by Nana Malone
“You can come out now,” Sam whispered as soon as the last soldier disappeared around a corner. “About time you got your tailfeathers back to work.”
Azrael faded into view.
“How’d you know I was here?” Azrael asked. A genuine smile graced his ebony features at the sight of his old friend.
“Standing near you is like scuffing your feet on the rug and then touching your sister's bathrobe,” Sam grinned, exposing his slightly-pointed teeth. “You make my ‘fro all aglow, bro!”
Azrael laughed. Although the Angel of Death had never been a stick-up-your-arse like the other Angelics, he’d never been a creature of mirth, either. Az’s eight-month ‘vacation’ to Haven with his pretty lady friend had agreed with him.
Sam surveyed the progress of his troops using infra-red glasses. He was expected to put his tail on the line along with the men under his command at the first sign of trouble. At the moment everything was quiet. He didn’t have demonic spider-senses like the Angelics, but he’d been doing this kind of work long enough to tell their quarry was most likely not on the premises of Wolverine Two.
“How’s things been going in my absence,” Azrael asked.
“Oh … the usual,” Sam said. “Chemosh jumped hosts again into some radical Shiite cleric named Al-Sadr and disappeared somewhere into Iran. Remphan is still squatting on Osama Bin Laden and hiding in the caves of Afghanistan. Kewan’s squatting on Kim Jong Il in North Korea. And now Tanit is on the loose occupying bodies unknown.
“Tanit escaped?” Azrael said with a frown. “That’s bad. I had a hell of a time rounding her up the last time she got out. She’s another big one, though not as bad as Chemosh.”
“Yup,” Sam said. The signal came from the compound ahead. “Hey … gotta run. You gonna hang around for a while?”
“Sure,” Azrael said. “I’ve got a favor to ask. But go ahead. I’ll wait. Been a while since I reaped a squatter.”
Sam crept forward, careful to scrutinize the ground for disturbed soil which could indicate freshly-dug IED’s. Unlike his buddy the Angel of Death, dead for him was dead. He was rather partial to his body and not overly keen on having it suffer a horrible, painful death. He’d much rather die in his sleep, like his grandfather had, or a nice, painless hand-holding from Azrael when his number was up. Until then, he’d be careful.
“We got nothing, Sir,” the Army specialist said. “The building is clear.”
“Search it and see what you can find,” Sam ordered. “These guys don’t look like your normal run-of-the-mill homeowners. Something's up.”
Sam gestured at the so-called ‘family’ that had too many men and not enough women to be normal. Collaborators. He didn’t need to be part-demon to sense there were people here who didn’t belong.
“Where is Saddam Hussein,” the Iraqi-American Special Forces translator asked. “We know he was here.”
“We’re just a family of poor farmers,” one of the men said in Arabic. “We have no connection to Saddam Hussein.”
Sam caught the subtle way the mother had her children huddled together, close to an elderly man. A twenty-something man who bore too strong of a resemblance to be anything other than her son glowered at them with hatred in his eyes. A believer in Saddam Hussein, but not a squatter.
The woman kept glancing fearfully at two men who’d positioned themselves on either side of the children. The man speaking must be her husband. The two on either side didn’t belong, but Sam got no sense they were squatters. Mortal hangers-on, along for the power ride. They existed everywhere sentient creatures existed, evil gods or no evil gods. Someone in the family, either the husband or the son, had given Saddam Hussein refuge and the woman knew it. He’d bet his life on it.
“You, take her out of here,” Sam ordered. “Leave the children with those two so-called uncles. Yes, the ones her husband claims are his brothers. Let's see how much she trusts them with her children.”
The woman began to wail with terror. The husband snapped at her to shut up and glared at the Special Forces translator in defiance. Yes. Those two didn’t belong.
“Get them out of here,” Sam pointed to the two collaborators. “Turn them over to Red Dawn command. They know something.”
Word came over the radio that Objective Wolverine One had also come up dry. The First Brigade milled about in frustration, searching every nook and cranny of the two farms. He was here. Somewhere. Sam was no Angel of Death, but he’d learned to sense when a squatter was close by. It was time to go see what that favor was Az wanted and maybe ask for a little favor in return. If he was up for it. Word was Az had gotten chewed up and spit out pretty bad that last mission.
