He’d heard the tale of what Michael’s Venatores unit had found from Remiel, who had been sober-faced and sorrowful as he had told it to Ishtahar, Ahijah’s mother, and Hiwa, Ahijah’s brother, as well as Ahijah himself. It had been a terrible tale, and Ishtahar had wept and asked Remiel to take her to help Raphael with the wounded, but Ahijah privately thought that this was just another attempt to shake off what some believed to be too great an influence by non-humans.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Ahijah almost jumped out of his skin at the voice of his brother, and he swore sulfurously as Hiwa sat down beside him, grinning.
“You could have warned me,” Ahijah said. “I almost had a heart attack.”
“So I saw. It was pretty funny seeing you jump like that, Ahi.”
Ahijah rolled his eyes. “Not for me, it wasn’t.”
“You were thinking deep thoughts,” Hiwa said. “I could see you getting tense. Don’t think too much, you’ll give yourself a tumor.”
“That’s not how… you know what? Never mind.” Ahijah ran a hand through his hair and looked at Hiwa. Hiwa wore a plain white T-shirt and faded blue jeans. His arms were elaborately tattooed in black ink, and more tattoos peeked above the neckline of his T-shirt. Even his hands, Ahijah realized, were covered in tattoos. Hiwa’s black hair was tipped blond, and his deep golden skin had the tanned tone to it that comes only from spending long hours outdoors, working in the open. He was lean and muscular, looking both perfectly relaxed and ready to uncoil like a tightly wound spring.
“You are worrying about things beyond your control,” Hiwa said. His voice was slightly accented—a legacy of spending centuries in Russia, Ahijah assumed. “You cannot change the past, my brother. You cannot change the future, either. We have been asked to help our uncles and comrades in this latest battle against the darkness, and yes, it is a new darkness, given that it comes from humanity and not from Hell or Purgatory, but we will do it because it’s the right thing to do and because we can.”
“I know.” Ahijah sighed. “I was just thinking about how the world has changed since the year 2012.”
“That’s a lot of change,” Hiwa said.
“Yeah. And okay, I hid myself away here in this village with our people, but it was necessary. Do you know how many Nephilim went mad, Hiwa?”
“A lot. Yes, I do know. I work for criminals, Ahi, not idiots. I have some people keeping me up-to-date with things, and it is those people I have reached out to now about this new problem. Transom Corp. is now TCC Corp., which is a ridiculous name change as it isn’t much of a change. And I have news.”
Ahijah quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“I doubt it. You were always the gentler one of us. You saw more good in people than I ever did. That has not really changed.”
Ahijah let that slide. “So what’s the news?”
“The TCC Corp. board seems to be comprised of an interesting mixture of humans, including two witches, a wizard, a cow shifter, a bunch of scientists, a history professor, two pastors, and some investment bankers. They know that Uncle Mike and the others got all that information out of the mountain with his Venatores, and they know that we know a great deal about their mission. They don’t seem too upset by that. They seem to be far more interested in Uncle Gabe’s friends, Max and Minnie, and being able to shield themselves from them. Those two humans seem to have quite a reputation.”
“All right, well, none of that sets off alarm bells,” Ahijah said, “so what is it that I’m not going to like?”
“I’m getting there. They’re still doing their experiments with the demons and humans and monsters, making them into patchwork livestock for the purpose of cutting Earth off from the other dimensions. One of the scientists suggested kidnapping an angel or two, but the others talked him out of that, reminding him of how that whole angel kidnapping thing worked out for Sebastien when he grabbed Uncle Raph and Auntie Agrat.”
“Are they thinking that kidnapping is a good way to hold people to ransom for good behavior?” Ahijah rolled his eyes.
“Yes, actually. They want us. Nephilim.”
Ahijah stared at him. “What?”
“Nephilim.”
“They do know that we’re Heaven’s least favorite, right?”
“Oh yes, they’re aware. They also know that Mama is beloved by an Archangel and loved by all of them—and a good chunk of the Archdemons, too.”
“Then why are they thinking this asinine idea is a good one?”
