“A way to summon the Archangel Raziel. It’s quite complex. There’s a lot of things we need. Do you know where we’re going to get St. John’s Wort at this time of day?”
“I have some,” Penemuel said. “I have a lot of those sort of things. Just in case. You never know what might happen.”
“Well, that’s handy.” Chloe grinned. “Where do you keep it?”
“The bottom shelf of the pantry,” he answered.
Chloe scribbled a list of things and nodded, setting her laptop aside. “I’ll go see if you’ve got everything I need for this.” She got to her feet and went into the kitchen. A few moments later, Penemuel could hear her bustling about and talking to herself.
“Everything all right?” he called.
“Oh yes, fine,” Chloe called back. “You’ve got a well-stocked pantry, Pen.”
“Thank you. I think.”
Chloe came back into the living room with her arms full and set the items she was carrying down on Penemuel’s coffee table. Bemused, Penemuel watched her as she consulted the laptop, then began to mix up herbs in a silver bowl that he’d forgotten he owned. When everything was in the bowl, Chloe pulled a pocket knife out of her jeans pocket and cut a line on the palm of her hand.
“Chloe!” Penemuel half rose from his seat in shock, and Susan gasped, pressing a hand to her lips.
“Relax. I know what I’m doing.” Chloe let several drops of blood drip into the bowl, pocketed her knife, and then picked up a book of matches. “Ready?” she asked, looking first at her mum and then at Penemuel.
“Are you sure about this, dear?” her mother asked. Susan’s expression was a mixture of shock and worry. Like Penemuel, she had half risen from her chair when Chloe had cut her hand.
“Yeah, I am.” Chloe grinned.
“Oh dear,” Penemuel said.
“I’m taking that as a yes, you’re ready,” Chloe said, and lit a match. She dropped it into the bowl, and the contents caught alight with a bright blue flame.
“Holy Saint Raziel, author of the Sefer Raziel, I call on you in the name of Secrets and Mysteries that is your power to come to us here. Now!”
The flames surged toward the ceiling and then went out. Penemuel found he was holding his breath.
“Well now,” said a new voice, a voice that Penemuel recognized. “I haven’t been summoned like that in a very, very long time.”
“Raziel,” Penemuel whimpered, cowering in his chair.
The Archangel walked to him, holy light shimmering around his body. “Yes,” he said. “Me.”
“Oh dear.” Penemuel said again, trembling.
RAZIEL had barely appeared in Cuba with Tzadkiel, Brieus, and Sophiel when he felt the pull of magic.
“What the hell?” he demanded, looking around.
“What is it?” Tzadkiel asked.
“Someone’s summoning me.” Raziel was astonished.
“Summoning you?” Brieus echoed.
“That’s what I said.” Raziel blinked. “I have to go. Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone. I shan’t be long.” With that, he vanished.
Emerging in a living room in an apartment in London was not what Raziel had expected. Even more surprising was who was in the living room. As Raziel gazed at Penemuel in astonishment, he was aware of the two human women clutching each other and staring at him in awe.
“This is quite a revelation,” Raziel said, turning to face them. “Who summoned me?”
“Um, that would be me, sir,” said the younger woman.
“And you are?”
“My name’s Chloe.” She stood up, running her hands through her hair, and lifted her chin bravely. “I know you can probably melt me down to nothing with a thought, but Pen’s my friend and he’s in trouble, so I decided that summoning you and asking you for help would be a good idea. Sir.”
Raziel quirked an eyebrow. “Well, Chloe, while I admire your loyalty, not to mention your cleverness in discovering a working summoning ritual for an Archangel, I’m not entirely sure I can be of much help to you.” He turned back to look at Penemuel. “Oh stop that,” he said in disgust. “I’m not going to destroy you, Penemuel, honestly.”
“I-I-I....”
“Hush a minute.” Raziel raised a hand. He looked at the three with narrowed eyes. “This is quite remarkable,” he said. “How long have you been living here in England, Penemuel?”
“Since 1286, my lord,” Penemuel said.