“Az,” Sam called into the darkness. “Hey! Az!”
Az faded back into view, inches from his face.
“Oh! Shit! Man! Don’t do that to me!” Sam blurted out, his heart racing in his chest. “Fuck! Thought you were going to zap me for a minute there!”
“Sorry,” Azrael said. “Elisabeth’s been spoiling me. After eight months of being touched, it’s going to take time to adjust to the fact nobody else can touch me. Yet. The Regent thinks eventually that will change.”
“You ask her to marry you yet?” Sam asked.
“She said yes,” Azrael said with a shit-eating grin. “The Regent thinks I’ve healed up enough to not zap her out of her body on our wedding night. That’s the favor, by the way.”
“I ain’t taking care of that deed!” Sam joked. “You’re just going to have to get your tailfeathers corporeal enough to bed the little lady yourself!”
By the way Azrael choked, Sam could tell it was the last thing he’d expected to pop out of his mouth.
“Although I’m sure Lucifer would be happy to oblige,” Sam added. “He doesn’t have any qualms about bedding somebody else’s wife. He’d probably even let you watch.”
“Enough!” Azrael roared in laughter. “I need a best man. Not a surrogate … whatever!”
“Thought as much,” Sam said. Not that Azrael had ever let any of the Sata’anic-hybrids he worked with get close, but the Angel of Death had become downright sociable the past ten years. Elisabeth's doing, he suspected. She’d been the missing piece he’d needed to stop genuflecting to the holier-than-thou immortals who forever interfered just enough to screw things up, but never enough to actually help.
“You getting married here? On Earth?”
“Ceres Station,” Azrael said. “The factions all wish to be present. There’s no way Lucifer will let that many busybodies down on his planet.”
“Wise move,” Sam's heart did a happy little skip-jump of joy at the news. Ceres station! And as best man he was certain he'd be allowed to accompany the bride!
As a descendant of a Sata’anic soldier, he was bound by the same rules which bound everyone else. He wasn’t supposed to leave Earth unless he built himself his own spaceship and got there under his own steam. Since using advanced technology was also forbidden, he had to use the materials and technology of whatever period he lived in. Humanity was finally moving in the right direction, but it was unlikely any Sata’an-hybrid would still be alive by the time humans got around to inventing their own hyperdrive. But if Az could manufacture some exception, even if it was only to the asteroid belt of this solar system, he'd sure like to go along!
Ever since mankind had become technologically advanced enough to start exploring space on their own, not even the emperor's observers had been able to shuttle back and forth with impunity as they had in the early days of the Armistice. Too many Earth satellites with eyes aimed at near-Earth orbit. The Russians thought the occasional strange radar blip was the Americans. The Americans thought it was the Chinese. And the Chinese thought it was the Russians. They were being forced to keep a lower and lower profile.
It was only a matter of time before humans figured out there was a big fat cat in the bag squirming to get out. Then maybe, at last, his people would be free of this accursed armistice which prevented them
from simply turning to the neighbors they’d been living amongst for 5,500 years, unfurling their tails, and saying ‘hi.’
“He’s over there,” Azrael interrupted Sam's happy musings.
“Huh?” Sam asked, visions of space-shuttles travelling through the stars as his full-blooded Sata’anic ancestors had done dancing in his head.
“The squatter,” Azrael pointed to a small outbuilding that was positioned halfway between Objective Wolverine One and Wolverine Two. “He’s over there. Around seven feet underground.”
“Oh!” Sam grabbed his radio. “Red Dawn command. Red Dawn command. This is Wolverine Two. The fox is in the henhouse located about a half klick between the two objectives. Over.”
The radio erupted with chatter as Red Dawn Command mobilized the troops to converge upon the quarry. The Coalition forces Sam was embedded in here today had absolutely no idea some of the so-called ‘spooks’ in their midst were really what their legends believed to be demons.
“You going to reap this one for us, Az?” Sam offered. “It would be an honor.”
