Chancery and I had a fight after meeting with the Group. The truth was, it was a falling out years in the making. I needed him to look into something for me, and he was the only one I trusted with it. But did he understand that?
I'd told him, “I'm not moving until the Summer, so I don't need you. Think of this as a break, Aite.”
“I don't need a break,” he'd said with a scoff.
“Well I fucking do!” I'd roared.
I hadn't cared for the look on his face--the look that told me he saw through me, but was still hurt.
Putting distance between him and I would tell the Group I was being paranoid, which was a good look considering my father's own second, Montenegro, had been publically ousted as a traitor. Maybe those that still held ambitions in their hearts would think twice about moving if I was keeping my own second on a short leash even while in mourning.
Another reason I needed him to learn from the madam was because I didn't trust the priestess at her word, and if I was around, she'd never open up to him completely. Maybe she'd see an ally in him if she thought he was cut off.
The other reason I didn't want him crawling all over my shit while I was playing the Steward bachelor was because I was already suffocating as it was. The Steward's legacy felt like a fucking noose.
He knew all that. It had still hurt him when I snapped.
His posture changed. Chancery stood with his hands in front of him and said in a monotone, “When I learn something, I'll cut you in.”
I had a hard time controlling my breath. I'd ground out, “You do that.”
His face was blank, dispassionate. “Will that be all, Mister Devereaux?”
I'd gritted my teeth. He knew how much I hated that attitude from him, when he went full subordinate-mode because he too was struggling not to say anything damaging. He would've lectured me if we were still at the lake--would have lectured me about safety if I hadn't replaced him with Ke'lev. But the informality the lake situation had granted us was getting further and further away with every passing day, just like the ignorance of our youth.
I'd dismissed him with a wave.
He'd bowed, keeping his eyes downcast, but at the threshold to my office, he'd turned back, as if gearing up to have the final word. I'd thrown a pen at him like a child and he'd rolled his eyes at me before leaving.
After hearing the elevator chime and close, I'd gotten up and swept everything off my desk, kicking my chair across the room like it had been the one to offend me.
I kept my cool in front of everyone but him. Did Remus Chancery know how much power he really had over me? Probably not. Maybe that was for the best.
Ke'lev had been watching me from his place in the corner of the room.
“What?!” I'd demanded hotly.
He'd just stared.
Humans, his stance had said.
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25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa67Vp9kTJC
The hunger began at the lakehouse. Rather, it would dog me after the first time I gave into it. But I'd had a choice, hadn't I? Just like everyone else has their choices.
I chose to eat angel.
The consequence? No other food will satisfy.
As if one curse wasn't enough.
I was still deciding if I regretted it or not. It was hard to argue with the second-order effects. I was hale, hearty, and the night terrors had downgraded to domestic bad dreams. But every time I ate conventional things, my stomach lurched and it took every ounce of willpower I had to keep things down.
I'd seen what the hunger had done to my mother before my father had put her on a… specialized diet. My sister and I had been told she was battling with cancer. It wasn't until my sister's death that I was told the truth. But then, my mother had been a traditional Ouwarawa and took her power from human flesh.
Manifested angels are a lot harder to come by, if you're trying not to eat the ones you're bound to, anyway.
Most people probably live with regret. That's human, isn't it? Dealing with consequence. You either embrace the results or… succumb to them.
There's good counseling out there for normal choices and normal consequences. But the only shrink I'd ever come across that dealt with the non-mundane was apparently in a straight-jacket herself.
Owen Bardo, of all people, was the one to tell me about her.
After the lake, he'd been put on some sort of probation, pending a board. He'd refused a management position for some reason, so Chichi had stashed him in one of our dives for the time being. I didn't ask for the details because I'd do something about it if I knew any. And I couldn't be seen doing anything in the group until the following Summer.
So, between my stepmother's dinner parties and waiting for Chancery to find out how to break one of my curses, I figured I'd seek therapy.
“Her name's Dr. Amelia Etoile,” Bardo said as he leaned across the bar. “She takes a single non-family visitor every Friday and Thursday, so you might be on a waiting list.”
“The normies still call her Doctor?”
Bardo smirked. “Not in front of the other residents, but just because she's nutso-futso to them doesn't make her any less educated. Sometimes they even consult with her—secretly.”
“Do you see her?” I asked.
He laughed. “Professionally? No.”
I raked my graying bangs back into my hair tie and sighed.
“Go once,” Bardo said, sliding an experimental concoction in front of me to try. “What's the worst that can happen?”
I gave the drink a sniff and grimaced. It smelled like lemon pepper and piss. “The worst? She diagnoses me with something that she can't prescribe drugs to fix.” I made the sign of the cross and downed the drink. Drinking at least didn't roll my stomach like solid food did. I grunted in surprise. It tasted like mangoes covered in Tajin. “This is awful. Another.”
