No Shadows Fall (23 page)

“
T
HAT
WAS
fruitless,” Semjaza said. He was feeling at the end of his patience. Azazel had taken him to what he called the Columbia River Gorge, and now Semjaza paced back and forth in the grass beside the highway near to the town called Biggs Junction, glaring at the sparkling blue river waters while gray clouds scudded overhead.

“Forgive me, sire,” Azazel said, cringing.

“It is not your fault,” Semjaza sighed. “Are there other places?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Wait.” Semjaza paused, staring across the river. “What is that, over there?” He pointed.

Azazel blinked, staring. “Oh. That’s the old Maryhill Estate. It’s abandoned now, since the war. I think most of it is burnt and destroyed.”

“No, not the house,” Semjaza said, shaking his head impatiently. “
That.
”

Azazel looked confused even as his gaze followed the line of Semjaza’s finger that pointed unerringly at a spot on top of a flat, dusty promontory, high above the river.

“My lord, I believe that’s a copy of Stonehenge.”

“Remarkable.” Semjaza hummed. “I wish to see it.” He moved without waiting for Azazel to reply.

As Semjaza examined it, so did Penemuel. He struggled, even though he knew that his own power was far less than Semjaza’s and that it had all the effect of a mouse struggling to free itself from the claws of a cat. He did not want to see this. He did not want to know. Yet Semjaza held his mind fast, and Penemuel could not escape. Together, Semjaza and Penemuel walked around the structure of the copy of Stonehenge, and together, they examined it carefully.

The replica of Stonehenge had been made with loving care. Semjaza could see that immediately. Each pit in the rock, each rough line had been recreated from the original Stonehenge in England. Small plaques were affixed to each standing stone with names and dates on them, a tribute to war dead, Semjaza realized. He walked around the interior of the circle, resting his hands on the stones, feeling the power within them.

In the center of the circle was the altar stone, and Semjaza walked to it, sat down on it, and let his power reach out, burrowing into the rock. It was warm and familiar, and he sighed, a long, contented sound. The rock had been shaped with love, like the rest of them here in this recreation of an ancient magical site.

“Perfect,” Semjaza said to himself. The power he could feel was power of the land, the power of water from the river, and the power of blood from those men whose names were inscribed on the plaques. Blood and water in rock and earth, positioned high upon a cliff to feel the endless ebb and flow of air and wind, the heated kiss of summer’s fiery sun. All the elements combined focused on this structure.

Elemental magic. Semjaza was very familiar with that. Elemental magic was the first magic he had mastered.

Semjaza stood up and turned around inside the circle of this newer Stonehenge. And then he threw back his head and laughed. It felt good to laugh like that: joyful, gleeful, and powerful.

“Sire?”

Semjaza turned to face Azazel who stood between the altar stone and one of the inner circle standing stones.

“This place, Azazel, is perfect. It is founded in the magic of the elements. This is where I will unleash my power and take back what is mine.”

Azazel looked astonished. “You are sure?”

“Oh yes.” Semjaza laughed again. “You cannot feel it?”

“I confess, sire, that my own talent for elemental magic is limited.”

“Ah, well, trust me.”

“Of course.” Azazel said it without any hesitation. “But night is coming, sire.”

“Take me to this ruined house,” Semjaza commanded. “Perhaps with a bit of careful magic, making sure not to be detected by any of angelkind, we can make part of it livable.”

Azazel bowed. “Your wish, sire, is my command.”

“Good.” Semjaza patted one of the stones again. “This is truly a powerful structure. Oh, not that old one in the Old World, with its magic lost to the mists of time. This one was made by hands guided by Nephilim. I am sure of it. Our children, Azazel. Our descendants reach through time itself to help us. I cannot fail. I am more certain than before of our success.”

Azazel bowed again. “Your words humble me, sire.”

“Let us see to this house, then, and then to food. I hear the sounds of game not far off. We should go hunting, Azazel, as we did in times long gone, when Eden was ours.”

“I would like that, sire.” Azazel led the way out of the stone circle, toward a path overgrown with weeds.

“Tell me, when was this place last inhabited?” Semjaza asked as they walked.

“I believe it was last inhabited in the year 2065, sire. The war had been going for some time. That was… seventeen years ago, more or less.”

