me to tell him?”
Michael nodded and Markus grinned, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his pants, sauntering toward the door.
“Been a pleasure, gentlemen. See you tomorrow.” He slipped out of the still open door and disappeared. Tzadkiel closed it firmly, glaring at it as if it had done him some great personal injustice, and then returned his attention to Michael.
“Tomorrow,” Michael said, “we are going to meet with five Archdemons. Ondrass, Melcherisa, Lix Tetrax, Uphir, and Adramelek.”
The silence was so absolute that one could have heard a feather drop.
And then the shouting began.
“This is going to take all day,” Gabriel muttered, sitting down on one of the white leather armchairs. “Matter of fact,” he said in an undertone to Michael, “I could pop out and get us burgers, fries, and sodas, and they’d still be yelling.”
Michael’s lips twitched. “Hush, Gabriel.” After a moment, he added, “You are not wrong, however.”
“Aye, that’s what I thought.” Gabriel shook his head.
Chapter Eleven
AS GABRIEL had predicted, there was a lot of shouting. As the yelling faded into disgruntled grumbling, he had taken a moment to check on Mira and John. Both of his children were content, he was relieved to see, and both of them shooed him back to work, understanding that he was needed by the Brotherhood more than anywhere else.
Tzadkiel’s apartment was lit by soft down lights, which provided a muted glow to the palatial furnishings and gave the place a warm, inviting atmosphere. Unfortunately, the anger that Gabriel could feel radiating from Uriel, Raziel, and Samael, and the disappointment of Raphael, destroyed any sense of calm that he might have felt.
“So,” Raziel was saying in a tight voice, his expression foreboding, “you are telling us then, that because we live in precarious times that we are required to take precarious measures? That may be, Michael, but what will you do when these ‘allies’, the Archdemons, turn on us? You cannot bind them to our cause forever. Eventually, they will show their true colors. It suits them for now, certainly, but what of the future?”
“Then we will deal with it as necessary,” Michael said calmly. “Do you have a better idea, Raziel?”
From the silence that met that question, Gabriel realized that no one did. The expressions on Samael and Raphael’s faces became despondent, while Raziel’s simply grew more grim.
“No. I do not. And that makes this even more foolish a choice of action.”
“You will not support me, then?”
“I will support you, Michael, as I always have.” Raziel lit a cigarette. “But do not mistake support for agreement.”
“Forgive me,” Tzadkiel said with a measure of diffidence, “but if you support him, don’t you agree with him?”
“No. I will back this asinine plan because there is no other. I do not agree with it, and I will strive constantly to find something better than this. But until such time, I am not required to agree with this. I will do as required to ensure that it works, but I will not agree that this is the best way.”
“As you say,” Michael said. Although his voice was even, Gabriel could see in the set of his shoulders that
he was tired of arguing.
“So, are we agreed, then? Even if some of us don’t like this plan, we’ll still support it? An’ deal with any issues that come up when they come up?” Gabriel looked around the Brotherhood and at Shateiel and Agrat.
There was a round of nods.
“I’m actually bloody amazed that it only took seven hours to reach an agreement,” Gabriel mused. “I thought we’d be at this all night.”
“Shut up, Gabriel,” Uriel growled. “You’re asking me not to kill Adramelek when he’s going to be only a few feet away from me. This isn’t ideal.”
“No, it’s not fucking ideal.” Gabriel glared around the group, his temper rising. “But it’ll have to do, yeah? We have no other options. Not even giant brain St. Raziel over there can think of one. We are shit out of time and out of luck. We need intel, and we need it fast. And why was Markus so respectful to you, Agrat?”
“I wondered if any of you noticed that.” Agrat chuckled softly. “Because, sex benefits both sides of the good and evil divide. I was made to encourage lust and procreation from within the bonds of marriage. I was made to protect those who worked in the sex industry from harm. Good things. I was also made to encourage sex, to increase lust, and Hell has uses for that, bad uses. How many deals are made with demons about love or lust? I would guess that most of them, sadly, are deals of that type. That’s where the respect comes from.”
Gabriel sighed. “Agrat, there’s more to sex than power.”