“Really? I didn’t detect a thing.” Raziel couldn’t help but be impressed. “We seem to be awash in Grigori this week,” he went on, “so tell me, who else is wandering around the planet?”
“Azazel, Kokabiel, and Baraqiel, my lord.”
“Astonishing.” Raziel sat down on the sofa. “Where’s Semjaza?”
“Do you promise to help protect Penemuel from him?” Chloe cut in.
Raziel’s eyebrows rose even higher. “This is a serious request?”
“Of course!” She looked offended. “Pen’s our friend. Right, Mum?”
“Yes. Yes, he is,” the older woman agreed with her daughter.
“Incredible.” Raziel shook his head in wonder. “And you’re not coercing them?”
“I have done no such thing,” Penemuel said, suddenly angry. “I did not do so in Eden. I would not do so now.”
“Huh.” Raziel regarded the Grigori thoughtfully. “What about the other three who are out of Hell?”
“Azazel... yes.” Penemuel looked stricken. “Ishtahar’s sister.”
Raziel scowled. “Fucking hell. Damn you, Semjaza!”
“Amen,” Penemuel agreed fervently. “You must understand, my lord Raziel, most of us who were sent to Hell by Michael were sent there for crimes unrelated to human women. Mine was the sharing of the knowledge of reading and writing, Kokabiel and Baraqiel’s crime was sharing how to read the stars. Only Semjaza’s closest took human women for wives and priestesses.”
Raziel sighed. “You do know that it’s most unlikely that all of my Brotherhood will agree to this, yes? This protection of you? Uriel and Gabriel particularly will object, and Tzadkiel was the one who refused you pardon after you all begged for forgiveness while in Hell. They will most likely be reluctant to help you or to let you stay here.”
Penemuel nodded. “I know.”
“But you can’t send Pen back to Hell,” Chloe protested. “He hasn’t done anything wrong!”
“It’s not my decision, Chloe.” Raziel tapped his fingers on his leg. “Listen. Stay put. I’ll be back. I need to consult one who is higher than even Michael.”
Penemuel looked stunned. “You would go to God? For me?”
“Yes.” Raziel regarded him seriously. “I want to be sure that what I’m about to do is right by Him. This is a gray area, Penemuel. So don’t move. I’ll be back.” He disappeared.
Fifteen minutes later, Raziel returned. He noticed that the three had, in fact, not moved at all. As he sat down, Raziel said, “I didn’t mean ‘don’t move’ literally, you know.”
Penemuel blinked owlishly at him.
“Forgive me. I was just shocked that you’d come at all.”
“I was curious,” Raziel admitted. “So, to the point, because I have much yet to do today. Yes, I can give you protection, but not for free. I want something in return.”
Penemuel bit his lip. “What?”
“Information. Help us and you will be forgiven and redeemed and allowed to live as you have been, without fear of reprisal from any of us. Such was the Word of God. Help us find Semjaza and find out what he wants, what his plans are.”
Penemuel let out an explosive breath. “You want me to be your spy.”
“Yes.”
“I won’t do it.” Penemuel shook his head. “He’ll kill me if he finds out!”
“So don’t let him find out.” Raziel faced Penemuel and glared at him. “Stop being a damn coward for once in your immortal life, Penemuel. You can only hide behind your books for so long before some
thing comes out to bite you on the ass, and right now, it’s Semjaza doing that. You want to live without fear of him? Without fear of Uriel sinking his sword into your gut? Without fear of Michael throwing you back into Hell?”
“Yes,” Penemuel said in a small voice.
“Then is it really such a hard thing to do, to pull up your britches and help me? Or will you remain forever cowering in terror because you’re too weak to do otherwise?” Raziel filled his words with scorn.
Penemuel raised his head. “That’s most unfair, my lord.”
“I don’t have time for fair. I have, as I said, much to do today. I do not have time or leisure to give you the coddling you seem to think you need. I can’t wrap you in cotton wool and baby you, Penemuel. So I ask you one last time. Will you get me the information we need?”
It hung between them for several long moments. Finally, Penemuel nodded. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Yes.”
“Excellent.” Raziel stood up. “Now I will shield your home and your possessions and your workplace. Which leads me to ask, where do you work?”