Bardo laughed as he started mixing again. “Let me know if she helps. Or don't. I don't really care.”
“You'll care if I keep complaining.”
He flashed an eye tooth at me as he winked.
After he set another mango tango in front of me, I twisted in my seat, looking for my shadow. “Ke'lev! Come try this!”
“Jesus-fuck, has he been in that booth this whole time?” Bardo grumbled. “No wonder no one's been sitting in Julie's section…”
The hulking bulk in the booth tilted his ethereal face into the light to give me a suspicious look.
I coughed into my fist, adding, “For poison.”
Bardo had to press ringed knuckles into his mouth to keep from laughing.
Ke'lev got up and steppedover the seat in front of him, over a table, and over another chair—moving with all the grace and precision of a machine. We were lucky the place was basically empty, otherwise I don't doubt he would have stepped over people to get to me if it was more efficient than going around.
Appearing at my side, he took the drink from me and gave it an experimental sniff. Then he tried to hand it back to me.
“No, you have to drink it,” I said.
Bardo said, “Maybe he knows it's not poisoned just from the smell.”
Ke'lev gave him an affirmative look.
“Drink it,” I ordered him seriously.
The angel sighed at me. He put the glass on the bartop and turned to leave, but paused to look down at a hand around his wrist.
Oh, it was my hand.
Fucking alcohol.
I let him go and he tilted his head at me for a second before returning to his spot in the corner where he could survey the entire space without obstacles. But now his arms were crossed. I knew that posture. He was counting down in his head. In the end, he'd shove me into my car and drive us to the tower.
Bardo finally let out a stream of laughter that reminded me of a pressure cooker's open release valve. “He looks like he's this close to throwing you over his shoulder!” He pinched his fingers between us. Then he wiped his eyes. “Thanks, I needed that. You two are so dumb together. Reminds me of you and Chancery when we were kids.”
If Ke'lev's warning stare wasn't enough of a wet blanket, the mention of Chancery would've banked my fire altogether.
“How is our second, anyway? I haven't seen him around for a couple of weeks.” Bardo put another drink in front of me and I went through both glasses with a vengeance. “Woof. He ain't texting you back either? Did you accidentally send him feet pics too?”
There are four voice-mails and twenty-two—bzzt-bzzt—twenty-three unread text messages on my phone from Remus Chancery, I reminded myself. But yeah, I mean, technically he's not texting me back… because I'm not texting him back.
I gave Bardo a small smile and said, “I'm sure he's just been busy with the madame.”
“He's really getting lessons from the voodoo priestess? I thought you guys were joking about that back at the lake.” He made all the motions to get me another drink, but something caught his eye over my shoulder and, instead, he slid a bottle of water in front of me. He gave me a conciliatory smile. “I like my arms attached to my body. Drink slowly, so he doesn't think I gave you vodka.”
I rolled my eyes and unscrewed the cap. “Y’know… I really used to think Chancery was bad.”
Bardo guffawed as he pressed glassware into wash fountains mounted near the sink. “Yeah, the benefit with seconds is you can always order ‘em home at night. Downside is, you get to hear about how it made ‘em feel come morning.”
Bardo's mouth twisted slightly at that and he cleared his throat before saying, “Sorry, Boss, I'm gonna step out for a second to grab a box. If you dip before I get back, don't forget to leave a tip.”
“For your experiments?”
He smirked. “For the good advice.”
I finished the water and crushed the plastic into a puck. I spun my stool around and pitched it toward my shadow.
Ke'lev snatched the trash out of the air and regarded me with a cool smile. Then he stood up and met me by the front door.
A smattering of comments about the weather accosted us as we traded places in the entryway with a gaggle of marshmallow-like sorority girls. The ladies all ogled or greeted my guardian with drunken-levels of bravado and didn't even take notice of me. Ke'lev only attracted attention when he wanted to, and I was sure he did it just to annoy me.
This time though, Ke'lev didn't take his eyes off me. He pushed through the thong-throng and held the door for me.
“What a gentleman,” I said, meeting his gaze. I patted my seraph’s cheek. “Good boy.”
The girls hooted and hollered. The hostess, trying to get their number and their coats for the check, gave me a vexed expression as the door closed.
It was snowing outside.
I went for the pocket inside my jacket, but after finding it empty, I did a double-take before realizing Ke'lev was holding up a menthol between us. He handed me my lighter too. It took a second for the flame to bite in.
Ritual completed, I said to the swirling precipitation over my smoke, “I don't wanna go back to the tower…”
Ke'lev stood by, affecting the kind of patience only immortals have.