“Of course there is.” She stretched languidly. “But Hell doesn’t see that, Gabriel. Which is why I agree with you and Michael that this will work. Hell sees only one side, because Hell does not truly understand love, and sacrifice because of love. You’ll need a herald to announce your titles tomorrow at this meeting,” she went on, abruptly changing the subject. “I offer my services.”
“Done,” Gabriel said, before Shateiel or Michael could protest. “Don’t forget all our titles, Agrat.”
Agrat smiled a ghost of a smile at him and winked. “Oh, I won’t, Gabriel, I won’t.”
He nodded, smiling in return. “Good.”
IT DIDN’T escape Gabriel’s notice that everyone seemed to have had the same thought and dressed to impress. The deserted, abandoned warehouse where the meeting between Archangels and Archdemons was to take place seemed utterly incongruous considering how formally they were all dressed. Moldy pieces of carpet heaped in piles in the corners, along with broken wooden pallets. The tin walls were rusting, and in some places there were large, uneven holes. The concrete floor was smudged with oil and burn marks, and in places, the slabs of concrete had cracked and weeds struggled to grow through. The windows were covered with a thick film of grime, and the whole place stank of stagnant water and stale air.
Gabriel absently smoothed a hand down his charcoal-colored wool suit, looking at the others of his Brotherhood with a raised eyebrow. They all wore suits, though Raziel had gone without a tie. He and Uriel stood side by side, and both of them were chain-smoking. The jewel in the crown of silks, wools, linens, and refined and elegant couture, however, was Agrat.
Agrat looked like a Korean princess. She wore a silk, floor-length gown of the palest rose that sighed and whispered around her calves. It was cut to accentuate her figure and designed in the style of the one-shoulder gowns popular with the women of ancient Greece. Her long dark hair was caught up in a French roll and held in place with a clasp shaped like a feather made of white gold and inlaid with emeralds. A matching pair of earrings and necklace, also of white gold inlaid with emeralds, completed the look. Her wedding band, yellow-gold, was the only piece of jewelry she wore on her hands.
The Archdemons and Markus were, Gabriel thought with some amusement, just as elegantly dressed. Adramelek wore the same human meatsuit host he’d worn for the last several thousand years—a former Russian peasant, taken by the Fallen Angel, now Archdemon, on a whim, because of his doe-like eyes. There was a sardonic smirk on his pale, handsome face. Beside him was Melcherisa, his form the body of a man who had once been a New Zealand surfer. Gabriel knew the man had made a deal with Melcherisa for fame and fortune in exchange for the Archdemon wearing his body whenever he chose. The deal with the Archdemon had not included any clauses, and so when it had been finalized, Melcherisa had simply taken control and possessed the body at that moment.
Lix Tetrax, feminine and beautiful, clad in scarlet and black velvet, her long, blonde hair falling in waves and curls down her shoulders, smirked. Uphir, tall and cadaverous-looking, wearing a rumpled pale gray suit and no tie, polished his spectacles. And finally, Gabriel turned his eyes to the Archdemon who had called for the meeting, Ondrass.
If an outfit could say louder than words that someone thought highly of themselves, Ondrass’s was it. His outfit was ostentatious and offensive and designed to be exactly that, the extinct and endangered animals used to make it identifying themselves to the Archangels by virtue of their scent. That scent would be intangible to a human nose, but to an Archangel, it was quite obvious.
Sometimes, Gabriel thought with a quiet sigh, being nearly all knowing and all seeing had its drawbacks. Seeing the unnecessary display put on by Ondrass was one such time—there was no reason for it, not really. They all knew who he was and what he was capable of doing. Ondrass was a Grand Marquis in Hell; he wielded a great deal of power and commanded absolute loyalty from his followers and minions. The cruelty of his outfit screamed louder than words that Ondrass did not care for much on Earth—it was designed with the sole reason of proving that this meeting and Ondrass’s reasons for it were more important than anything. Ondrass looked like a stereotypical Chinese gangster, straight out of a Hong Kong action movie, Gabriel thought, as the Archdemon pulled a cigar from a silver-chased cigar case and lit it with a thought.
