“Semjaza,” Kokabiel said in a neutral tone.
“Kokabiel,” Semjaza replied with a nod of his head. “And Baraqiel and Penemuel. It is wonderful to see you again.”
Penemuel didn’t dare look at his friends. He just nodded in response to Semjaza’s greeting, too frightened to say or do anything else.
“Ah,” Semjaza said in a soft voice, standing up with all the grace of a deadly panther. “I see you are all overwhelmed and robbed of speech. Behold, I stand before you, alive and free from Aquila, and I assure you all that I will have my revenge upon those who harmed us all.”
“Those who harmed you, you mean,”
Baraqiel said.
“Is it not true that when one of us is harmed, all of us are harmed?” Semjaza gazed at them, unblinking.
Baraqiel muttered something and shuffled his feet.
“I will assume that your... attitude is born out of surprise and joy,” Semjaza continued, looking from one to the other of the three Grigori. “I will forgive you all your shock. It is indeed a shocking thing to be free after so long imprisoned.”
“ W e were in Hell, you know,” Kokabiel drawled. “You got off lightly, Semjaza.”
Semjaza quirked an eyebrow.
“Have you been in Hell?” Kokabiel continued. “Being alone in a prison made of stars is safe. It is silent. It is free of pain, torture, torment. It is empty of the sight of the rest of your choir slowly falling into despair and insanity around you as Archdemons do all manner of things to them. It is minus the sound of Lucifer Morningstar mocking you for all that you have done. Do not think to patronize us, Semjaza, Grigori Prince. Do not talk of your suffering, for yours was solitary confinement with an eons-long movie in surround sound of all that transpired on Earth, not locked in Hell with demons, fire, brimstone, and Lucifer fucking Star of the Morning!” The last words were delivered in an angry shout.
Penemuel wanted to cheer. Kokabiel had said it all so much better than he could.
Semjaza blinked, his expression becoming one of surprise. “I had no idea,” he said, his voice contrite. “I’m sorry, Kokabiel.”
“Spare us your contrition.” Kokabiel’s voice was full of contempt. “You have no idea, because you don’t care about anyone other than yourself. We three escaped Hell, yes, and Bara and I would not be free if it weren’t for Penemuel. And neither would your butt- kissing bestie over there. Azazel,” he clarified as Semjaza’s expression became confused. “Tell us what you want and get it over with. But don’t think for one damn moment that you’ll be able to command us, Semjaza. You lost that power when Gabriel imprisoned you in Aquila, and I, for one, am fucking glad he did!”
“You go too far,” Semjaza snarled, his face contorting into an ugly expression of rage.
“Not fucking far enough.” Kokabiel shook his head. “Things have changed since you were ruling Eden. Don’t get ideas of reclaiming that into your head, because you don’t deserve it.”
Semjaza lowered his eyes for a moment, and Penemuel held his breath. Then, so fast that it made Penemuel jump, Semjaza unfurled his wings. He lashed out with them, the tips razor-sharp, and sliced into Kokabiel’s stomach and chest.
Kokabiel cried out in pain, clutching his body as blood spurted out between his fingers. Baraqiel gasped, moving to grab his lover as Kokabiel slowly sank to his knees on the carpet.
“Do not think to tell me what to do, Kokabiel,” Semjaza snarled. “I am still ruler of our choir, and you would do well to remember that.” He turned away. “Fix him,” he ordered Azazel, who leapt to obey.
Penemuel closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, chewing the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Kokabiel, whimpering on the carpet in pain from Semjaza’s attack. He heard the hiss of power as Azazel used his talent to heal the wounds, but Penemuel knew those wounds would pain Kokabiel for the rest of his life.
He’d seen it before, back in Eden.
Semjaza, furious when Ishtahar’s first child had been stillborn, had attacked the Grigori who had attended her during her labor. He couldn’t remember the name of the angel, now. He could remember the sound of the screaming as Semjaza used his wings to carve the unfortunate angel into pieces and fed the pieces to the wolves that lived outside the walls of the city.
