Covenant (11 page)

Fifteen

I sensed the song's true meaning had been lost over time, changed into something else. Just like our history. Just like my soul. Even so, I sang the words because they always brought me home.
—I
SRAFEL

Help me . . . save me, please . . .

Israfel chose to ignore the voice calling to him. He was in no condition to save anyone right now. Lying in the snow, weak and sleepy with cold, he had started to dream about a time before all this madness when he lived in angelic glory, without pain or fear. The dances, the endless nectar, the beauty of jewels and robes passed before the eye of his mind. Angels of every rank bowed to him, the ruling Archangel of Heaven, as he strode before them radiant with majesty. The familiar crown weighed again upon his head. Once more, his bare feet touched the crystalline floors of the angelic city.

Someone please . . . help me . . .

Suddenly, he was in darkness. He was a caged bird tormented, forced to eat and drink to stay alive even though he no longer wished to—because it had all been taken from him.

The nightmare came alive again, and Raziel plummeted to his death amid a rain of blood and feathers.

Quickly. Help me. BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.

Israfel opened his eyes, momentarily bewildered by the reappearance of the snow and the filthy alleyway where he had fallen. His fingers slid across the ice, but he pushed himself up anyway, gazing out at the endless flakes of white sprinkling Luz's cobblestones in layer after layer of cold. He had saved Angela Mathers, the Archon that held his brother Raziel's soul, from death and this was how the universe thanked him: by separating him from his injured guardians, by keeping him out of Heaven, and by leaving him stranded and weaker than a newborn chick. Israfel no longer had any sense of how much time had passed for him on Earth, only that it had been too long and that human food was horrifically inadequate for him.

He clutched his stomach, feeling familiar movement inside and sudden queasiness.

Even if he starved, the hope living inside of him could not.

“Well, would you look at that,” a human voice said from the darkness of the alley. Two dark silhouettes strode toward Israfel casually, completely unafraid. “Such a pretty thing and all alone. Nowhere to celebrate Christmas tonight, honey?”

Two men in tattered jackets stopped underneath a flickering gas lamp, carefully observing Israfel with frightful smiles.

He instinctively tried to reveal his wings, but they never appeared.

A frightful seizurelike shudder ran up his arms. He'd forgotten he was only slightly better than any other helpless mortal right now. Israfel caught his breath as one of the men stooped down and grabbed him by the collar of his coat, pulling him to his feet.

“Shit, she's gorgeous,” the taller of the two men said. “What do you do for a living, honey? Are you a model? You could come model for us tonight. Get out of this cold, away from all the damned rats. Not a bad deal if you ask me. Don't worry, we'll treat you fairly. A hot meal, a good drink, a warm bed . . .”

His companion laughed. “You're scaring her, Ronan.” He scrunched up his face, his nose red with cold. “Just knock her unconscious and take her before she puts up a fight.”

Israfel backed up against the brick wall, steadying himself. “You shouldn't touch me,” he said softly. “It might not turn out well for you.”

“I'd beg to differ,” the taller man said, placing both hands on the wall on either side of Israfel's face. “But if you come with us without making a sound, I'll try my best not to bash your head in. What's your name, anyway? Something about you seems familiar . . .”

“I have many names,” Israfel said.

That wasn't a lie, of course. Humans apparently had so many names for him, he'd lost track of most of them.

“So we're dealing with a nut job, are we?” The man made a gruff noise under his breath. “Fine by me. Women like you aren't usually missed.”

Israfel laughed. “Who said I was a woman?”

The man's eyes went wide. He glanced to his companion who appeared equally thunderstruck. “You're a man?”

“I never said that either . . .”

An unhealthy silence followed by the whistle of icy wind filled the alley. The man who had trapped Israfel at the wall stared at him with growing anger. His small eyes narrowed that much more.

Without warning he grabbed Israfel by the neck and began to tighten his grip.

