Rebel Angels

by Michele Lang

  Ziyad bent to his carpets again, as if seeking reassurance in their silken threads. He smoothed them, squared them together, lined them up like a well-worn pack of cards.

  When he stood and faced me, Ziyad had regained his composure. Unlike the first time we met, I now refused to yank his soul into attention. Ziyad had to choose this descent into his country of his own volition. I could not force him.

  “I will confess the truth to you,” he said. “When I came to speak to Lord Bathory the first time, I thought the superweapon was some kind of bomb. Some kind of infernal death machine that I could point at my enemies that would kill them. But I have changed my mind.”

  With a trembling hand, he pointed right between my eyes. “Miss Lazarus, you are the superweapon. It is you. I do not need to return to my homeland to find it. I only need to find the key to wielding you like a weapon.”

  It was as if his finger injected me with an enervating poison. I pressed my lips together hard to keep them from quivering. “You cannot wield me,” I said, my voice trembling. “And I cannot do what I must, not without the thing I seek in your land. So our dilemma remains the same.”

  We stared at each other in a standoff, as if we pointed guns at each other instead of our warring wills. Raziel wrapped his arm around my waist and said, “Magduska, the man fears for his life. Tell him what you seek, give him a reason to understand you.”

  I sighed and gave up. “Ziyad. The thing we seek is a sapphire stone, an ancient gem from the plundered Holy Temple. The Heaven Sapphire has the wisdom of the Maker inscribed within it. It is the only thing that can stop the Nazis.”

  He looked away, staggered to a chair, and sank into it with a groan. “I was afraid. But now the truth is here. To find such a thing, we must climb the Five Fingers of God. And even if we make it that far, I cannot tell you where such a treasure is hidden.”

  I smiled at him sympathetically; well I understood his fear, of never finding what you have sworn to discover. “All I ask is that you bring me to your people. Once we find the gem, the power will shift to our favor.”

  Ziyad started laughing, a low, mournful sound that still haunts me in my nightmares. “That is all you ask, you say. And yet to do that simple thing, visit my grandma in the mountains, I must die.”

  7

  Our driver took us to the Pera Palace Hotel in the hills of the Pera district of the city, courtesy of Bathory and his vampire brethren. Ziyad had promised to meet us for breakfast in the morning, and I guessed that if he kept his word and showed up it would mean I had gotten him to agree to the journey. I wouldn’t know until morning, for the people of the East did not lightly shake hands and make deals.

  It was well that we did not begin the journey that evening, for a letter from Gisele waited for me at the front desk with our keys.

  The same heavy, creamy paper that Churchill had used to write to me before, the same wet-looking pen strokes, the same strange, unfamiliar row of stamps.

  So Gisele still lived at Chartwell. I could tell without reading even a word on the envelope.

  Her handwriting looked the same as always, loopy and childish, with copious blots and flourishes when she was trying to make a particular point.

  I brooded over the envelope as Raziel conducted the formalities of checking us into the room, showing a letter of introduction from Bathory in lieu of surrendering our passports (useless as Hungarian passports would soon be in our travels), and getting the keys to the bridal suite of the hotel.

  The hotel manager bowed and smiled, and only the sweat shining on his bald head revealed the hidden fear that Bathory’s mere name and station engendered. He took our valise and personally ushered us to the top floor of the hotel, which boasted a breathtaking view of all Istanbul.

  With a bow, the fellow took his leave, and Raziel and I exchanged a long, silent glance. We had laid our heads down in various humble places, and to date only Bathory’s guest room and our luxury berth on the Orient Express had been rich enough to reflect my love for this man.

  This room was the most opulent I had ever seen. More fantastical than Hitler’s Berchtesgaden abode, more spacious than the demoness’s suite at the Gellert Hotel in Budapest, more airy than the surreal boudoir of the famed courtesan Lucretia de Merode. We stood in a pasha’s fantasy of silks, low cushions, and French doors open to the night.

  The bustle of the city streets of Istanbul echoed far below us in the darkness, like whispers from another plane of existence.