Others had angered Semjaza over the years, and they had been cut deep into their physical forms by those deadly wings. The scars had never fully healed, and Penemuel remembered how the Archdemons assigned to deal with them in Hell had used those scars to inflict the maximum amount of pain on already tormented beings. He shuddered, pushing the memory into the back of his mind.
Semjaza sat back down, once again looking like a refined wealthy gentleman entertaining beloved friends. He smoothed his waistcoat and then clasped his hands in his lap.
“Now then,” Semjaza said with a bright smile, “I will tell you what I intend, and you will all support me.”
Penemuel swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat. “I will not kill for you, Semjaza,” he heard himself saying, and he trembled as he said it.
Semjaza waved that aside. “And I would not expect it of you, Penemuel. No, I will not ask anything of the three of you that are not within your talents. Azazel is my general; you, Penemuel, will resume your role as my intelligence officer, and Kokabiel and Baraqiel will assist.”
Baraqiel helped Kokabiel to his feet. “What are your plans?”
Semjaza smiled. “In no particular order, they are to reclaim my wife, to find my sons, to take Eden and rule it once more. To avenge myself against Gabriel for imprisoning me in Aquila, and Michael for imprisoning the rest of you in Hell. To avenge myself against Uriel for unleashing the Flood, and locking the gates of Eden from all, and against Raziel for making it impossible for me to return there now. And most of all, I intend to punish Remiel for turning my wife against me and using her for his own perverted desires.”
“What do you want us to do first, then?” Penemuel asked. He wanted to leave, to flee from this apartment and this city, run from Paris as fast as he could and hide. But he couldn’t. At least, not yet.
“I want you to find where the Archangels are hiding themselves. I want you to tell me what their lives on this planet are like, what their weaknesses and strengths here are. Do you think you can do that?”
Penemuel nodded. “Yes.”
“Marvelous.” Semjaza smiled. He looked like a cat that had gotten not just the canary but every bird alive. “You may go.” He made a shooing motion with one hand.
Penemuel nodded again and moved to help Baraqiel with Kokabiel. The three angels left Azazel’s apartment as quickly as they could.
Outside the building, on the street, Baraqiel looked around furtively. “No one’s watching,” he said in a low voice. “I think we need to talk. In private.”
“That’s all very well and good,” Penemuel said, his voice just as quiet as Baraqiel’s, “but Semjaza will be watching us.”
“I hope he likes watching static, then.” Baraqiel shot Penemuel a quick grin. “I’ll move us.”
“To where?”
“You’ll see.” With that, Baraqiel touched Penemuel’s shoulder, and Paris faded away to nothingness.
The world came back into focus with a rush, and Penemuel stumbled as he found himself on uneven ground. “Where are we, pray?”
“Antwerp,” Baraqiel said. “Sorry about that, Pen. I forgot to warn you the path isn’t very well maintained.”
“That’s all right. But where in Antwerp? It’s a big city, Bara.”
Kokabiel huffed a sound that was half a laugh and half a cough. “We bought a house on the outskirts several centuries ago. Shielded and warded it, and then I made a bargain with Ondrass to protect it with Archdemon magic.”
Penemuel’s eyebrows shot up. “To hide it from all of angelkind.” It was not a question.
“Yes.” Kokabiel sagged against Baraqiel. “We need to go in. I need to treat t
hese injuries.”
“Oh right, of course.” Penemuel quickly moved to support Kokabiel again as Baraqiel rushed to the door and unlocked it. The three angels went inside the building, and Baraqiel closed and locked the door behind them.
“This way,” Baraqiel said, leading Penemuel, still supporting Kokabiel, down a corridor. The corridor opened up into a large room, simply furnished but warm and friendly and with a fire burning in the hearth. A large tabby cat and a white Samoyed dog lay in front of it, and the animals looked up and let out an inquisitive mew and bark as Penemuel gently pressed Kokabiel onto a large sofa.
“Shh,” Baraqiel said to the animals. “It’s okay, D’Artagnan and Ambrosia.”
“You named your cat after a musketeer?” Penemuel chuckled.
“Why not? It’s a wonderful novel.” Baraqiel smiled. “Ko, what do you need, love?”