“Nope,” Azrael said. “Saddam Hussein is one of those squatters with unusual requirements. He can’t jump anyplace without another genetically compatible host. Elisabeth thinks it's better if we let the Iraqi people try him themselves for war crimes.”
“Wise woman,” Sam said.
“Agreed,” Azrael said with a grin that made him look like a teenager. Some Angel of Death! All he needed was a pocket-protector and a pair of thick, coke-bottle glasses and he’d be mistaken for some mathematics dweeb straight out of Cal Polytech.
Sam returned his focus to the job at hand. Dragging Saddam Hussein’s sorry ass out of the grave he’d dug himself. Filthy. Matted hair and beard. He’d buried himself with $750,000 US dollars and a couple of AK-47’s, but didn’t use them, surrendering and begging for mercy. The only reason he surrendered so peacefully was because Azrael hung over their shoulders, just corporeal enough to be visible to the quasi-ascended Agent and let him know resistance meant an instant all-expenses-paid trip straight into Moloch’s grinning maw.
A wedding! On Ceres station! Sam couldn’t wait!
* * * * *
Chapter 55
There is no man who lives and,
Seeing the Angel of Death,
Can deliver his soul from his hand.
Targum Psalm 134:45 (A.V. 48)
Sol System: December 25, 2003
Ceres Station
Although archangels could ram their consciousnesses through the time-space continuum to get from one place to another, mortals required technology to traverse the stars, something both emperors possessed in infinite quantity. Azrael grinned as Elisabeth stepped off the shuttlecraft wearing a simple white dress. She leaned on Opa’s cane, a reminder, no doubt, of the family who couldn’t be here.
"She looks breathtaking," Shay'tan rumbled in his ear. The old dragon adjusted his significant girth with a sigh. "I always did love weddings."
Kadima scurried out behind her and adjusted her white khimar, wide-eyed as she stared out into the space-hanger turned garden and the two alien militaries which had lined up to witness today's event in a formal honor guard. In a spat of generosity, She-who-is had terra-formed the underground facility into a habitable biosphere, complete with flora and fauna. You needed a survival suit to wander outside, but inside Ceres Station had become a paradise.
Sam stepped off behind them, pausing to admire a very different view than the one admired by the ladies. Spaceships! Lots of spaceships! And aliens! Including his full-blooded Sata’anic ancestors! For all Sam’s teasing about Azrael being a science nerd, Sam was a bit of a sci-fi geek of his own. Emmett had clued Azrael in to the fact Sam kept a Star Fleet uniform and pair of Vulcan ears to go LARP-ing at Star Trek conventions as his favorite character, Lieutenant Tuvok.
“Hey … wow!” Sam hurried ahead of the bridal procession to join Azrael at his place before the two emperors. He eyed the enormous red dragon, resplendent in his jeweled robes of state, and the ordinary looking bushy-haired man wearing a simple white robe, with awe. “Spaceships … and gods. If you were to zap me dead right this moment, I don’t think it could get any better than this!”
“Our guest-of-honor has yet to arrive,” Azrael said. “The Regent warned me she’d make a stage entrance perfectly timed to steal the show.”
As if on cue, the overbearing presence he associated with the Architect of the Universe pressed down upon the base. Milliseconds before She-who-is finished ramming her enormous consciousness down into a teeny-tiny humanoid shell, the Regent loudly commented about how beautiful Elisabeth looked to detract from She-who-is’s rude attempt to upstage the bride. Oblivious, the goddess who ruled All-That-Is glided up to Azrael with more oompf than any Hollywood starlet.
“Azrael,” She-who-is purred in a breathy voice. Her sparkly golden dress was much more elaborate than the simple white gown Elisabeth had chosen for today's ceremony. “I hope your bride appreciates my efforts to make your day a special one.”
“Typical,” Shay’tan rumbled deep in his belly. He rolled his golden eyes and gave Azrael a conspiratorial wink. “It’s always got to be about HER.”