“Did you know… I've got a place nobody knows about?”
He cocked his head at me.
“I'll give you directions if you promise me something.”
He narrowed goat-like eyes at me.
“That we stop at a gas station for a night cap. In return, you get a secret, and I promise to stay in for the rest of the night.”
He considered the deal. Then he lifted the keys to my Charger and hit the remote start.
Since no one was around, I punched a fist into the air before following him to the meter.
Along the way, we got turned around a couple times, but that was more due to the fact that I was three sheets gone and a terrible navigator.
Ke'lev, the poster seraph for pornigraphic competency, had watched one educational video and was now a better driver than most professionals I knew. He didn't lose his patience and listened to my directions intently. He was still operating under a drivers permit until he took the test. The only reason we were waiting was because he'd only learned how to read English last week.
“Here it is,” I said after directing him under a rusting carport. I knew he didn't have context and so couldn't judge, but I wondered what he made of the little cottage at the edge of the city. It wasn't in a good neighborhood. It was leagues down from the living standard the rest of the group swore to live by.
But it was mine.
Now it was ours.
Maybe he's going down his security checklist? I thought with a smirk as I noticed him canvassing the property with his eyes. “Chancery doesn't even know about this place. If he did, he'd have an aneurysm. No cameras. No proximity sensors. No duress buttons. No safe room. Just an old fashioned deadbolt and a closet shotgun.”
He made a face.
“What? Everyone needs a closet shotgun. You don't have one? Come on. I'll order a pizza.”
After getting inside, I adjusted the thermostat, flushed the toilet, ran the sinks, and flopped on the master bedroom's queen to make sure nothing was going to fall apart in the middle of the night when I'd be too drunk to care.
Everything was just as I'd left it almost ten months ago, with the added bonus of a layer of dust that betrayed no one else had been in the house since.
The little house was my secret oasis. It had all my books, my magazines, and all my knickknacks stashed within its hallowed walls. It was six-hundred square feet of perfection and it was mine, outright.
Ke'lev hung up our coats, shrugging his shoulders as if rolling away tension, and then rearranged some of the living room furniture, since he didn't like how our backs had been to the door. Meanwhile, I ordered a pizza, stashed beer in the fridge, and dusted until my eyes were watering.
My, admittedly, inebriated babble was unnecessary, but it filled the space between us as we both went about sprucing things up. “Chichi might know I still own this, but Kazu was the one who bought it in cash for my eighteenth. Property taxes and utilities were handled through a third party—paid up for the next half-century… unless there's a flood anyway.”
After the pizza arrived, I left it on the counter, fighting back nausea, and went for the beer instead. Ke'lev didn't say anything of course, but he gave me a disapproving look as I draped myself on the couch. I smacked the cushioned arm a couple times as I asked, “Wanna pick the movie?”
He sighed and started turning off the lights before joining me.
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25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfv2iSK8cSq
There's a pretty popular self-help book out there that says in fifty different ways, “Idle hands are the tools of the Devil.” Later on it expands on that sentiment with an antithesis: “To seek ways of making order in one's life, one is closer to the purity of Heaven.”
But if idleness is demonic and purpose is angelic, where does that leave humanity? And, more importantly, where does that leave me, Kouji Ahiru Devereaux, youngest scion of the Devereaux and Akayama Steward families?
I'm two parts Nephilim-wrought and only one part human. So what am I meant to do? Strive for idleness or purpose? Both?
Do I work overtime or do I take time to myself? Is success just money and marriage? Or is it self-actualization and inner peace?
Ke'lev is one-hundred-percent angel and even he has his moments of idleness. Did that make him less of a Hound of the Crown? Did he feel sinful when he wasn't doing anything?
“Ke'lev, do you feel guilty when you're doing nothing?” I asked him. I was laying on his lap to keep the room from spinning.
He paused the TV and looked down at me. His vacant expression told me he didn't understand the question.
I covered my eyes to stop the spins. After taking a breath, I clarified, “I mean, when we're just hangin’ out, you don't feel guilty for not doing something more productive?”
He moved to grab something from off the side table. Taking an experimental peek, I saw him chewing the inside of his cheek as he squinted at the tablet I'd bought for him the week prior. He was still figuring out how it worked, so his selections were slow and deliberate. Knowing him, he would have the device mastered by Sunday brunch—sooner if his grasp of the language evolved anymore overnight.
He used predictive text and the read-aloud accessibility feature to ask me in a chipper Midwestern accent, “Ko, do need more product?”
I groaned.
When it came to all spoken language, Ke'lev didn't really hear it, exactly. Rather, he felt the meaning behind the words. Which meant he could instantly tell if someone was lying. But it also meant that he sometimes reacted to the feelings behind words rather than their usage. Which explained why he sometimes smiled before someone got to the punchline in a joke—and was utterly confused by sarcasm and its sometimes layered nuance.