Kokabiel smiled at his lover. “Water, towels, clean bandages, and the kit that we keep in the kitchen for emergencies.”
“Right.” Baraqiel started out of the room, then paused. “I’ll bring in the gin too, shall I? I think we all could use a stiff drink right about now.”
“My word, yes,” Penemuel said fervently as he bent down to pat the cat and then the dog. Both animals licked his hand, the dog—Ambrosia—thumping her tail against the floor as she wagged it.
Baraqiel chuckled. “I thought as much.”
When Baraqiel had left the room, Penemuel sat down in one of the armchairs, letting out a soft sigh as he began to relax. The knowledge the house was shielded by both angel and Archdemon power was comforting, although he didn’t want to know what the bargain between Kokabiel, Baraqiel, and Ondrass was. He smiled as the cat got to his feet and stretched, then began to wash his ears.
Baraqiel returned several minutes later, pushing a chrome and glass tea trolley in front of him. There was a basin of water and two bottles with more water on the trolley, along with a large wooden box. Most important, as far as Penemuel was concerned, were the three glasses and large bottle of gin.
Kokabiel grunted and Penemuel turned to watch his friend. His brow furrowed in concern as he saw how many cuts Semjaza had inflicted.
“That was uncalled for,” Penemuel said. “What he did to you.”
“Yes, well. His royal assholeness was always good at overreacting.” Kokabiel winced. “Bara, can you help get the shirt off me, please?”
“Of course, love.” Baraqiel moved to help Kokabiel, and Penemuel shook his head as he saw the bloodied cuts fully revealed. With Baraqiel’s help, Kokabiel cleaned out the cuts, then opened the box and rummaged around inside it. He pulled out a plain earthenware pot and opened it, then scooped out some of the contents. It looked like a gray, gelatinous goo to Penemuel, and he watched Kokabiel smear the stuff on his wounds. Baraqiel carefully laid dressings over the wounds, then bandaged his lover up.
Returning the pot to the box, Kokabiel sat back with a huff of a sigh. “It stings,” he said, “but it does the job. Also, I feel like a mummy, Bara.”
“I don’t want the dressings to become dislodged.” Baraqiel picked up the bottle of gin and poured it into the glasses.
“I hardly think that’s likely.”
Penemuel leaned forward. “What was that you put on your injuries?”
“It’s an ointment I developed a few years after we got out of Hell.” Kokabiel sighed, nodding his thanks to Baraqiel as he took the offered glass of gin. “I needed to figure out something fast—Baraqiel was in bad shape when we got out.”
Baraqiel handed Penemuel a glass and took the last one himself, then sat down beside Kokabiel. “You hauled me out ten minutes after I’d been dumped back in our cell by that demon.”
“Exactly.” Kokabiel scowled. “I used a combination of herbs and some magic. One of the spells in Raziel’s book, actually.”
“How well does it work?” Penemuel asked.
“Perfectly. Semjaza may think I’ll be suffering from his attack for a while, but in a few days, I’ll be fine. Scarred but fine.” Kokabiel took a sip of his gin.
“Better not let him know that,” Penemuel cautioned, then took a drink. “What a day.”
“A very bad one,” Baraqiel agreed. “What are we going to do?”
Penemuel tapped a finger on the side of his glass. “I spoke to Raziel before this meeting. My human friend summoned him.” He suddenly laughed. “Raziel seemed rather surprised. He told us that he has not been summoned like that in centuries.”
Kokabiel and Baraqiel stared at him as if he’d sprouted a second head.
“You spoke to Raziel?” Baraqiel demanded. “Raziel, Archangel of Secrets and Mysteries?”
“The very same.” Penemuel smiled. “Raziel offered me an interesting deal. A far better one than any Archdemon would.”
“And that deal is?” Baraqiel leaned forward, his gaze intent. There was a note of hopefulness in his voice that Penemuel didn’t think Baraqiel himself was aware of.
“Tell him what Semjaza is up to, and we’ll be left alone. The Archangels won’t hunt us, won’t shove us back into Hell. So long as we keep to ourselves and don’t fornicate with humans or do any of the things that are against Celestial law— which, if I’m not mistaken, are not many now—we’ll be safe.”
