Authors: L.J. LaBarthe
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 these 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?”
“Oh yes, like a leech.” Penemuel took another drink. His hands were shaking. Recounting this was like reliving a nightmare. “In any event, Azazel is completely loyal to Semjaza. He’s had him coiffed and clothed so that Semjaza resembles quite the well-to-do Parisian gentleman now. I have no doubt that should he choose to, ah, indulge himself, he’ll find many willing partners in Paris.”
Raziel’s expression became one of distaste. “That arrogant fuck,” he muttered. “Go on.”
“Quite so. Anyway, his goals are fairly predictable. He wants Ishtahar and his sons, he wants Eden. He wants to rule Eden and the land that would have fallen under Eden’s purview back in the bad old days. That would be modern day Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. Possibly a little of northern Turkey, too, but I’d have to look at the maps to be sure.”
“Do.” Raziel nodded. “I’d like a detailed delineation of what he’d think his realm would be on a modern-day map.”
“I’ll see to it when I return to London.”
“Thank you.” Raziel stretched out his legs, and the cat walked over to join the dog, lay beside Raziel, and began to knead his thigh. “Not so hard,” Raziel murmured to the animal. Turning his attention back to Penemuel, Raziel asked, “That wasn’t all he wanted, though, was it?”
“Of course not.” Penemuel drained his glass. The gin was having a pleasantly numbing effect on him. “He wants revenge. He’s got quite a list. Most of your choir are on it. Gabriel’s at the top of the list for imprisoning him, followed by Michael for imprisoning the rest of us in Hell. Uriel’s there for the Flood that killed everything, including most of the Nephilim, and you’re on it for making Eden inaccessible to him. And last, but certainly not least, Remiel is on it for daring to, ah, corrupt Ishtahar.”
Raziel rolled his eyes. “Semjaza’s a damn fool. All right, that’s more or less what I expected. But there are only two Nephilim left alive—his sons, Hiwa and Ahijah.”
“Ah, if I may,” Kokabiel said diffidently, “that’s not entirely true.”
Raziel’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. “I beg your pardon?”
“When the Flood hit,” Kokabiel said, “some of the vampire clans up in the north of the planet took in groups of Nephilim. They wanted to exchange gifts—turn a few Nephilim into vampires so that they’d have that lineage in their bloodline.”
“Did it work?” Raziel sounded astonished.
“No.” Kokabiel shook his head. “The vampires died. Something about the angel part of the Nephilim blood being poison to a vampire because of the holiness in it.”
“Thank God,” Raziel breathed. “That would have been a disaster.”
“Probably.” Kokabiel shrugged. “But there were survivors from those days. Natural attrition thinned out the Nephilim who were protected by the blood-drinkers. I believe only a dozen Nephilim survive now.”
Raziel groaned. “Uriel’s going to have the most epic of shit fits. He didn’t want to follow the original orders from Gabriel at the time, but he did it because, well, God commanded it. I think he still really resents that, and you know what Uriel’s resentment is like: a living, breathing entity all of its own.”