The notepad feature on the tablet was better than using Dog Buttons to communicate complex ideas, but not by much. I wasn't sure if it was a lost-in-translation thing or if Ke'lev just took every word I said at face value. Difficult to say.
It didn't help that, since finding out he didn't know how to read anything besides some Hebrew and some Greek, I'd been overthinking everything before I said it… which I'm sure was muddling his own reception of whatever it was I was trying to say.
Solberg's advice on the subject had proven invaluable. (I'd been seeing a lot more of him since he'd taken over as my father's aid.) He'd told me, “Sounds complicated… but he seems to get what you mean even if you don't. My gran would just say KISS.”
“Like, on the forehead?”
He'd sputtered a laugh. “Aren't you old? You don't remember Keep-it-simple-Stupid?”
“Must’ve been after my time,” I'd ground out.
Ke'lev had asked if I needed more product? No, I thought morosely, I need more brain cells. And maybe a Xanax. Keep is simple. Simple. I said aloud, “No, what I mean is… Do you think…?” I waved a hand. Then I snapped a finger. “Do you think slothfulness is bad?”
He nodded, but he was frowning. He typed and the tablet asked, “What relation? Are movie slothful?”
“Some people think so,” I said.
“What Ko thinks is more.”
More important? More relevant? I let out a breath. “I asked you first. Do you think watching TV is slothful?”
He blinked rapidly at me, confused. Then his finger flew over the tablet for a full minute. “Ko is too many asks. First is guilt over no production. I am producing happiness. I cannot feel guilt for happy. Is sloth bad? Yes. Is TV sloth? No. Because production is happen. Production is not sloth.” He waited for me to say something, but when I just stared at him, he prompted with a couple finger jabs: “Does answer okay?”
“Yeah, that's a good answer, actually.”
He smiled, putting the tablet away.
“But I mean, we could be doing something more productive, right?”
On a sigh, he grabbed the tablet up again with a bit of sass inlaid in the movement. It made me chuckle which had him hesitating. Then he typed out, “Does Ko want more produce?”
I couldn't tell if my question irritated or just confused him. I said, “I feel guilty when I do things just for me.”
“Why?”
“Because it's selfish.”
He frowned at me.
“I don't want to be selfish.”
He thought for a moment before typing, “Ko is selfish tonight.”
“Yeah, that's the problem.”
“Fix problem.”
“How?”
“Sleep.”
“Sleep?”
“Sleep.”
“How will that fix my selfishness?”
His alien eyes crinkled at their corners as he typed with apparent relish, “Ko will wake up selfless.”
“Just like that?”
He nodded.
“I don't think it works like that.”
“Why it doesn't work?”
“Because it doesn't!”
“How know? Ko try? Ko prophet?”
“Are you teasing me?”
He nodded with a pleased grin.
“People don't just transform like that overnight.”
He gave me another confused look before typing, “But Ko did before. Awake drunk. Sleep. Awake not drunk. Transformed.”
I still cannot believe it took a solid five minutes of back-and-forth for me to realize what he was getting at. “You're telling me… the most productive, selfless thing I can do right now… is sober up?”
He nodded sagely.
“Golly, why didn't I think of that? You're a saint and a scholar. Why do you put up with me?”
He patted my cheek, put the tablet away, and unpaused the TV.
“You're funny,” I told him.
He was chuffed by the comment. He still hadn't stopped smiling by the time I finally dozed off.
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25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡg6glAGEZJU
Something was wrong. My head was pounding, but that wasn't the whole of the wrongness. I could faintly remember dreaming about the night I'd gone full-oni on a sorcerer's angelic lackeys. Afterward, I'd showered the gore off and watched the blood run down the drain, mesmerized by the swirl. The dream began there, in reality, and ended in fantasy, with my teeth in Ke'lev's neck.
I woke up because I could still smell the blood.
“The fu…?” I pressed a palm into my sore eye socket and hissed through the pain. But the smell was still there—a scent like petrichor, copper, and honey. I rolled off the couch and was startled by the carpet I hit. Right, I wasn't in the penthouse, with its cold, wall-to-wall hardwood. I was at the cottage.
“Ke'lev?” I called out.
When I didn't see or hear him, my heart started racing.
“Ke'lev?”
Since being bound, we'd never been more than a few feet apart, save for when I knew exactly where he was—usually away on my orders.
“Ke'lev?”
Without him right there I felt like I was missing a tooth, an eye, my legs. We'd only been together a few weeks, but I couldn't imagine a future millisecond without him being in it. Maybe that made me a little codependent, but that was Dr. Etoile's future problem, not mine.