Kokabiel let out an explosive breath. “By the Creator, Pen, that’s marvelous! I hope you said yes to him.”
“I did.” Penemuel toyed with his glass a moment then took another drink. “I’m ashamed to say I was quite terrified at the time.”
Baraqiel snorted. “Don’t be. It’s Raziel. He’s an Archangel. They aren’t exactly fluffy bunnies.”
“Agreed.” Penemuel leaned back in his seat. “I think we should call him here,” he said with studied caution, not sure how that suggestion would be received.
Baraqiel and Kokabiel exchanged a long look. Then, as one, they nodded.
“Do it,” Kokabiel said. “Angelkind can’t find this house, unless they’re invited. So this is an official invitation to him. Call Raziel, Pen.”
Penemuel drained his glass and stood up. “Right.” He closed his eyes and reached out with his power, searching for the traces of energy that identified Raziel in the Heavenly Host. Raziel was somewhere in South America, much to Penemuel’s surprise, but he didn’t question it. Instead, he called out to the Archangel telepathically.
“Raziel, I need to speak with you.
Kokabiel and Baraqiel are with me. Follow my thought back to where we are waiting.”
There was silence for what seemed like forever, and then Raziel’s voice came to Penemuel.
“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you quite so soon. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“He’ll be here in ten minutes,” Penemuel reported, sitting back down. “I could use another drink, though, please?”
“Of course.” Baraqiel stood up and poured Penemuel another measure of gin.
Several minutes later, there was a rustle of feathers, and Raziel appeared, materializing out of the air. He looked amused, Penemuel thought, and mildly surprised.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding yourselves,” Raziel said. “Nice house.”
“Hello, Raziel,” Kokabiel said.
“Kokabiel. Baraqiel.” Raziel nodded at them. “Hello, Penemuel. You’re looking remarkably well, considering.”
Penemuel made a rueful face. “Dutch courage,” he said, holding up his glass.
Raziel laughed and sat down on the floor. The dog padded over to him, sniffed his knee then climbed into his lap. Raziel smiled at the animal and began to scritch behind its ears.
“So, I take it you all had a chat with Semjaza?” Raziel asked.
“Chat makes it sound so innocuous,”
Baraqiel said. “It was anything but.”
Raziel, however, was looking at Kokabiel’s torso with narrowed eyes. “What happened?”
“Semjaza happened.” Kokabiel met Raziel’s gaze. “He sliced and diced me with his wings.”
>
Raziel’s eyes narrowed even more. “Did he.” It wasn’t a question, and his voice was flat and cold. “I surmise that this was because you dared to talk back to him?”
“Yes.” Kokabiel nodded.
“Do you require anything? I can get Raph to take a look and see if he can heal you up,” Raziel offered.
“Thank you,” Kokabiel said. “I think I’m okay, though. I used an old treatment I came up with some time back.”
“As you wish. If you change your mind, though, let me know.” Raziel was, Penemuel realized, genuinely concerned. Suddenly, Penemuel felt much more kindly disposed toward the Archangel. He wasn’t sure if any other angel, let alone an Archangel, would have even asked after Kokabiel’s injuries at all.
“Thank you,” Baraqiel said. “That’s very kind of you, Raziel.”
Raziel looked at each of them as he said, “It’s the least I can do. I’m assuming that Penemuel told you both about our little arrangement?”
“He did, yes. That’s why we invited you here, so we could tell you what we learned.” Baraqiel looked over at Penemuel. “Do you want to tell him?”
“All right.” Penemuel took a deep breath as Raziel turned to stare at him with that powerful, bright blue gaze that all Archangels seemed to have. That look had the power to make him feel like a newly made angel again, gauche and insecure. He took a drink of his gin and shifted in his seat, then began.
“Semjaza wants us to be his intelligence officers,” Penemuel said, his nose wrinkling with distaste. “We’re to provide him with information so he can achieve his goals. Thankfully, he doesn’t require us to pick up a sword, although that might be because he knows Azazel is a more capable warrior than any of the three of us.”
Raziel nodded. “So Azazel is by his side, then?”
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