Seven Archangels: Annihilation (10 page)

Why only flirt with blasphemy? Why not dance with it?

Camael got to his feet as the demons pressed close to hear better, and the curve of his wings brushed the ceiling. Satan had to have noticed the commotion at this point—some loyal minion would have notified him. There would be another session of questions, a reprimand of sorts, and it was all in futility if angels could die. If Satan really could stop them from loving God after all, despite their choices.

Why would he do that?,
Camael thought, blanking out the names of every ex-angel, wishing for a part of Gabriel to have remained alive somewhere, loving God even if it was only in the way the rocks cried out.

"Lucifer dared God to stop him," Camael shouted. "He channeled all his energy through me, and I magnified it, and we started annihilating Gabriel's soul."

All the demons hooted. No one asked what material forms a soul, or how it was put together, or how they had destroyed it. Camael didn't volunteer how it felt to be flooded with Satan's filthy light, nor the paralyzing fear of discovery.

Now for the real propaganda.

"The Guard broke."

A number of demons protested. "They said it held!"

"Naturally they'd say it held! It didn't—I was there. God himself assaulted that room, but our leader worked quicker, desperate to succeed, and Gabriel's soul dissolved faster and faster, everything but our memories, until Gabriel screamed and screamed and even damned himself to make the pain stop, but by then he was too far gone for even us to restore. God grabbed Lucifer by the throat, but I gave one last blast, and the Cherub was gone."

The demons cheered. Camael closed his eyes.

"Lucifer begged for mercy," he said. "God dropped him. Beelzebub and Mephistopheles reset the Guard, but Gabriel's whole form had vanished. There was only a flame kept burning on the altar."

The groupies gasped.

Camael added. "It floated from the room—and we don't know where it went. But it's somewhere in the lab area. Somewhere."

They all stood gawking, the groupies.

He noted the beginning of a push away from the dark to the western part of the room.

Leaving them to their awe, Camael vanished from the thick of them to Gabriel's prison chamber, where he fought back any vestiges of Remiel and tried to regain composure.

Chapter Seven

Michael and Raguel flashed into the conference room with tense wings and clenched hands.

"I never realized you hate this too," Raguel said.

"Why do you think I always asked Gabriel to handle them?" Michael sighed. "I thought he enjoyed them."

"He probably did, knowing him." Raguel laughed. "He'd take any chance to offer a lecture."

Michael caught Israfel's eyes across the conference room, the betrayed glare, and he realized they'd begun using the past tense.

The room itself had stadium-style seating for fifty, a ring of windows on all sides revealing a partly cloudy day and the valleys falling away around them. It had no doors because souls didn't need them.

Everyone fell silent as Michael went to the table at the front. He scanned the crowd and recognized the heads of all nine choirs, but of the Seven only himself, Raguel and Saraquael. Five humans attended including Peter, the equivalents of "heads of the choir," and he missed Mary if she was there.

With a deep breath, he called the meeting to order, and then in as brief a summation as he could, delivered the official news of what had happened.

Silence overspread the others. Even Saraquael and Raguel, who had been present, stayed unmoving and rapt, as if in the retelling they might find a way out, some way this hadn't happened.

Before he'd finished by urging them to keep the details away from the enemy, Mary had appeared in the back and slipped into a seat.

Michael quieted, not having the heart to ask for questions.

"But he's going to recover?" said the head of the choir of Angels.

Michael swallowed. "I can't say for certain."

A collective flinch from the angels. Michael closed his eyes. They all projected at the same time—he might die? He might really die? God would allow that? But couldn't they save him?

Michael looked for Mary's eyes, and he arched his brows. She shook her head: no.

No improvement.

Michael summoned a chair and guided himself to a seat. He put his head in his hands.
God, center me. I need to lead them. They need it right now.

Raguel stood. "I want to know how we're going to respond to this."

Michael looked up, weary. "What would you have us do?"

"A full siege of Hell," Raguel said. "Immediately."

Michael sat back. "We do need to respond, but I'm not sure that's the best way."