I smelled blood—seraphim blood.
Dread very quickly escalated into panic as I exhausted every room but the furthest. I finally found him in the master bathroom. A sea of blood-smattered toilet paper paved the way to the stall.
Oh God, no. Come on. Don't do this to me. Please, I can't lose anybody else. “Ke'lev…”
The shower was running and he was sitting under a cold spray, his clothes soaked and sticking to his skin. His white button-up was partially shredded, his white skin peppered with red cuts and lesions that stained everything pink and crimson. He had his arms wrapped around his knees and he looked up over them in a daze. Then he saw me and his expression crunch in on itself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he looked ashamed, but I didn't think Ke'lev felt shame the same way humans did.
I turned off the water and slowly knelt down next to him. “Ke… Hey… What's wrong? What is this? What hurt you?”
He shook his head and tucked his face back behind his legs. I'd never seen him shake his head before. I didn't know what the gesture meant. I reached for him and he shied away from me. The movement made my stomach sink. “Hey, I'm not mad. I'm not gonna hurt you. How can I help?”
I sat down on the wet floor because my knees were starting to ache. I took slow, shallow breaths, trying to tamp down on the impulse to grab a handful of bloody tissues and put them in my mouth.
Finally, my seraph looked up and picked at his shirt. He gave me a pitiful look. I swallowed. “I'm not mad about the shirt. What happened? You can tell me.”
He made a helpless gesture at the mess.
“I know, I see it. It's okay.”
He gave me a miserable look and sighed. He pulled at one of the lesions which made me cringe involuntarily. When he pulled his fingers away, he had a piece of bloodied metal between his fingers the size and shape of a letter opener.
“Is that a… feather?” He gingerly put it in my open hand and I turned it over. As it caught the overhead light, I noticed it had a hairline fracture going across its width. “I thought… You heal though, don't you? And this one is broken.”
He ducked his head.
“Hey! I said it's okay… I'm just trying to understand.” I pocketed the shed feather and asked, “Are you trying to remove more of them?”
One eye peeked at me over his knee. He nodded minutely. He seemed embarrassed.
“Do you need help?”
He nodded, but then he frowned.
“I can help, just show me what to do. I don't want to hurt you.”
Of all the reactions I'd ever seen from him, I'd never seen him blush, but since he was ghost-level-pale, when he did, he turned the ripe color of summer cherries and his eyes widened with deadly levels of mortification. Absolutely not, his look screamed.
I tried so fucking hard not to laugh. “Dude. It's feathers, not matrimony. God knows you don't wanna share my tragic shit. Come on. You obviously suck at this. Lemme get the tweezers and some gauze and we'll do this right.”
He stared at me for a solid minute before he finally nodded, but the blush didn't dissipate, if anything it spread down to his collarbones.
“This has happened before?” I asked as I got him to his feet. He didn't react to my question, so maybe this was a new thing for him too which worried me more than anything else. If he didn't know what was going on, then what real help would I be? I didn't know the first thing about angel physiology. I barely knew about demon shit and I grew horns on a bad day.
He was still wearing his shoes. I had him brace against the counter while I got them off him one at a time. I told him to stay put while I went to find clothes. I hadn't exactly planned for him staying over, so the only things I found that would fit him were sweats and an old smock I used to paint the house in.
When I returned to the bathroom, he'd already discarded the button up and was working on his pants. I held up my hands. “Aya! You tryin’ to make me go blind? Hold onto your britches while we get you patched up. Jesus-H…”
He gave me a confused look, but kept his hands where I could see them. I left the clothes by the sink while I went to hunt down a first-aid kit.
In total, I pulled seventeen knives out of Ke'lev's arms, six from his calves, and nine from his back. The feathers made satisfying bell-like sounds as they hit the bowl of the sink. A couple gashes looked like they really needed stitches, but I didn't know the first thing about sewing, so I packed them with gauze and prayed my shitty alleyway hack-job wouldn't kill him in the long run.
“We should get Doc Weatherby to look at you later,” I said absently, smoothing out a piece of tape along his shoulder blade, but then he gripped my wrist and gave me a warning look. “O… -kay. No doctor?”
He let me go with a short nod. In spite of his strong reaction to the mention of a doctor, he seemed a lot calmer now that all the feathers were out.
“That can't have felt comfortable,” I said airily. When he gave me that same ashamed look as before, I swatted the bandage on his shoulder to get his attention. “Hey! I told you, I'm not mad at you… I just wish you'd said something.” He let me towel off his hair and brush it out, his gaze distant. I said, “Get dressed. I'm gonna make some coffee.” Crossing the threshold, I muttered under my breath, “As if I need more heart palpitations.”