She-who-is shot Shay’tan a dirty look. Shay’tan donned an expression of pure innocence and moved his paw to his head, his snout and heart in a gesture of respect. The Architect of the Universe appeared mollified. She turned to gather genuflections from the other VIPs who’d assembled for the wedding. As she did, Shay’tan shot out his tail and caressed her gossamer wing. She-who-is slapped the offending limb, but Azrael couldn’t help but notice HER pleased smirk.
Lucifer led Elisabeth up to the living gazebo. Elisabeth's long blonde hair was braided with flowers, a simple hand-crocheted white veil covering her hair. Azrael glanced between HER and his bride-to-be and noticed the goddess had waxed melancholy, her mascara smudged as she hastily wiped away a tear. With a wave of HER hand, the flowers in the living gazebo changed color from gold to white to match the baby's breath in Elisabeth's hair. Their scent wafted through the flight hanger, a tantalizing aroma.
Lucifer stood before his former-adoptive father whom he had not seen for 5,500 years with an unreadable expression before bending to kiss Elisabeth upon both cheeks. Now that Lucifer and Elisabeth stood side-by-side, the physical resemblance was eerie. Azrael caught the strange expression that crossed the Emperor's face as he realized it, too.
“He is the mate I chose for you the last time you were in this realm,” Lucifer whispered with tears in his eyes. “I’m glad you found each other again.” His feathers rustled with emotion as he gave Azrael her hand.
Azrael trembled at the pleasure of Elisabeth's small hand curling around his. She peeked through blonde eyelashes and blushed as Azrael lifted it to his lips.
“I see you,” Elisabeth said with a hushed voice, the first words she’d spoken to him in both lifetimes he had known her. Her cheeks turned pink as she realized everyone had heard.
Lucifer blinked to cram the emotion back behind the mask of arrogance he usually wore to hide his feelings and stepped out of the way to bear witness with the other guests. The General stiffened, giving him an icy look. The Regent elbowed her mate in the ribs, forcing him to acknowledge his adversary with a nod. Lucifer glanced at his adopted father and appeared crushed when the Emperor turned away. Both She-who-is and the Regent sighed with rare agreement. The Emperor’s inability to forgive his son had long ago grown old.
“Dearly beloved,” the Emperor took charge, “it’s not often the powers that be reach unanimous agreement on any topic, but today we celebrate the marriage of our loyal servant, Azrael, to the human female, Elisabeth.”
“I can’t believe God himself is presiding over their wedding,” Sam whispered to Kadima.
“Allah,” Kadima corrected. “Allah himself is presiding over the ceremony.”
“Actually,” Shay’tan rumbled from behind them. “The concept of god or the devil as preached by your
Earth religion is an amalgamation of many different religions. As you can see, there are many gods, including higher gods even we worship.” The old dragon cast his eyes skyward towards some deity who was not in the room, not towards She-who-is.
Elisabeth gave Azrael a knowing look. She'd never been subjected to the whole motley crew of oversized egos jammed into a single room before, but no sooner had they announced their engagement than the power-brokers had started popping by the Cherubim monastery at inconvenient times to pay their respects. There’d been this one time out in the gardens…
“I understand you have your own vows?” the Emperor asked.
“Yes,” Azrael said. He patted his pocket and the scrap of void-resistant paper he’d tucked in there just in case he forgot his vows even though he’d spent the last three weeks memorizing them. He held Elisabeth's hands level with his heart as he stared into her beautiful silver eyes.
“So many people dream of that one great love,” Azrael's heart filled with warmth as he recited the vows which had flowed effortlessly onto the page. “That fateful look across a smoky room where you say, this person is for me. Eros. The heady, almost frantic need to be with the object of your affection. But such love rarely lasts. The supernova which burns so brightly in the night sky soon burns itself out.”
Tears welled in Elisabeth's eyes as she squeezed his hand and nodded. The words he used now were how she’d once described her attraction to the young man who’d proven unworthy of her.
“There is another kind of love,” Azrael continued. “Agape. The love you feel for a best friend. It’s the ease with which two people can sit together in total silence and be content because words are not necessary to communicate how you feel. It’s the urge to run home and tell the other how your day went because you want your joy to be their joy as well. It’s the ability when life forces you to spend time apart, whether a few hours or many years, to pick right up where you left off as though no time has passed at all.”