Raguel folded his arms. He was the tallest and broadest of the Seven, arguably the strongest even though the Principalities were in the lowest triad of choirs. Michael put a little ice into his glance, but Raguel remained unmoving.

Fine. Michael returned to his feet. "None of us denies the basic facts: two hours ago, one of our own was abducted and subjected to murder. The sheer magnitude of that action defies every spiritual and ethical norm. Annihilation violates the most basic of God's decrees, that God alone is the Creator and the destroyer."

Michael scanned the room. "I'm sure Satan will try again. He's got to be proud of himself for breaking the most sacred law, and who can doubt he has designs on every other one of us?"

No one responded, so Michael finished with, "We cannot permit this to happen a second time."

Ophaniel, head of the choir of Cherubim, said, "How can we stop him?"

Raguel said, "We invade."

A Throne said, "We could issue a stern warning that we'll take action if they try again."

"And what would it say?" said a Virtue. "Kindly don't annihilate anyone else?"

The Throne said, "Gabriel isn't dead."

The Virtue folded his arms. "Their intention was clear."

Michael said, "Murder and attempted murder are morally the same."

The Virtue said, "And what if they don't try again?"

Speaking for the first time, Saraquael said, "That's a dilemma I look forward to confronting."

Michael flashed him a grateful look, and Saraquael leaned back, a light in his eyes.

Raguel set his jaw. "Should we allow them to think Gabriel's death goes unanswered?"

Saraquael tilted his head. "This isn't an executive council meeting. Everyone is forgetting that. We convened to give you accurate information to distribute to your choirs." He took a deep breath. "We aren't a decision-making body."

Raguel said, "But we need to decide—"

"For pity's sake," Michael said, "how can we? I understand you want to strike at them—don't you think I want it every bit as much? But now isn't the time to decide. There's nothing to accomplish with an immediate strike. It can wait an hour, Raguel."

Michael looked back at the others. "Information only. I'll open the floor if anyone has anything to add."

Ophaniel stood again. "If I may, I have something."

Michael hoped he wouldn't regret turning the floor over to a Cherub as he gestured toward the front. Ophaniel joined him.

"The Cherubim have discovered that the lower demons don't believe this is the first time Satan has performed an annihilation."

The whole room hummed.

"They claim that Satan destroyed three Principalities who openly rebelled. Shandriel, Mendrel, and Astrifer."

"I've never heard of them," said the chief of Principalities, and Raguel agreed.

"He invented the story. It keeps the lower orders in line. This seems to be the first actual attempt."

Another Cherub added, "Rahab."

Michael glanced at Ophaniel, who looked pale. "Yes," Michael said. "There's Rahab. But I'm not sure Rahab counts."

- + -

When Michael dismissed the group, Saraquael and Raguel stayed behind, and he also called over Mary.

She said nothing, just gripped his hand for a long moment. Saraquael turned away and paced to the window. Raguel closed his eyes.

"No change whatsoever?" Michael said.

"None Uriel can detect." Mary folded her hands. "Uriel thinks we didn't get all of him back."

The three archangels vibrated with momentary shock.

Saraquael spun to face her. "What does Raphael think?"

Mary said, "I left before Uriel told him."

"We need to go look for the rest, then," Michael said. "Shouldn't we? How long can the various parts stay around if they're just—loose?"

Mary opened her hands. "That's why I wanted to ask you. Is there any way to go and check?"

"I was in the place where they did it," Michael said. "I could try going back—"

"Absolutely not," Raguel said. "For all you know, they're waiting for you."

Michael said, "Why is my life more valuable than Gabriel's?"

"Because," Saraquael said, "Remiel is down there, and she's still undiscovered."

"Can you get word to her?" Michael said.

"I can try."

Raguel said, "If we invade, we can definitely access the area."

Michael fixed a look on him.

Raguel stared at his feet. "We need to make a decision."

Michael shook his head, and the summons went out.