The truth was, I just needed something to do that wasn't in the bathroom full of food smells. Eying the cold pizza still sitting on the kitchen counter made my stomach lurch, but I knew I had to eat something or I was going to gnaw my own lips off.
I made a plan to go out for breakfast, but when I went back to the master bedroom to get Ke'lev, he'd tucked himself completely under the covers. Ke'lev didn't sleep. Seeing him in the bed looked more wrong than seeing him bleeding in the shower. But I didn't want to disturb him with more questions. Instead I killed the light in the bathroom and decided to order in once the sun rose.
In the meantime, I brewed up a cup of coffee from the single-serve and went back to the couch to retrieve my cell phone. Taking a deep breath, I reviewed my unread texts and then phoned my second.
Chancery's voice was thick with sleep. “It's three in the morning,” he stated.
“Ke'lev's hurt.” Fuck, I hadn't meant to lead with that. “I don't know what's wrong with him. I didn't know who else to call.”
A beat. He asked, “Where are you?”
“I got him patched up. He's sleeping. I'm starving.”
“Fuck, Dev. Where are you?”
I cursed under my breath, mentally kicking myself. I didn't want him anywhere near the cottage. This was my place. “Nevermind. Uh… Can…? Can we meet up later? Catch up?”
“Dev, you're scaring me. What happened? How'd he get hurt?”
“I don't know. I don't know. I'm… We're safe. I'm safe. I just… Can we meet at Bardo's tonight? I've gotta take care of some errands today. I drank a bit last night and I think I'm still pretty drunk. Ke'lev's not going anywhere, but I'm worried. I know I said I needed my space, but…”
“No, no, I get it, believe me.” He took a moment to collect himself (or wake up a little more) before he said, “Do you want me to DoorDash you something?” He didn't wait for my reply. “I'm gonna DoorDash you something. Just, please eat. Drink some water. And go back to sleep. I'm sure Ke'lev will be fine. He's had his arms ripped off before, hasn't he?”
“Uh huh…”
“It'll all be okay.” He sighed into the receiver and said, “Fucking Christ, you've gotta be the reason my hairline is receding.”
I barked a laugh and pressed my hand to my mouth to keep it from turning into sobs.
Chancery prompted, “Boss?”
“Iru. I'm here.”
“I need your address to send you the food. You're not at the tower, right? Just give me a nearby location and promise me you'll go pick it up.”
“I don't wanna leave Ke'lev.”
“Then we're at an impasse. Either tell me where you're at or man-up.”
Fucking Chancery and his fucked up talent to pull me right out of my comfort zones. I finished off my coffee to avoid chewing on a nail.
“Dev.”
“I can order my own food.”
“Will you?”
“I was planning on it before I called you.” I made a disgruntled sound. “I'll text you the drop-off location.”
“It better be within walking distance of wherever you are… and it better not be the place near Pontchartrain.”
Had Kazumi…? “You know about the cottage,” I guessed.
He was quiet for a moment, then relented. “Kazumi told me. I don't know the exact street, but I know it's on the westside.”
That bitch. “You've never said anything.”
“It's your place, Dev. I've got my place too.”
“Where?”
“Nuh-uh, not on your life.”
“What about your life?”
“You threatening me, Devereaux?”
I grumbled, “No… I'll text you the address.”
“Okay.” A moment of silence followed, stiff and awkward like a splinted bone. Chancery asked, “Are you okay? You know, besides being completely fucking hammered on a Tuesday night.”
“I'm seeing a therapist this week.”
“Technically she's a psychiatrist.”
“Bardo told you.”
“Dev, I'm your second. There are no secrets between us.”
There was that smothering sensation again. I thought I'd left it behind in the lakehouse. But even miles away, Remus Chancery made me feel like I had nowhere to run.
“I've gotta go.”
“Eat. Hydrate. Get some re—”
I hung up and tossed my phone onto the cushion beside me, impressed with myself for not throwing it through a window.
Raking hands through my hair, kneading at my scalp, I debated over the ethics of running away from my life—from everything. Reason tried to intercept Spiraling Anxiety, but missed by a goddamn football field.
I went to the master bedroom and hovered in the door, looking for a sign of life from the lump on the bed. But angels don't need to breathe. There was no reassuring rise and fall. I went to the other side of the bed and peeled the blanket back before slipping into the warm pocket.
I reached out and touched feverish skin; trailed up an arm to a face. Ke'lev's hand went over mine and squeezed.
“Still here,” I said, mostly to myself. He squeezed me again. I sighed. My voice was admittedly shaky as I asked, “You're not going anywhere, right?”
He tugged my hand down to press against his chest. Here for now, he seemed to say. His other arm snaked under my head. He didn't move anymore until I tentatively scooched closer. Then he wrapped himself around me and pulled me against him, letting out his own sigh that melted me down to my core.