“At the British Library,” Penemuel said.
Raziel blinked. “How did we miss this?” he wondered again, then shook his head. “Never mind. Rhetorical question.” He reached out with his power and carefully laid down wards that would be undetectable to anyone who was not an Archangel around the apartment building. That done, Raziel reached out further and did the same with the British Library. It was not particularly hard to do, Raziel mused to himself, but the reason for doing it was not something he had expected at all.
When he was finished, Raziel sat back and crossed his legs. “You are going to see Semjaza?”
“Yes, tomorrow.” Penemuel sighed. “I aim to be back here by dinner time.”
“All right.” Raziel nodded. “I’ll come by around seven p.m. Where is he, by the by?”
Penemuel took another breath. “He’s in Paris right now. And... if what he proposes we do for him involves things that we—I—find repugnant, I retain the right to refuse him. There are some things that I will not do, my lord, not even for freedom from fear.”
Raziel tilted his head to one side. “I see. I understand, actually. No, don’t do anything that would be out of character. I cannot imagine that Semjaza would ask you to do anything that was particularly savory, after all, so if you do not wish to do his will, that is up to you. The information I want is fairly simple to get, after all—where is he staying, what are his plans, and I’d like a report on his power and magical abilities too. He had been up in Aquila for a very long time. I’m curious as to how he managed to get out.”
Penemuel nodded slowly, beginning to pet his cat. He felt a little more at ease now; Raziel could see the infinitesimal relaxing of muscles beneath the tweed coat that Penemuel wore.
“I will do whatever I can to get that information for you, my lord.”
“Thank you.” Raziel stood. “Chloe,
Chloe’s mum, it was lovely to meet you both. I only wish it were under less dire circumstances. Penemuel, I will see you tomorrow night.” He inclined his head to them and vanished.
“Well?” Tzadkiel demanded when Raziel returned to him, Brieus, and Sophiel.
“You are not going to believe this,” Raziel said. “As a matter of fact, I’m still processing it.”
“What happened?” Sophiel asked.
“I was summoned to London,” Raziel said. “By a human girl named Chloe. She and her mother were in an apartment there. With Penemuel.” He grinned at the stunned expressions on the faces of the three angels.
“Penemuel? Seriously?” Tzadkiel was stunned.
“The Grigori?” Brieus asked.
“One and the same, yes.” Raziel lit a cigarette. “I tell you, I was so surprised, you could have knocked me over with one of my own feathers. Anyway, he asked me for help, for protection from Semjaza.”
“What did you tell him?” Tzadkiel asked.
Raziel shrugged. “I had to go upstairs and talk to God. It’s way out of my department. I mean, it’s Holy Writ that the Grigori be punished for eternity, and your judgment back in the day didn’t make it any less so, Tzad.”
Tzadkiel shook his head. “Whatever. That was then, this is now. What did God say?”
“He said that I should give Penemuel what he wanted, but not without him earning it. That parable about appreciating something more when it’s earned rather than just given.”
“Oh yes, of course.” Tzadkiel nodded.
“So, I went back and told Penemuel that what I wanted in exchange for protection was information. He wibbled a bit but finally agreed.”
“Wibbled?” Sophiel arched an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
“He’s a coward,” Raziel said and rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised he didn’t turn himself into a mouse. Actually, now I think about that, he probably didn’t because his cat would have eaten him. But he realized that he did have to earn the protection and God’s forgiveness, so he put on his big boy pants and agreed.”
“You have got to stop spending so much time with Uriel,” Tzadkiel said. “Big boy pants? Really?”
“Hey, if the description fits.” Raziel shook his head in disgust. “He’s not what he was, Tzad. He’s literally a yellow- belly coward. I don’t know how he managed to survive as long as he has.”
“Unbelievable,” Tzadkiel said, running a hand over his short cropped hair. “The others are going to freak out, you know.”
“I’ll deal with Uriel.” Raziel smirked. “As for Michael and Gabriel, well, they can deal with each other.”
“And on that note,” Sophiel said, wrinkling her nose, “we should get to work and find Ahijah.”