  “Honey, we’re home,” I said with a lilt in my voice.

  Raziel laughed and took off his hat to rake his fingers through his hair. “For a moment, I thought I was back in the second Heaven.”

  I remembered my last visit to Raziel’s former domain and tasted ashes. “The second Heaven is nothing like it was before, my love,” I said with a sigh as I sat on the edge of the bed. “This is more like Heaven than Heaven, now.”

  Raziel tossed his hat onto the side table by the door and paced around the perimeter of the room. “Go ahead,” he said. “Read Gisi’s letter. You won’t be able to settle into all of this luxury until you do.”

  I looked down, and realized I still had her letter clutched in my fingers. “You’re right, always right, my darling. Sit with me on the veranda while I see what my little mouse has to tell us.”

  The night air was delicious, the electric lights on the veranda tiny and remote like starlight. I opened the envelope and unfolded the sheets of paper nestled inside.

  November 13, 1939

  Chartwell

  England

  Dearest Magduska (and Raziel, too):

  After a meal fit for a king, the wondrous Winston Churchill just wished me a good night, and kindly offered me paper and pen so that I could write to you, my darling girl. I trust you are with your angel, Raziel, and that together you look after each other the way we used to do.

  I paused in reading the letter aloud and swallowed the tears in the back of my throat. Wicked girl—why did Gisele always make me cry? I cleared my throat and returned my attention to her words:

  England is a fairy tale. No waking at dawn, no basket of shirts and ladies’ brassieres to sew, no mending no market no errands or chores. It’s a bit like Heaven, I suppose … lazy and beautiful and just a slight bit boring.

  I wake up to the sun, whenever I wish, wrapped up in fancy linen sheets. A maid (!) comes to make my bed and brush my hair because I asked her to, once, when I was homesick, and now she does it dutifully every morning. She’s a kind girl, but she doesn’t get the tangles out the way you do, Magduska, because she’s afraid to brush too hard.

  A laundress does my clothes for me, and they are fresh on the hanger when I am ready to dress. Another lady downstairs makes me coddled eggs and toast with the most delicious yellow butter you’ve ever had. These people make me feel downright industrious, Magduska—it takes a staff of five to do what I used to do for us alone!

  After my breakfast I go for a nice rambly walk in the cool leafy green of England, though it’s gone from cool to cold and very, very rainy sometimes. Then a sit by the fire, ignoring the newspapers that I can’t read anyway (they are all in English) and the foreign voices droning on the wireless.

  I could not bear to keep reading. “She’s so lonely,” I said to Raziel, but he was looking into the middle distance, his lids low, his face fixed in a thoughtful expression that I could not decipher. “She doesn’t have a soul to speak to, not one Hungarian like her in the wrong country because of the war.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, still staring into the night. “She’s a peaceful girl, and the walks and the toast are good for her, she’s been worn out so badly. But she’s lonely for you, Magduska.”

  I swallowed hard, miserable now, but I caressed the edges of the creamy paper and soldiered on.

  Churchill often comes to dinner, dear man. His wife Clemmie sometimes joins us, too. We cannot speak directly, but one night he brought a Hungarian to dinner, a melancholy round-faced
man who reminded me of Papa right before he died. Oh, he was affable, and he tried to tell jokes and was able to tell Churchill for me how grateful I am, but he is no Eva. He is not even a Bathory. Just a man who wants to go home.

  So I bide my time, and my days are long and quiet. But the nights, Magduska! My goodness, the nights.

  Something has happened to me since Bathory drank from me. I would never have the courage to speak of this with you face-to-face, my darling—every time I even mention Bathory’s name, the storm clouds come racing into your eyes, and down come your eyebrows. But his kiss was a strange gift, although one that came with a heavy price.

  Yes, I am pierced with a strange hunger at times, at night, in my bed. Yes, I can sense Bathory’s movements like the moon tugging on the tides.

  But I can wake up from my dreams now. Do you understand, my darling? For so long, I have dreamed without surcease, I could not stop the terrible nightmare of the war from playing out before my eyes, open or closed. It has made me half-insane with grief, of course you know it.