“Because they know that the angels won’t kill them in order to get us back to make Ishtahar happy. Mama would be very upset if anything happened to us, you know.”
Ahijah groaned. “What a mess.”
“Yeah. I called Uncle Mike and told him. He said Uncle Sammy will be around soon to add to our protections here, and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay. How did you find out about all of this, Hiwa?”
Hiwa grinned, an expression that looked like that of a hunting shark. “Like I said, Ahi. I work with criminals, not idiots.”
Ahijah couldn’t stop the shudder he felt.
“You’re the good son,” Hiwa said, “I’m the bad son. Oh, don’t look like you just bit into a sour lemon. It’s not as if Mama loves you more than me or anything, because she doesn’t, that’s bullshit. She loves us both equally. It is just that you do good works, here for our people and for the whole of humanity, and I do bad, bad things with bad, bad people.”
“You could change, you know,” Ahijah said.
Hiwa gave him a blank look. “Why would I do that? I like my life.”
“If you say so.” Ahijah caught Hiwa’s expression, the flicker of annoyance over his face, and rushed on, “I believe you, I do. I didn’t mean to sound trite or as if I didn’t believe you. I believe you do like your life, and you have fun. I just don’t understand what it is about it that appeals to you so much, and not understanding things makes me uncomfortable, so that’s why I said what I did.”
Hiwa’s face cleared. He smiled at Ahijah and moved closer, looping one arm around Ahijah’s shoulders. As he had when he was very young, Ahijah leaned into his brother, resting his cheek on Hiwa’s shoulder and soaking up the comfort that came with having a badass big brother who would cheerfully beat the crap out of the bullies and defend his family to his last breath.
“We might disagree on things like that,” Ahijah said slowly, “but you’re still my brother. You’re still my best friend.”
“Same here, Ahi.” Hiwa’s voice was soft. “You just keep in mind that if you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”
“Okay.” Ahijah smiled. “Thanks.”
“De rien, as they say in France. I know you need to be reminded about how awesome I am. You have the welfare of your flock on your mind a lot of the time, after all. It is natural that you forget the most well-known and obvious truths in life.”
Ahijah laughed. “Okay,” he said again.
“Okay,” Hiwa agreed.
HALF A world away, Raphael leaned against a concrete column that held up a corner of the wraparound veranda of his private practice and sighed.
He was truly, utterly, completely stumped. For the first time in his life, a life that was longer than even time itself, Raphael had no answers.
Danny simply was not responding to anything—not medical treatment, not Archangel power—and Raphael had run out of options. The coma that the boy was in was resisting everything he tried, and Raphael wasn’t naïve enough to think that the coma was the one in control rather than medical science or Raphael’s own powers—no indeed. What bothered him was that each option he had fallen back on, confident that he would triumph against the illness and bring Danny back to consciousness, had failed, and yet there was no sign that the coma was in any way supernatural.
He’d asked Samael to try, then Remiel, and neither Archangel had been able to use their powers to break the stranglehold the coma had on D
anny. Raphael had then sent for the healers that Lyudmila in Armenia knew, and they had arrived a few hours later, brought by Samael and Remiel. Perhaps, Raphael had reasoned, shifter magic and medicine would succeed where human and Heavenly had not.
The shifter healers had been baffled and asked Remiel if he would bring an old witch from the far northern reaches of Russia, skilled in herbs and folk magic, to help. Remiel had done so, and she, too, had failed in rousing Danny.
Lix Tetrax had offered, and Raphael had agreed. He’d been at the beginnings of desperation then, and if she could rouse Danny, well, he wouldn’t deny the boy the chance of healing, even if the method came from an Archdemon. But no, she had failed as well, and she had consulted with Ondrass, both of them looking as bewildered as Raphael felt.
Now, healers and scientists and magic users from all over the world had been in and out of the sick room, as had those with such talents from Purgatory and Hell. Danny’s coma had taken on a life of its own, defying all who tried to rout it, stubbornly holding onto Danny’s mind and keeping him in a deep sleep.