He smelled like home.
Like sweet, wet metal.
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It was past noon when I finally got up. Ke'lev was still in bed, but he was awake, waiting for me I assumed.
“Alive?” I grumbled.
He nodded.
“Ke'lev… I don't feel transformed.”
Amusement morphed his face.
Something had curled up and died in my mouth and my brain felt like it was three sizes too big for my skull. I didn't want to get out of bed, but if I didn't check my phone and send out some proof of life, someone was bound to send a search party.
I forgot to send Chancery the address before passing out, so there was no breakfast waiting on the stoop. My phone was dead, so I plugged it in to wait for it to charge.
Ke'lev had made a cup of coffee for me by the time I could get it to turn on. He sat down next to me and I gestured for him to shuck the smock so I could check my shoddy work.
“Drunk me is an over-tape-er,” I murmured as I worked one of the patches off. Underneath, a swath of smooth, pale skin greeted me. I made a pleased sound. “Healed. Good. Let's get the rest off then…”
After chucking a mountain of first-aid supplies into the bin, I wandered around the house looking for my smokes before finding them in Ke'lev's coat pocket in the closet. I asked over my shoulder, “So is the feather thing going to be a reoccurring event, or can I hold off on buying another kit for now?”
Ke'lev made an uncomfortable face and rolled a shoulder.
“I'll make a stash,” I decided.
My phone played my father's ringtone from the living room and I buried my face into Ke'lev's coat with a groan before summoning up the nerve to go and answer it.
“Moshi-moshi. Kouji desu.”
My father said, “Chancery told me you had a late night. Everything alright?”
I wondered if that meant Chichi knew about Ke'lev's temporary out-of-service stint or that I'd gotten plastered. Both? Ugh. “I'll be better after coffee,” I grunted before lighting my cigarette.
“Good. Keep a clear head the next couple of days. Some folks from out of state will be visiting this week, and there's talk about movement on the south and west sides.”
“Are you warning or drafting me?”
He barked a laugh. “Just let me know if you hear anything. Text Joss back. She wants to make sure you make it to a fitting on Thursday.”
“Mm. The occasion?”
“Those out of state visitors.”
Stewards. “Business or pleasure?”
“I'll be handling the business. Do your stepmother a favor and lay off the sauce for a while.”
“Ore da? I'll be sharp as a vicar.”
Ke'lev made a face at me.
Chichi hummed. “Hopefully not the kind of vicar your Uncle Paul was.”
I stuck my tongue out at the angel. “No promises.”
“See you Friday.” He hung up.
I stared at my phone. “I guess the therapy sesh will have to wait until next week.” My stomach made a horrible gurgling noise and I blew out a stream of smoke. I needed water, protein, and a new brain. “Let's do lunch. Hopefully I'm hungry enough that whatever it is, it won't come back up to haunt me.”
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In his Kingdom, Sabriel was serviced by his own Host of angels. His kind favored high places, so when it came time to preen, he went to his tower and waited for the cherubim to attend him. They bathed his feet and washed his spines, but the flight feathers that needed shucking or wasting were left for a warden to harvest.
The other archangel was always dramatic when he arrived, escorted by his own retinue of a hundred Hounds. He was always blandly amused by Sabriel's summons, but he never refused.
Sabriel knew Raguel liked having his ego bolstered by the attentions of another archangel. There was no true appreciation from him. This lack of gratitude was part of the reason Sabriel desired to minister unto him.
The Saint of Jailers was a haughty creature, in spite of being seen as lesser among the rest of his peerage. Sabriel, by contrast, had the same easygoing temperament all the major thirteen possessed—a sort of inherent aloofness. Some say he was made to be self-confident. Few knew otherwise. Even Raguel was ignorant of his misgivings.
“You could have chosen Gavriel,” Raguel said from the arrival platform.
Sabriel didn't turn. “But I did not.”
Raguel lifted his face wings to better regard the other messenger. Sabriel's attendants had flown or climbed the walls around them, keeping their distance as they all stared at the Saint of Jailers with uncountable eyes, their gazes both curious and wary. None of them were seraphim. If any Hounds were present, it would imply Sabriel perceived Raguel as a threat. But that there were none made him grind his teeth.
Sabriel himself was as all envoys of Heaven are: resplendent and terrible. When he turned toward Raguel, his row of thirteen eyes were blinded by a golden chain. It was said, when he lifted the veil, he saw the true nature of anything he looked upon. It was said that he alone had seen the face of Elohim's Son before being given flesh. It was said that Sabriel was the angel who wept for forty days and forty nights, to flood the world and wash it clean of its first sins.