Israfel allowed a second or two of pain, but as the memories of abuse flooded back—memories where he had stared into darkness for aeons while other hands held him and forced anything and everything upon him—he set his teeth and spoke through tighter lips. “Unhand me. NOW.”

A clatter of metal against stone echoed down the alleyway.

Everyone paused, searching the darkness for the source of the noise. From behind a pile of garbage, a small human face peeked out at the unfolding drama. It was a little human girl with a ratty braid of red hair, her face smudged with layers of dirt. She held a makeshift platter of old food in her hands. So—she was the one who had been leaving little meals for Israfel since he'd collapsed here.

Realizing what was taking place, she stepped back, her face blanching with fear.

Without a word, she dropped the food and ran.

“Son of a bitch,” the taller man hissed. “What the hell are you waiting for?” he shot at his companion. “Get that little blood head brat and make sure she doesn't get out of here alive—”

Israfel found his last bit of strength immediately.

He grabbed the man by the face, crunched through some bone, and pitched him face-first into the ground. The man screamed and rolled in agony.

Israfel left him behind, racing in the direction of the human girl and her pursuer.

He didn't have to travel far. Israfel slipped on the ice once or twice, but after rounding a sharp corner, he found both humans at a dead end.

The little girl cowered against the ground, her arms over her head.

The man stood over her, ready to kick her hard in the stomach.

With a burst of speed that sent pain into every part of Israfel's weary body, he raced forward, grabbed the man by the back of his jacket, and flung him like a stone into the wall.

The human's body connected with a vicious
thud
. He groaned and sank to the ground, blood gushing from his nose. One of his teeth had broken, and he spit out more blood before rushing at Israfel, his hands ready to punch him directly in the face or head.

Israfel caught him by the hand, eliciting a scream from the human as bones broke.

They struggled for a moment, and then Israfel kicked him directly in the stomach, sending him flying to the ground. The human hit the ice even harder than the wall, his cheeks bleeding. He rolled onto his back and moaned with pain, blood dribbling from the side of his mouth. Israfel stood over him, cold anger working its way through every part of his soul. This was the kind of wickedness that would have no place in his new universe.

“What—what the hell are you?” the man spat, gasping for air.

“
Enough.
Worms like you deserve judgment,” Israfel said, pressing his foot onto the man's throat.

The human clawed at his leg, desperate.

“Oh—now you want mercy? Of course, there would have been none for me or the girl. Why for you? Why have the rules suddenly changed?” Israfel leaned down, his white hair brushing the sides of his face. “Now I'll tell you what I am. I am the face and voice that will haunt the rest of your miserable days. You might as well call me God.”

The girl uncurled from her little ball, staring at Israfel with owlish and awestruck eyes.

No—he would never kill anyone in front of a child if he could help it. No matter how much they deserved punishment. Israfel had been a warrior at one time too, but he was a far cry from his sister, Lucifel. Innocence deserved preservation at whatever cost.

He lifted his foot from the man's throat. “I'd suggest you start to pray.”

The human gasped like a beached fish on the ice. His eyes were closed, and his teeth chattered with cold. But he was very much alive.

Refusing to look back, Israfel took the little girl by the hand and stepped over the body lying prone on the ground. Together, they left the alley and the snow behind. She remained quiet for a long time, but as Israfel's steps slowed with his returning weariness, she began to gather her courage.

“Are you hurt?” she finally said in a tiny voice.

“I will be all right,” Israfel said, gazing out into the darkness. In the back of his mind, he heard the voice from his dreams calling to him.

“My name is Tress Cassel,” she said a little more loudly. “What's your name?”

Israfel smiled. “That is not important.”

“It is so. Mama told me that a name holds a person's soul. It says everything about you. And we're friends now, so I'd like to know your name.”

She was much like Israfel's guardian Thrones when they had been chicks. He could see them still, peeking above their nest to greet him when they had first been brought to his chambers in Heaven. Now they were ruthless bodyguards, a far cry from the spoiled children of aeons ago. He tried not to show the sorrow on his face, adopting the cold mask he'd learned from millennia as ruler of Heaven.