The coma itself was not harming him. Danny’s vitals were good. Thank God for small mercies, Raphael thought. He had been so sure, so confident that if the coma had not ended after a week on its own that he, Archangel of Medicine and Healing, the great Saint Raphael, would be able to use his powers and do the job where natural healing had failed. His own hubris had been smashed into shards of uncertainty with the first failed attempt.
“Raph,” Israfel joined him beneath the veranda, “you can’t blame yourself, hon. Seriously, you can’t. No one can wake him up; he’s like, a shifter version of the Sleeping Beauty, only he’s not very beautiful, more rugged, so I guess he’d be the Sleeping Rugged, but that sounds dumb. Anyway, it’s not your fault. And I have an idea.”
Raphael turned to look at him, taking in Israfel’s pale skin; his wide, earnest blue eyes, so full of compassion and hope; his full, pink lips; and his mussed, dark blond hair. Today, Israfel wore a T-shirt that advertised Sriracha rooster chili sauce with his jeans, an incongruous choice for the Angel of Music.
“What’s the idea?” Raphael winced at how hoarse his voice sounded to his own ears.
“You’re exhausted,” Israfel said. He touched Raphael’s hand gently, and Raphael grabbed Israfel’s hand in his own and clung tight, taking comfort from the touch of his lover. “Baby, you can’t do everything.”
“Whoever made up that rule is wrong,” Raphael said. Then he sighed. “What’s the idea?”
“I bet this coma is partly for the reason comas happen, which I have no idea about, because I’m not the medicine angel. But I bet this coma is also partly because of soul shock. Like, when the soul is so horrified by something that’s been experienced that it just can’t process, and it has to shut down in order to absorb what happened and rationalize it some way. So, you can’t really force something like that to go away, right? But you can coax it into realizing that, hey, everyone’s safe now—or as safe as they can be for the moment—and getting it to wake up that way.”
Raphael stared at him. “You astound me with your wisdom, sometimes, Iss,” he said. “And you awe me.”
Israfel shrugged, blushing a little. “I’m not clever,” he said. “I just recognize this from having seen it before, back when Semjaza got booted up into Aquila by Gabe and the poor families of those bastard Grigori were trying to come to terms with everything and with Uri’s flood.”
“Yes,” Raphael said slowly, frowning thoughtfully, “you’re right. I remember.”
“And I did then what I’m offering to do now—music.”
“You’ll sing to Danny?” Raphael felt his eyebrows shoot up.
“Yeah. Well, okay, not entirely. Music is a great motivator, Raph, you know that. And my music, my pure music, played on my own instruments, can soothe even the most troubled of souls.”
This was no idle boast. Raphael had seen the effects of Israfel’s music on the sick and the lonely and the lost, when Israfel walked among people who most needed hope and sang to them while playing his guitar. His power was not in the words of the song, but in the notes that he played, the subtle combination of chord and scale and harmony that always sounded as if it was coming straight from Heaven’s most beautiful of stage halls. Raphael wondered if that music, unfiltered and played only a few feet away from the coma-stuck Danny, would have a more profound effect than any he had previously seen.
But he was desperate, and he knew he was, and so he couldn’t think of a reason to deny Israfel’s suggestion.
“Do it,” he said. Then he smiled, giving Israfel’s fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’ll have his wife and pack come outside while you play.”
“And the Archdemons,” Israfel said. He winked cheekily. “They might object if their ears start to steam!”
Raphael laughed. It felt so good to do so. He tugged Israfel to him and embraced him, held his lover tight against him and let out a soft, happy sigh as he felt Israfel’s arms go around him and his hands rub his back. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, my beloved Israfel,” Raphael thought.
“I don’t even want to play hypotheticals with that. I love you, Raph. Shall we clear out the room so I can sing to Danny?”
“And play as well, I trust?”
“Of course.” Israfel broke the embrace and reached up to cup Raphael’s cheek with his right hand. Raphael absently noticed that Israfel had a new tattoo on his inner arm—a scroll of notes around a watercolor-style rose. Woven between the notes and the stem of the rose were their names.