His hair was starlight, likened to that of Luciel's. His wings were made from atar, a shimmery black ore also called world bone. Their feathers were said to be harder than any iron and sharper than any sword. Sabriel's ivory vestments were those of a general's, accented with living gold and more world bone—decidedly not those of a concubine destined for the Bride's nest.
His expression was stony, but there was a vulnerability to him in times like these, when he was helpless to pluck his own feathers.
Yes. He could have called Gavriel. He could have called Ariel. He could have even called his twin, Azriel.
But he always called Raguel.
Sabriel, Raguel's Sabriel, was the Archangel of Resurrection, and he was both beautiful and awful in his design… but the jailer of Heaven did not understand him in the slightest.
“What if I were to refuse you?” Raguel asked as he sauntered forward. His steps glowed on the breathing floor. The structure was trying to interface with him, know him. It seemed even Sabriel's aerie was interested in him.
“Then I would suffer,” Sabriel said.
“You would not call another?” He knelt behind him and found a feather to loosen. He wasn't gentle. He was never gentle. Gentleness was for humans and guardians. He pulled from its end instead of its root and the metal made a grotesque noise as it tore from the joint.
Sabriel did not flinch. “I would not.”
“Why?” He plucked another feather.
“I favor you.”
“So you mean to punish my house by making me the envy of all my peers? I already suffer from my own reputation. Your favor does not elevate me. If anything, you stoop to grant me this privilege.” He ripped a handful this time and finally managed to make the other angel cringe. “But how can I refuse you?”
Sabriel waited patiently. When the warden at long last moved to address another wing, Sabriel said softly, “Raguel, you were made after The Fall, but you don't conceive how wonderful that is. What you represent is love incarnate, and yet you humble yourself to attend me. You could be so much more.”
“How is incarceration akin to love?”
“Your lot is one of redemption. Do not let others discourage you. They should envy you, but not for my gaze upon you.”
“Do they not say I am destined for the seat of Vengeance?”
“You don't have it in you to be vengeful. You hope too much.”
Raguel paused. He'd never felt so insulted before, but he could not conscience why he felt so. He flung feathers off the balcony and watched their petal-like straights catch the twilight as they spun, disappearing into the clouds below. “They say I am too cruel to believe in redemption.”
“They are fools.”
“You sound so certain… Have you seen this?”
“I have,” Sabriel said. “You will have six arms and six manifestations. You will be the terror of the proud. You will be the comfort of lodges and their holdings. You will rule as a king would. And, one day, you will be my warden.”
Raguel did not believe him. His lip curled into a sneer. “So that's what this is. I had wondered why you constantly defer to me. You seek only to curry favor with your future keeper!” Then he laughed, long and loud. “A joke. It isn't possible that you should ever be punished. You are too much like the Lamb. And, all besides, you will be needed in the end. Man will not rise without you at the Master's side. Who else will raise the masses from their perdition upon his command?”
“Our father makes tools of even the weakest of angels. It will matter not what form I take in the end… but I know it will not be as a messenger, but as a harker.”
“If you know all this… That you will lose all this power… Why have you not fled? Wouldn't it make more sense to be among the morning star's flock?”
Sabriel smiled. “As if one could flee the will of creation itself… Is that what you would have done if you were me?”
Raguel knew he could not say, but his silence was answer enough.
Sabriel rested back against him and said, “I am not cultivating any more favor with you. I already have your confidence.”
“Again, you sound so certain. But you still have not said why you remain.”
“Because there is a soul on Earth I will be born to, and I cannot leave until I have saved them.”
“An archangel as a guardian? Who is this soul? Who are they that they should command such glory? You have the right to refuse such an insult.”
“Even if that was true, I will not. I was made for this one, Raguel. Do you know what it is, to be made for someone else?”
“Are we not all made to honor that which is on high with our service?”
Sabriel shook his head. “You will understand, but not now. For now, I pray you define yourself by your desire and your purpose—and not our brothers’ and sisters’ perceptions.”
Raguel sniffed, shielding his eyes with his wings. “You are the only angel I know who prays for me.”
Sabriel smiled, warming his statuesque features. “Then my Kingdom shall pray too. Thank you for attending me, Brother. Go. I will continue to hold vigil over you until it is time for me to leave. After, you will loath and covet me… but for now, only abide by my summons.”
“I… could never loath you, Sabriel.”
“Nevertheless, you will.”
“That would be its own betrayal.”
“To be betrayed is my test. Do not let it trouble you.”
Raguel didn't know what was right to say. He was not a comforter of the free or the self-aware, by design. His nature was rooted in control, in might. Still, he tried to offer words of comfort. “You will pass this test. You were not made for a cage.”
Sabriel frowned. “You will see.”
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