Gabriel scowled, tucking the sword back into the sheath laced across his shoulders before glancing back at the burning remains of the monastery. "Raziel. I'm not here to kill you, you dolt. It appears you've found yourself in a bit of a quandary. Obviously, you cannot be allowed entrance to Heaven, you're aware of this."
He was. He'd mourned it since the moment he'd woken and realized he'd been changed so irrevocably that the chasm could never be patched. He was no longer welcome above. For an Archangel, it was truly a fate worse than death. They were created to serve Heaven. Without it, they didn't have anything else. They belonged nowhere else.
"Surely there must be something, Gabriel. Some way to mend this. To right this wrong. You know as well as I that I have dedicated myself to our cause. I have been a steadfast warrior. Surely one transgression shouldn't be enough to cast one out. There must be a way. I will do anything to earn the right to walk among you again. I just want to come home. I realize the darkness has consumed me, but... but there are still moments of lucidity, periods of regret and understanding. Doesn't that mean the evil has not yet taken me completely?"
The look on Gabriel's face was part pity and part resolve. He'd clearly been told to stick to the official line of things. Raziel understood it. He bore no ill will towards his brothers. He'd gotten himself into this situation, he'd allowed himself to be led astray.
His brothers couldn't save him from his own stupidity. He wished he'd had a chance to say his goodbyes, at the very least. Michael and Uriel may not care as much, but Gabriel and Raphael would.
Except the way Gabriel was watching him was curious. He appeared to have something more to say, but didn't know exactly how to broach the conversation. It was a look Gabriel frequently had and it never boded well for the person he was conversing with at the time. Warily, Raziel took a step back.
"What aren't you telling me, Gabe?" As Gabriel shifted on his feet, the feeling of being left out of something important intensified. Irritation began to spin in his gut, but that brought with it the familiar stirrings of anger that he couldn't control so he forced it down.
"Brother... there has been some discussion above. A powwow of sorts, if you will. While some feel the danger is too great to allow you to remain on your current course, others feel we have a rare opportunity here, one that we haven't had in a millennium. It requires you keeping this beast under control and the thirst in check, however. If you can do that, there may be a way to earn your wings back. Can you control it? Can you assure me that a situation like this will not happen again? If it does, you immediately forfeit your life. They aren't risking any more innocent lives, Raziel."
Could he control himself for a chance at redemption? He damn well would. "Whatever this requires, I will do it."
Chapter Seven
The air was stifling, a blanket of humidity and sea salt clinging to him like a cloak. He had no idea what he was doing here, but Gabriel had sent him to St. Augustine for a reason. He just had to figure out why. Apparently there were some objects that had been lost over the centuries and shouldn't have been. Angelic relics held power of their own, putting them in human hands wasn't something anyone wanted to happen.
Unfortunately, Archangels were limited in where they could go on Earth. Hallowed ground. Sanctuary cities. They weren't like the guardian angels that were tethered to a person or place, their battles were fought in Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. Earth wasn't a destination they were allowed to go too often, so when they did, they were severely limited in reach. As relics were too strong for lower caste angels, they hadn't been able to be retrieved once they'd been lost.
That's where Raziel came in. Now considered Fallen, he was able to move freely without his grace. The problem was, he couldn't sense angelic objects as well as he could have if he still had those powers. He could sense a bit of a stirring of energy if he was close, but other than that, he was getting nothing. Of all the absurd problems to have, this would be the one that befell him.
Gabriel had sent him to St. Augustine and told him to begin his search there, but his search for what? Most angelic weapons were made from Dracium, a metallic alloy that existed only in the heavens. When those objects fell, the earth's atmosphere was hot enough to reshape them if they moved too slowly, allowing the heat to build up. Whatever the objects had been, there was a good chance they may not be the same thing now. It was bound to be a frustrating endeavor, because Gabriel had no other information to give.
Retrieve some objects, earn back his wings. That was the deal. So long as he kept the darker urges in check and didn't harm an innocent while he completed this mission, he would be allowed respite in Heaven once more. It was more than he expected, more than he was even worthy of, but he'd take it with open arms. Now if this city would just lay out a red carpet to his destination, that would be perfect.
As he'd explored the city, he learned it was almost split into two separate entities. There was the 'new' city along the waterfront where high-rises and boutique stores had taken up residence, beckoning tourists to vacation on sandy beaches. Packed with people, Raziel found it too fast-paced for his tastes. Advertisements blared from billboards and signs everywhere he turned. The smells of a hundred different eateries combined to turn his stomach and made him want to find a quiet spot to get away from the madness.
Further inward lay the 'Old City'. Coquina bricks still lined the streets, the old forts were still made of them as well. The shell mortar was strong and durable in the Florida weather, making for excellent building material while giving the place a unique charm all its own.
Here, Raziel felt more at peace. The history flowed through the very veins of the city. If you closed your eyes, you could almost hear the sound of cannon fire, of shouts as soldiers mobilized at Castillo de San Marcos and defended their home. It was something Raziel understood all too well.