“Numbers have power too. As you know.” Semjaza smiled as Azazel nodded. “Seventeen is a number of power. As is five. Yes, this is perfect. Now, we will rest, eat, and watch the skies to divine the meaning writ large in the stars. We will divine the perfect time to summon Gabriel here so that I may kill him.”

“Where do you plan to confront him, sire?”

“In the stone circle, of course.” Semjaza chuckled. “Where else?”

Azazel nodded. “I see. Can I ask, sire, what of Penemuel, Kokabiel, and Baraqiel?”

Semjaza curled his upper lip. “They are banished. They have failed me, Azazel, and failed our choir. They will gain no rewards. I will not punish them, for they have endured much already while in Hell. But I will not do them any favors or give them any gifts. They have chosen the silly little lives they have lived for centuries, and so they shall continue to live until the end of days.

“If they die before the Rise of Lucifer, well, so be it.” Semjaza shrugged. “But they do not deserve anything from us.”

Azazel nodded again. “I understand, sire.”

Semjaza clapped Azazel’s shoulder companionably. “I am well glad you are with me, Azazel. I missed you much while I was trapped within Aquila.”

“How did you escape, sire?” Azazel asked the question once more as the two angels started up the gentle incline that led toward the ruins of Maryhill House.

“I studied. I listened. I watched. And when I had learned all that I could about the stars and the structure of constellations, I applied magic to the bonds that held the constellation in its place in the sky. Aquila had to turn its attention to the spell I created and unleashed in order not to fall from its position. In that moment, the bonds that held the bars of my prison weakened, and I was able to use my power to blast through them and escape. A simple thing, really, but it would not have occurred to me to do it had I not learned about falling stars and the position of constellations and their relation to the planets.”

Azazel stared at Semjaza in awe. “That’s truly amazing, sire.”

“It is, isn’t it? I impressed myself.” Semjaza laughed. He was in good spirits now.

W
ITH
A
great shout, Penemuel tore his mind away from Semjaza’s. He was shaking violently and covered in sweat, his teacup was on the floor, and tea had spilled over himself. Lowering his head to his hands, Penemuel took great, deep breaths, sucking in huge lungfuls of air, feeling as if he had been put through a psychic, emotional, and physical wringer.

So this was Semjaza’s plan. This was what he intended to do. Penemuel knew he should contact the Archangels and alert them, but he was too weak after the experience to do more than sit, shake, and pant. He felt as fragile as a newly hatched bird, and he couldn’t muster enough power to pull a cloth to himself to mop up the spilled tea, let alone reach out to call the Brotherhood of Archangels. His hands felt weak, too, and so he leaned back, resting his head on the chair and wishing the sensation would pass.

It would take time—he knew that from past experience. Penemuel hoped only that this feeling of weakness and uselessness that was the after-effect of being dragged along with Semjaza in mind and spirit would pass quickly so that he could warn the Archangels.

As for his own fate… Penemuel sighed. He’d expected to be killed or tortured or both; to be made into an object lesson for all angelkind, illustrating what would happen when one of them dared to rebel against the great and powerful Grigori Prince Semjaza. This was, by Semjaza’s terms, leniency. If he won, Penemuel thought, Semjaza was going to leave him, Baraqiel, and Kokabiel alone. It was a small mercy, but Penemuel would take it. Better that than other punishments.

First, however, he had to recover from his experience enough to contact Raziel. Penemuel prayed then, prayed for strength to do what he knew must be done and prayed for Semjaza to fail.

“
F
UCKING
OW
!” Gabriel exclaimed, clutching his left elbow with his right hand as best as he was able.

Raziel had moved them from Iona to Yerevan, the city in Armenia where Lyudmila lived, and his choice of landing spot was a narrow space between two buildings. The space was barely two feet wide, and for four Archangels, not nearly wide enough to be comfortable. As a result, upon materializing, Gabriel had banged his funny bone on the wall.

His eyes watered, tears of pain slipping down his cheeks as he gritted his teeth and waited for the pain and the unpleasant tingling to subside.

“
Da bao
?” Michael asked, turning to face Gabriel, his expression worried.

“’S nothing. I’m fine, just banged my elbow thanks to Raziel. You need to go back to angel school, fuck!” Gabriel swore at length.

“You are weeping,” Michael said in alarm.