“My name is Israfel.”

“Israfel . . .” She brightened at this revelation. “That sounds like an angel's name.”

He stopped, yanking her to a halt. “You know?” he said, searching her innocent face.

Tress nodded. “You still had your wings when I first found you. So I didn't tell anyone who you were or where they could find you. You looked really tired and hurt. But the next time I came back, your wings were gone. But your eyes were still so big and blue, and your hair shone like the snow.”

“Where do you live?” Israfel said, resuming their journey. “I'll return you to your home.”

“Me and Mama live near the sea. I'll take you there, and you can stay with us. Mama's always telling me about angels and other people with wonderful names. She can see visions and has so many dreams. She told me where to find you and what to give you to eat. She said it was very, very important to keep you alive.”

Israfel touched his stomach. His head had already started to ache painfully.

Then he stopped walking again, realizing what Tress had just told him. Her human mother was in tune with the Realms. If that was so, then she could help him return to Heaven through another route, perhaps circumventing the crumbling gateways between Earth and Heaven. Anticipation flooded him and made his heart throb. He knelt down and held Tress by the hand.

“You're so pretty,” she said to Israfel, touching his white hair. “So pretty.”

“Tress, you are a compassionate girl. I will reward you and your mother for that as soon as I can. But first, I must return to Heaven. Tell me—does your mother have a large mirror in her house?”

“Yes,” Tress said, beaming.

“As I thought.” Israfel smiled gently. “I would be glad to visit your home, little one.”

“Follow me then,” Tress said and tugged on Israfel's hand.

Israfel bit his lip and followed her, but his thoughts were far away, too lofty to explain to the human as she continued to question his every expression and gesture. He stepped delicately across the ice and snow, noting with increasing distaste that this was not what he imagined for Earth in the future. But first, he needed to return home and set things right. He'd thought that impossible with the dimensions blurring and melding together. Yet here was a chance, however slim.

But one detail was absolutely certain. Archangel Zion, Lucifel's chick, had every bit of knowledge that Israfel was trapped on Earth and had very pointedly refused to send aid.

Israfel narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. That upstart would get what was coming to him soon enough. Soon Israfel and the Archon would open Raziel's Book together. Soon—everything was going to change and they would be ruling over a newly remade universe. But this horrific disintegration . . . Israfel had more than his share in its cause. His mind flashed to the Father's mangled corpse, oozing blue blood from a fatal wound.

Indeed, Israfel's stained hands might never be washed clean.

Tress wrapped her fingers around Israfel's tighter, humming to herself.

Help me . . .

That voice echoing in his head was familiar yet indistinct enough to be anyone's. Yet one thing was undeniable. The person crying out to him—

They were not only in danger, they were in Hell.

 

Tress's home was little more than a hovel with cheerful candles flickering in the windows, situated on a street crowded with other run-down buildings almost exactly like it. But it had a commanding view of the upper levels of Luz. Between the other buildings, the city rose up gradually like an enormous mountain of brick and stone layered upon more brick and stone. Turrets sparkled with light, seeming to reach almost to the clouds. Underneath, the ocean thundered ominously against the supports that held the city out of the waves.

Tress let go of Israfel's hand at the mildewed door. Some of the wood remained shellacked in ice.

She knocked on it once or twice in a distinct rhythm.

The door creaked open, letting out a dim light. Then it opened completely, and Tress guided Israfel into the house.

The building was even darker than it appeared outside, only a few candles lighting the most random spots of the room. Human junk lay everywhere. Tables, benches, and shelves overloaded with everything from cracked glass bottles to embroidered boxes barred Israfel's path. Necklaces hung from a coatrack, their heavy jewels throwing back the candlelight. A cloying, heavy scent filled the air, and smoke screened books stacked in haphazard piles. Everything suggested the remains of some sort of human shop flung into one small room. Israfel stopped in front of a large cracked mirror.