Something else tugged at his senses, though. A soft but insistent call, beckoning him deeper into the streets of the old city itself. He couldn't pinpoint it, just an urge to continue moving west. Without a solid plan in mind, he followed.
He searched for hours, until the light begun to fade, the sun dipping below the horizon. When he could no longer see through the shadows, Raziel finally gave in for the night. Finding what looked like an abandoned home to take shelter in, he sat on a threadbare sofa, arms braced on his knees. Deep in thought, he didn't hear the soft skittering noise until something cold pressed against his forearm.
Jerking backward, he realized a moment later it was simply a stray pup, coming to see who had wandered into their domain. Tail wagging uncertainly, he held out his hand to allow a curious sniff, before digging in his pockets to share the package of jerky he'd been forced to purchase. Angels didn't need to eat, they did when they wanted to maintain illusions of humanity, or if they enjoyed a particular food.
He'd stumbled into an art street show, and had felt obligated to at least purchase something. Since he couldn't really carry art or pottery on this mission and had no need of it once he'd earned his redemption, foodstuffs seemed the easiest way to support the artists.
Thankfully, manifesting human money and clothing was a skill Archangels did keep on Earth to allow them to blend in. The starving pup clearly needed it more than he did. Before turning in for the night, Raziel made a mental note to bring something else back before he left.
His dreams were tormented, fractured and strange. He dreamt of a cathedral, with flames on the ceiling, the bright orange a stunning counterpoint to the carved wooden pews and beautiful stained glass that adorned the nave. The flames didn't fit... there was no smoke, no crackling as timber split and burned. As the fire raged on, four bells began sounding in unison, the tones somehow both soothing and jarring to his senses. As he turned to flee the building, crimson eyes stared at him from the darkened pulpit, an echoing laugh of glee surrounding him from all sides.
Waking in a cold sweat, he took slow, steady breaths. He was not going to allow Tarin to win. He was parched beyond
belief, but he would not give in. She wanted him to become an abomination, to take succor from innocents. To walk the path of evil as she did. He would not. Now that he had absolution in his grasp, his resolve was stronger than her desire to keep him.
Shaking himself free from the last dredges of sleep, he washed up as best as he could from a rain barrel outside, as the house had no running water. Finding a bent metal dish, he filled it with water for the dog before heading down to the small carry out he'd noticed a few blocks down when he'd arrived last night.
A few packages of cheap deli meat, bottles of water, a tourist map, one call to an animal sanctuary with the help of the cashier, and he was on his way back to the house. While thin, the pup appeared to be in decent health and was relatively friendly. Raziel had always had a soft spot for animals. In this, at least he'd know someone was coming to help the poor thing when he left to continue his tracking.
They spent the next twenty minutes in a tug of war for attention. Raziel was trying to peruse the tourist map to see if any cathedrals in the area might match what he'd seen in his dreams. The pup was being tossed pieces of sliced meats whenever Raziel remembered to do it. When he forgot, he was quickly reminded.
Once the packages were gone, the water refilled and Raziel had a few cathedrals marked to visit, he said his goodbyes. Someone would be coming soon and he wanted to be gone when they arrived. His presence would draw questions, ones he wasn't quite sure how to answer.
His long legs made for a quick stride, so by the time he reached the end of the street, he was able to see the animal sanctuary van turning the corner, even though they'd said it might be at least an hour. He'd made it out just in time, then.
Ducking his head to avoid being spotted, he tugged the map from his pocket again, checking the crossroads to be sure he was heading the proper direction. It'd be easier to flag down a taxi or other modern transportation convenience, but Raziel preferred apparating for the most part. When that wasn't possible, he walked. Putting his life in the hands of mortals behind the wheel of a moving weapon wasn't something he relished the idea of. That was Gabriel's type of fun.
The first few churches he visited didn't resemble anything in his dreams. He was halfway down his list already. Perhaps it really was just his mind playing tricks on him. He'd woken up believing the dreams were some sort of sign, that he needed to look for that specific church, but maybe that's all they were... dreams. Raziel had been about to give up, when he heard the bells. First one, then another. Then another... until four were clanging in a symphony of sound, welcoming the faithful to morning services.
Following the sound, Raziel found himself on the steps of The Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine.. The plaque outside denoted it as the oldest Christian congregation in the contiguous United States. That boded well. Old churches were known for having the oldest relics hidden safely away in their walls. This church was established in 1565. That was a lot of history, a lot of time to stash away objects they held reverence for. Taking a breath, Raziel pushed through the doors.
As soon as he stepped inside, recognition hit him like a punch to the gut. The roof wasn't on fire, of course it wasn't. The ceiling of the nave was painted in orange-red tones, highlighting the gold and ivory of the Spanish architecture below. Everything else fit, though. This was the cathedral from his dream. As he flipped through the tourist guide again, he blinked. Fire hadn't been that far off, either.