“Well yeah, you would be too if you were in my position!” Gabriel glared at Raziel and angrily brushed the tears from his cheek. “What the fuck made you land us in an alley the size of a matchbox, you clot?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Raziel looked sheepish. “Last time I was here, this was a bit wider. I didn’t realize. I’ll move us somewhere better.”

“No, we’ll walk out of here as if we’re perfectly normal. I’m not bloody trusting your landings for a bloody good long while, fucking hell,” Gabriel grumbled.

“Sorry,” Raziel said again. He wiggled down the narrow embrasure to the street and stepped out, straightening his jacket. Uriel, smirking broadly at Gabriel over his shoulder, followed, then Michael, then Gabriel himself.

No one paid them any attention. Gabriel shot Raziel a dark look as he slowly bent and stretched his arm, the pain and tingling dissipating. “Clot,” he said again. “Fucking tingling pain in my funny bone hasn’t gone away yet. And what a stupid name—it’s not in the least bit funny
at all
.”

“Are you going to call me that all day?” Raziel asked. “I said I was sorry. And the name is a pun, Gabriel. You like puns, so you shouldn’t be so upset.”

“What’s it the pun of?” Uriel asked curiously.

“Because the pain comes from when one hits or bangs the ulnar nerve, which is by the humerus bone. The pun comes from the word humorous.”

“Okay.” Uriel shook his head, amused.

“Aye, aye, I am going to call you that, so? And thanks for that lesson in semantics, but it doesn’t make it any less fucking annoyingly sore, clot.” Gabriel stuck his tongue out.

“You’re such a sooky-la-la, Gabriel,” Uriel said with a laugh.

“How about I rearrange your face?” Gabriel asked pleasantly. “Then you can be a bloody nanny-nanny-boo-boo.”

“Ooh, big words, I’m so scared,” Uriel mocked.

“You’re a pair of Neanderthalic children,” Raziel said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m surrounded by Neanderthals. Lucky me.”

“
Children
,” Michael sighed, “please act your age.”

Raziel stuck his tongue out. “Now I will.”

Uriel, after a quick look at Raziel, shrugged and looked around the street. “Fine.”

“Same.” Gabriel ran his hands through his hair.

Michael rolled his eyes. “How I am not gray with the stress of dealing with my choir is a miracle. I will pray to God tonight in thanks.”

Uriel laughed. “You’re being ridiculous, Michael.” As Michael raised an eyebrow, Uriel smirked at him. “We’re all ridiculous sometimes. It’s just how we are. We’re all too old to be perpetually serious and grim.”

“Aren’t you feeling well, Uri?” Raziel asked. “That’s pretty astute of you.”

“I’m experimenting with being observant about things I don’t usually care about.” Uriel pulled his cigar case from his coat pocket, removed one, and lit it. “Enjoy it, because it’s beginning to bore me.”

Raziel laughed. “I love you.”

“Mm, I know. Because I am damn awesome. I love you, too, just so you know.”

“Raziel, Uriel, we are here to work,” Michael said with a long-suffering sigh. “Let us do what we came here for.”

Raziel flipped Michael a lazy salute. “Okey dokey.”

“Pardon?” Michael’s expression was bemused.

Gabriel laughed. “He’s agreeing with you, Mishka.”

“I… see.” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and left the subject alone. “Where is Lyudmila’s home, Raziel?”

“A few blocks away. I didn’t want to ’port right into it. I thought it would be prudent to scope out the area first. Isn’t that what you military types advise?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Wonderful,” he muttered to Gabriel. “It is going to be one of
those
days.”

“Aye, seems so.” Gabriel was scowling, his brow furrowed in thought. “Look,” he said louder, “why don’t we split up and regroup out front of Lyudmila’s building? I know where she lives too.”

“All right,” Raziel said. “Come on, Uri,” he added, sauntering off down the street.

Uriel shot his elders a quick, apologetic look. “I’ll calm him down,” he said. “I don’t know what belligerent bug bit his bum today, but I’ll get him back on track.” Then he took off after Raziel.

Michael shook his head. “Raziel is… frustrating.”

“Sometimes I reckon he gets so annoyed that we ain’t as smart as he is that he just explodes into this mouthy, annoying brat,” Gabriel suggested.

“Perhaps.” Michael looked up and down the street. “In any event, I trust Uriel to return Raziel’s good humor. Which way do we go,
da bao
?”