  Maybe it’s because of what we did together in Poland to fight the war, maybe it’s because of you and Raziel together, but now I can wake up from my dreams. And walk in them myself.

  And maybe it is all of these things I have just listed, but also the fact that Bathory drank from me but then left me like I am. My blood has mingled with his, and I am not only a witch, but also the lamb of a vampire, under his dark protection.

  At night, I can walk in my dreams like I said. I can visit with Mama, who braids my hair with ribbons like she did for me when she was alive. I sometimes see Papa, way in the distance, too far to ever reach, but the sadness in him is gone, Magduska, I am sure of it.

  Now that I can walk in my dreams, I believe you and I can walk together. I know your nights are very busy now, for many other reasons (and I know that I have just made you blush! There is a first time for everything, even embarrassing the fell witch Magda Lazarus!).

  But one night, when Raziel sleeps, find me. Walk with me. And afterward, I will happily wake up to my English bed and my kippers, and I will listen to the English broadcasts in all their gibberish, with a smile upon my face.

  Until we meet again, in dreams, this world, or the next, I kiss your hands, grateful you are safe, dear sister. Hug Raziel for me, and please let me know what news you hear of Eva.

  And don’t worry about me, my darling. No place this dull could ever be a danger!

  Love and Kisses,

  Your little mouse, Gisele

  My teardrops spattered on her signature, blurring the ink.

  “She will be fine,” Raziel said. “No matter what happens. I swear it, Magduska.”

  I looked up sharply. “Be careful,” I said. “You’re one of us, a mortal now. You don’t know what’s going to happen—watch what you swear to.”

  “I never did know, my love. And now, you should come inside and rest. You haven’t quite recovered yet from that stab in the back, and it’s been a long time.”

  Not long enough. I thought of Onoskelis, melting into gristle and shooting into the lower realms, banished from the mortal plane by my spells.

  “Some wounds are more mortal than others.” I said it with a grim little smile on my face.

  “I suppose. Come inside now.”

  I sighed and obeyed. And resolved to dream.

  * * *

  Oh, I dreamed all right, of trains endlessly rolling into a featureless landscape; of demonesses swooping around my head like bats; of Raziel moving above me like a steady wind over restless waters.

  But I could not master the trick of finding Gisele in this tangled dreamworld of fear and desire. At one point, I turned and saw a silver cord, thin and strong as a spider’s web, reaching back from my spirit to my body. I remembered that I dreamed, and—

  Whoosh! I slammed back into my body with an all-but-audible thump. I opened my eyes and surveyed the darkened room until I adjusted to the lack of light and could make out the contours of the ornate pasha furniture strewn all about the suite.

  Raziel slept, with the mad abandon of a man fully satisfied. One arm over his head, he rested his head on an elbow, and a tiny smile played over his lips and away.

  As quietly as I could, I slipped from the bed and put on the silk robe I had left shimmering on the floor. I tiptoed to the French doors of the veranda, feeling ahead for the haphazard furniture, to protect my shins.

  I swung the doors open wide and stepped out, the marble of the balcony cool against the soles of my bare feet. A low, gusty wind whipped up and over the top of the building, and clouds scudded past overhead like sailboats in a gale.

  It was no longer cool on the balcony, it was cold, but I gathered my robe tighter and stayed.

  “Leopold,” I whispered. I didn’t want to summon him too roughly; I had been soul-summoned myself, and the feeling is in no way pleasant. But I needed my imp, needed him urgently. I would not be able to heal without him.

  Leo was a brainchild of mine, a stray spark of my fury that escaped and shot through the elemental mists of the second Heaven to form a sentient creature, one with its own soul and the power to choose. Unlike his brothers, who contented themselves with mischiefs and the petty entertainments of lower imps, Leo for some reason had determined to cast his lot with mine. Perhaps he had inherited some of my ungodly stubbornness and ambition. Or perhaps he simply wanted to grow.

  Leo was, as he so often insisted, at my service. He racked up good deeds like points in a cosmic game of bridge, and kept careful count of the celestial gains he made. In return, I treated him like what he was, a free spirit with his own consciousness and soul. I had a lot to learn from the fellow.