“You are quite right, Sophiel,” Raziel said, giving her a florid bow.
She laughed. “You’re incorrigible, Raziel.”
Raziel winked at her. “It keeps me young. Come on, then, let’s find Ish’s son.”
Chapter Four
AGRAT was charming a Russian official, and Uriel was bored.
He had no time for bureaucracy of any sort, but Samael’s suggestion that they try getting their information by stealth first rather than violence had been accepted as a better option by Shateiel and Agrat. Uriel wasn’t happy at being outvoted. He had wanted to set fire to things, beat a few people up, and blow something to pieces, but now here he was, standing just out of sight of the official with Shateiel and Samael, watching as Agrat worked her magic.
Agrat had adopted a glamour that made her look like a blonde, Russian pinup girl. She was sitting on the edge of the official’s desk, giving him a close up view of her cleavage, and twirling a strand of blonde hair around a finger as she asked him questions. Every so often, her free hand would brush against the official’s, and there would be a tingle of power in the wake of her touch. Each touch made the man more and more eager to talk to her, to tell her what she wanted to know. He spoke quickly, excitedly, his gaze darting between her chest and her face, and he licked his lips frequently. Uriel was privately astonished that Shateiel had not marched around the corner and buried his sword in the official’s stomach.
With a soft, frustrated sigh, Uriel turned away from the display that Agrat was putting on, and looked up at the ceiling. The offices were in a rundown building in the middle of Moscow, and like all Soviet-era architecture, seemed to be standing purely out of stubbornness rather than structural integrity. The plaster on the walls was peeling, revealing brick and wood, and the rosette in the middle of the ceiling where a light bulb hung from a moldy cord was cracked and chipped, and painted an ugly shade of bright, baby blue. The light bulb flickered every so often, and Uriel wondered about the safety of the wiring. The whole building was rickety and should be condemned, he thought. He was certain that there were rats in the walls, too, as his sharp Archangel hearing could pick up the pitter patter of tiny, scampering feet with claws.
Uriel was uncomfortable in Russia. It was too cold, too big, and the
cities too cramped. He always felt a strange sort of shrinkage whenever he had to come to Russia; the vastness of the country, the seemingly endless stretch of tundra in spring and snow in winter that stretched over half the world made him feel small and insignificant. He knew that Gabriel and Raziel were very fond of the country and its people, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why.
“It is not that bad,” Samael murmured.
Uriel quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you reading my mind?”
“No, your face. You seem ill at ease and displeased.”
Uriel grunted and said nothing.
“Have you been here during the spring or the summer, Uriel?” Samael asked. “Russia is beautiful and diverse, and her people are strong-willed and refuse to be downtrodden. Is that not admirable?”
Uriel grunted once again.
“I like Russia.” Shateiel shrugged as the two Archangels looked at him. “I spent many years here in the twentieth century, on Lord Gabriel’s orders. The people are truly remarkable. And their food is delicious. Pelmeni is, I am sure, a dish divined from Heaven.”
“Pel-whatti?” Uriel wrinkled his nose. “No, never mind, I don’t care.”
“So where is your preferred land, then?” Samael asked.
Uriel had to think about that. “I like the Americas. All of them, not just the USA. They’re pretty countries. Canada, the US, Cuba, Argentina, South America —all of the Americas. Cuban cigars are the best damn cigars in the world. Also fajitas don’t offend me.”
“You prefer the warm to the cold.” Samael nodded.
“And tequila to vodka. Tequila’s a fine brew.”
Agrat had finished her discussion now. She slid off the table and walked away from the official with a swing in her step that kept the man’s attention firmly fixed on her posterior. She did not look back at him, and she rounded the corner to join the angels, running her hands down her sides. “What are we discussing?”
“Uriel does not find Russia to his taste,” Samael said.
Agrat looked up at Uriel with some surprise. “Really? I would have thought you would feel right at home in Russia.” She ran her hands through her hair, and the glamour disappeared, returning her to her usual form of a Korean woman, dressed in jeans and a blue long-sleeved T-shirt.
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