“You’re wonderful,” Raphael said. “And so is your new tattoo.”
“You’re fantastic and awesome,” Israfel replied. “And I’m glad. He does wonderful art, doesn’t he? He’s a friend of Tabbry’s, living in the Czech Republic.”
“After we’ve healed Danny, you’ll have to take me there and introduce me,” Raphael said.
Israfel gave him one of his wide, sunny, ingenuous smiles, the smiles that never failed to make Raphael melt inwardly and his heart flip-flop with love. “I’d like that.”
“Then let us see to Danny’s health and well-being.”
“And let’s not tell Mike. He’ll have a cow or something.”
Raphael barked a laugh at that. “I haven’t told him the details of this situation for that very reason, my wise one.”
Israfel snickered. “Israfel the Wise. Yeah, okay. That sounds great, but it’s such a damn lie.”
“Not to me,” Raphael said. He slipped his arm around Israfel’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “Never to me.”
2
ADRAMELEK WATCHED Lily carefully. In the few days that he had been present in Raphael’s clinic, sitting beside Lily as she in turn sat beside her husband, he had noticed a subtle yet marked change in her. After the storm of weeping, the impassioned pleas to Danny to wake up, the clutching tightly at his hand, Lily had fallen silent, her eyes never leaving Danny’s pale face. And then, as it became clear that this coma was not going to budge, Adramelek had watched as hope had drained from Lily to be replaced with an iron-hard resolve, a determination that was fueled by vengeance and sorrow and loss.
He was familiar with that, after all—many who ended up in Hell did so because of that same sort of vengeance. He knew that after having achieved the first flush of revenge a person could, if having sought revenge for long enough, continue to wreak havoc and destruction, growing less and less human the more atrocities they committed in the name of revenge. Ordinarily, Adramelek would not care one way or the other if Lily went the route of the cold-blooded killer, fueled only by vengeance and hate. In fact, he might be amused, considering this was one of Michael’s precious Venatores.
But this was Lily, and Adramelek was rather fond of her, much to his own surprise. As her pale face changed from despairing to angry, Adramelek decided it was time for him and his guild to intervene. This was not for Michael—he didn’t particularly care what Michael or any Arch
angel thought—this was for Lily herself. In the depths of his mind, he heard the approving hum of Lucifer and smiled to himself as he paused on the threshold of Danny’s sick room.
Ondrass was coming toward him from the other end of the hall and his expression was calm and neutral, but his black eyes spoke volumes. As he drew up to join Adramelek, Ondrass let out a soft sigh and said, “She is going to be in trouble.”
“Lily, I take it you mean,” Adramelek said.
“No, I mean Angelique. Of course I mean Lily.” Ondrass rolled his eyes. “Markus is helping Lix Tetrax and Raphael right now, and Israfel has some idea about music succeeding where medicine and magic has failed. Might I say that such an idea is typically wishy-washy and entirely what I expect from Heaven and the winged brigade of good intentions.”
Adramelek smiled at that. “You’re in good form today, Ondrass.”
“I’m annoyed. How is music to succeed? This coma is being influenced from the outside, I am sure of it. The others agree, so why then are we sitting by idly and waiting for Israfel to sing hymns in the hope that ‘Kumbaya’ will work? Why are we not hunting down these humans involved with Transom Corp., or whatever it calls itself now, and eating their entrails while extracting the information we require?”
“Patience, my friend,” Adramelek said. “We can work on that later. Right now, let us see to Lily. I would be sad if she went the way of all other vengeful souls we see in Hell.”
Ondrass grunted. “Yes, all right. I can’t help it, I like the girl. We all do.”
“Then let’s go help her as we can. Get her outside of this stuffy little room at the very least so she is spared the humiliation of watching an angel sing to her mate.”
Ondrass sneered at that, his upper lip curling. “Angels,” he growled, filling that one word with mountains of scorn. “All right. After you, Adry.”
Adramelek inclined his head and opened the door to Danny’s sick room.
A Fire in the Heart Page 2