The place had a history of burning down. Freak accidents, storms. Battles. This was the fourth incarnation of the church. Three others before it had perished in flames. That seemed highly unusual... once or twice would simply be normal or unusual. Three times? You would think they would stop building in the same spot or figure out what existed in the location that was causing the place to be a fire magnet.
Armed with that knowledge, Raziel had a general location to look. If this started with the first fire in 1586, then he needed to look in the remnants of the older foundations, not the newer ones. Something they held here was causing havoc, and he'd lay bets on it being some sort of relic. It was the only thing that could make sense for why he'd been sent to this city and then his dreams had lead him directly to this location.
All he had to do was find it.
Chapter Eight
Finding the old foundations was easier said than done. There were no outside entrances that he could find, so he had to wait until services were done. Since these went on throughout the day, the last one was evening mass, as they didn't have midnight mass on weekdays here, only Sundays. It gave him a little more time, at least. Once the church was closed and he saw the priest locking up, Raziel hurried around to the back, pushing a basement window inward.
He'd discovered it unlocked during his earlier exploration of the place, so it served as a way to get inside without breaking in. He was loathe to destroy any of the beautiful leaded glass windows if he could help it. As most depicted scenes of his Father, his brothers, and things of that nature, it felt a bit blasphemous to even contemplate breaking them. Even for him.
Sliding in, he stood to his full height, glancing around at the darkened interior. Garment racks, boxes, shelving in one direction. Broken pews, stacks of plastic chairs for bible study, and desks in another. A storage room of some sort, then. If this was the lowest level of the new church, then he needed to go deeper. There didn't appear to be a clear way to do that, though. Closing his eyes, he left his senses guide him again.
Tentative footsteps led him from one room to another, this one smelling of mildew and dust. Cleaning supplies were stacked in a corner, old choir robes hung on hooks along the wall. They were moth eaten and tattered, so clearly this was a room that didn't get as much use. In the furthest corner, a door was barred with a large bolt, rusty with disuse. Moving that way, Raziel saw the lock was opened, just hanging in its designated spot without actually being utilized.
Getting the door to swing outward was a trial, as it was warped with both age and humidity. After fighting with it for several moments, Raziel was able to pry it loose, forcing it open so he could step onto the wooden platform. Rickety steps led down into the darkness, but the smell of damp, decaying earth was much stronger here. He could see pipes attached to the walls in various places, so he assumed below was a utility room of sorts where the water tanks and things were located.
With the smell, it also meant this was an even lower section of the building, which was exactly what he needed. Anything to get further into the bowels of the place, to begin peeling back the layers and get into the remnants of the buildings this had been built on top of.
Before long, he came to the utility room. To the left, the cracked cement flooring disappeared into the earthen one he'd been able to smell, tilting downward at an angle. Following the slope, the coquina walls began to be chipped and warped with age, before giving way to frames of rotted timber located inside the newer foundations.
Thankful the new foundations actually were built around the old, Raziel felt some of the tension easing from his shoulders. The building wasn't liable to bury him if he had to begin shifting centuries of dirt to get to what he needed. Small favors, really.
It took awhile. Longer than he'd hoped it would. While he could pinpoint an area in the darkness, he was digging blind... not only because there wasn't any real light this far down except a flashlight he'd retrieved from the utility room, but any angelic power he had left simply wasn't enough to zero in on a spot. He must have moved hundreds of pounds of dirt with the flat rock he'd unearthed, until he was covered in sweat and his shoulders and arms were aching with the strain.
Just when he was ready to give up and come back under the cover of darkness again, this time with a shovel, he felt something hard under his searching fingertips. Heart pounding, he dug around further until he'd pushed the earth away from it, hand closing around a small object. Pulling it upward triumphantly, he frowned. It wasn't metal, as he'd expected. This was pottery... a terra cotta lamp.
Inspecting
it closer, he brushed away some of the dirt and grime clinging to it. As he did, he felt a frisson of energy run through his fingertips, making his hair stand on end like he'd been hit with an electric current. This was definitely the object he was looking for, he knew that much. As he brought the flashlight over to see better, his eyes widened. This was no ordinary terracotta lamp.
Inscribed with a tiny cross, the workmanship was unmistakable, as was its age. The flat body and squared nozzle was Herodian handiwork. This dated to the age of Jesus. Specifically, around the time of his crucifixion.
How it had come to be here was anyone's guess, but it certainly explained the unlucky fires that plagued the place. Tucking it safely away in his jacket pocket after removing his shirt to wrap it securely, he began his ascent to the surface far quicker than it'd taken to get down here.
He was blindsided. He barely closed the casement window behind him when he'd sensed he wasn't alone. The stench of sulfur and brimstone gave them away before their movements in the darkness did. Demons, and definitely more than one, though he couldn't be sure of the true number without turning and letting on that he already knew they were there. Belatedly, he wondered if his new situation had anything to do with it.
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