  This evening, he looked like a little sparkler, white sparks opening like flower petals. With a graceful leap, Leo hurtled onto the marble balcony, to kneel at my feet.

  “Mama!” he said, his voice bright and full of enthusiasm.

  “Hello again, Leo,” I said, amazed by him. He rose to his feet and I gasped. “You look like a human child today! What happened to you?”

  “I do?” He looked down at his quite human-looking torso and shrieked with laughter. He did a little jig on the polished marble, and scratched under his arms.

  “I hope you didn’t make any unsavory deals out there in the great beyond,” I said. I wasn’t really any kind of mother to Leo, but I couldn’t help fussing at him just a little. He had always been such a help, with no tangible way for me to reward him.

  “No, I did nothing of the sort. But after our battles in Poland, with all of the ghosts, leading the other imps … I have felt uncommonly queer since then.”

  “I don’t think you are even an imp, anymore. But I don’t know what you are.”

  He looked up at me, quite abashed, and except for the longish ears he’d always had, and eyes that were a little too large, he looked quite like an ordinary boy. A naked one, wreathed in mist, who could fly around in the night.

  “What am I then?” he asked, his voice a bit panicky.

  “I am sure there is a name for you, Leo, but I don’t have the learning to tell you. If you can possibly find the watchmaker Yankel we knew in Kraków, well, he could tell you everything you need to know.”

  I sighed, thinking of my old teacher. I needed him more urgently than Leo, but I wouldn’t dream of summoning Yankel’s luminous soul out of the upper Heaven. I would rather die for good first.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway, the formal name. You’re Leo, a very handsome and useful fellow.”

  I knew how to humor him. He drew up taller and saluted me, absurd since I stood in the moonlight in my silk robe. “I await your orders, General Magda!”

  I tried not to laugh, because I could tell he really meant it. And most of the times I had called him before, I was in fact about to enter into a terrible battle.

  But I needed Leo’s help for a much more delicate mission now.

  “Leo, I don’t think you’ve ever met my little sister Gisele.”
<
br />   His eyes grew wistful. “Sister. I only have brothers, uncountable brothers causing trouble in the afterworld. I would like to have a sister, someday … maybe.…”

  “Yes. Sisters can be very different. My sister’s name is Gisele, and she is currently staying with the great Winston Churchill in England.”

  “England? What is that? Some great fortress?”

  I couldn’t help at least a smile now. “In a certain sense, yes. It is an island far to the west, safe for now from Hitler’s mad dogs.”

  “Ah, that bad man, Hitler.” Leo’s face screwed up into a fury I easily recognized as a spark of my own.

  “Hold on, my friend. No fighting this time. The favor I ask of you is very difficult.”

  “I was made for difficult!”

  “Of course, Leo, of course. I need you to go to Gisele, without attracting notice from Churchill or anybody else, and tell her I sent you. Introduce yourself, and tell her that she needn’t be afraid. I got her letter, and please to write to me again.”

  “That’s it?” Leo tilted his head and considered me as if he’d never seen me before. “You can blow up armies and throw witchfire around like the wrath of God. Can’t you make some spell, fly on a broomstick or something, and see to her yourself?”

  My eyes welled up with tears again, and I had to restrain myself from cursing. “It’s not so simple. My magic is to summon. Calling you, easy, right? Summoning souls of any kind. My spellcraft runs to summoning, too. It is very hard for me to send. I’m learning, Leo, but I haven’t gotten the trick of it yet. And my poor Gisele is a terrible worrier.”

  Leo tilted his head and squinted at me. “Have you ever heard of a thing called the telephone? It is a marvelous contraption.…”

  This time I could not help laughing, though Leopold was terribly serious, and only trying to help. “Yes, and that is an excellent suggestion. However, I am afraid our conversation cannot be private, that dangerous people will listen in on the line and discover where Gisele is hiding. Besides, these days calling across countries at war, and across the Channel besides, is not such an easy thing to do.”