Markus was again in his black suit, and he bowed to the Archangels. “Gentlemen,” he said with a note of pride in his voice, “I have the distinct honor to present His Excellency, Chancellor and Minister of the Order of the Fly, Lord Adramelek, formerly Angel of Thrones, President of the High Council of Devils and Lucifer’s personal dresser.” Adramelek inclined his head, his amused expression still in place. “His Lordship, Lord Melcherisa, Governor of the Base Natures of Hell, and Her Ladyship—for the moment—Lix Tetrax, Duchess of Whirlwinds, High Priestess of Fevers and Member of the Order of the Fly.” Melcherisa nodded once and Lix Tetrax followed suit.
“Uphir, Physician of Hell, and last but certainly not least, His Excellency, Ondrass, Marquis of Hell, Governor of Discord.”
“Charmed,” Ondrass said.
Agrat stepped forward and looked at the Archdemons calmly. “Lords and Lady,” she said in a neutral tone of voice, “I present Saint Michael, Chief Archangel of Heaven, Field Marshal and Commander in Chief of the Armies of God, Lord of Mercy and Temperance; Saint Gabriel, General of God and Archangel of War and Annunciation; and Saint Uriel the Archangel, Lord of Fire, Guardian of Eden and the Gates of Hell.” Michael, Gabriel, and Uriel nodded once as Agrat continued.
“Saint Samael the Archangel, Lord of Death; Saint Raphael the Archangel, Heaven’s Physician and Lord of Medicine; Saint Tzadkiel the Archangel, Chief of Heaven’s Police and Secret Services, Lord of Judgment and Trials; and Saint Raziel the Archangel, Lord of Secrets and Mysteries, Ruler of Science.” Samael, Raphael, Tzadkiel, and Raziel did not nod, or, in fact, react at all as Agrat stepped back, her job as herald done.
“Speak,” Michael commanded. “Tell us of the reasons you require this treaty and what you wish to achieve.”
“What, no offer of refreshment? No glass of wine or cheese and crackers? Dreadful. No compliment on my wonderful outfit? Adramelek outdid himself in his role as Lucifer’s—and my—personal dresser. Don’t you like my cane? From the ribs of a Blue Whale, you know. And my shoes—baby seal leather. Soft as a baby’s bottom.” Ondrass smirked. “Tsk. I expected more from you, Michael. You’re a terrible host.”
“Get to the point,”
Michael growled.
“How tiresome,” Ondrass said, sighing. “But as you wish.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel saw that Raziel had taken a firm hold of Uriel’s arm and that Samael had done the same to Raphael. He could understand why. The urbane, self-congratulatory smugness of the Archdemons made him clench his jaw; the urge to punch those smirks off their faces was almost overwhelming. For Uriel and Raphael, standing a few feet away from their equals and opposites, it would no doubt feel even worse. The only sign of Uriel’s anger was his clenched fist as he gripped Raziel’s hand hard, and Raphael remained as still as a statue.
“Speak,” Michael ordered again.
“Very well. As you know,” Ondrass began, “Shamshiel has been donating his feathers to the cause of creating charms to hide lesser demons from angelic senses and power. They have worked remarkably well, which, I admit, is quite a surprise.”
“I certainly was surprised,” Adramelek remarked. “I told him several times to stop being an idiot and move on, but no. Some of our Fallen brethren can’t let go of old grudges.”
“As he was beginning to garner quite a lot of interest—and sales—in his feathers, Melcherisa went to speak to him,” Ondrass continued.
“He told me he had a plan.” Melcherisa shook his head. “He was going to use this human who had conjured a way of speaking to him directly to open all of the nine hundred and ninety-nine Gates of Hell. With the gates open, demons and Fallen Ones could come and go as they chose to. Uriel,” he said, inclining his head at the Archangel, “would not be around to stop any of us.”
“That doesn’t sound like something you’d be against,” Uriel scowled. “You’d all be partying if that were the case.”
“Perhaps.” Ondrass shrugged. “Perhaps not. We are old, Uriel, all of us here are old. Most of the lesser demons and the imps are children and infants to us. They do not see the big picture. They do not see that without the rules in place, everything becomes chaos, and it is the sort of chaos that benefits neither Heaven nor Hell. To the point, however. Shamshiel boasted that this human thought himself the reincarnation of some French saint and told us his name.”
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