Not as many returned for this meeting: the heads of each of the nine choirs and one other representative, plus Peter and Abraham representing humanity. Mary remained. Saraquael rearranged the room with one gesture, placing a wide table the length of the room and doing away with the stadium seating. There were about half as many present as before.

Michael drew a breath to begin when Uriel appeared.

Everyone turned, but Uriel was looking away—at Raphael behind him.

But didn't that mean Gabriel—?

That's when he saw that no, the brown fabric bundle on Raphael's chest was Gabriel, tied snug.

There were startled exclamations, and then Ophaniel was right up to Raphael, machine-gunning questions which the Seraph attempted through his exhaustion to answer. After a minute, Michael forced Ophaniel back.

Uriel met Michael's eyes with worry.

Mary stepped up next to Raphael. She checked over the sling, pronounced it tight, but then adjusted it minutely. "He looks better to me."

"You think so?" Raphael's voice was thin.

"He seems to respond to the sunlight."

Michael glanced at the rest of the assembly, all of whom were brittle with shock. He could tell a couple were thinking, "This is better?"

Michael turned to Raphael. "Is it wise to move him?"

Uriel looked relieved that he'd asked. Raphael turned his gaze to Gabriel. "I thought—maybe if we were with others—"

Israfel flashed to Raphael's side. "Would you like me to go back with you? They don't really need me here, and I'll help arrange the windows so there's more sunlight in the bungalow."

"I need you here," Michael said.

Israfel put her hands on Gabriel. "Let Raphael represent the Seraphim—I'll take Gabriel for a while."

Michael said, "Raphael's his primary. They have to stay together."

Israfel got up close to Michael and whispered, "Gabriel's my primary too." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't forget that again."

Michael flinched.

Flashing behind Raphael, Israfel wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Michael glanced at Uriel, whose ordinary pallor had picked up a porcelain sheen, and whose black hair looked more tousled than usual. Michael wanted Israfel's input, but at the same time, he could see defeat crowding out the usual spark in Raphael's eyes. Raphael needed someone to lean on: Uriel had spent everything and more already.

Even as Mary touched Raphael's arm, saying, "I think the sunlight really is helping," Michael flagged the three Angels keeping tabs on Raphael.

Head bowed, Raphael whispered that Gabriel probably did need the quiet, and he vanished from the circle of Israfel's arms. Michael sent the Angels after him.

One of the Powers broke down in sobs.

Uriel pulled out a chair and leaned back, head craned back all the way, arms limp, legs extended.

Michael dropped onto a chair beside the Throne, and he put his face in his hands.

Satan had to have known it would come to this. He might not have predicted what would happen to whom, but he'd have calculated the collateral damage in advance, selecting a target based on status but also on the web of the others. Gabriel, admired despite his quirks and his mental meanderings and Remiel's good-natured coronation of him as the King of Geeks. If Michael had died, they'd have rallied but considered him a hero, as if he'd asked for it. But Gabriel, the Prince of Heaven, hadn't made himself anyone's enemy and was only doing the things God created him to do. Satan must have had a flow-chart of whom his friends were and how powerful, then unleashed his strike with the directness of a sniper's rifle.

I hate him,
Michael prayed.
I hate what he's done and the fact that he wanted all this.

Ophaniel turned toward Uriel to ask a question, but one movement from Raguel ensured continued silence.

Michael forced himself to sit up. "So," he said, very subdued, "you see what's happened and what they did."

Even Raguel didn't start in with his demands for an invasion. That would come in time. Now was the moment to just let the horror hit home. Michael joined hands with the other angels and saints, and together they prayed. For healing. For direction, for strength, for understanding, for resolve. For Gabriel's life.

Afterward, Michael said, "We're meeting to decide how to respond. I'd like to hear all your ideas, no matter how off-base you might think them." He met Raguel's eyes. "You suggested a full invasion before. Tell us more."

Raguel stood. "Satan broke the most basic of spiritual laws, and clearly he worked hard to achieve that mastery. He's sure to continue—either with our own angels or with his."

Murmurs of assent.

"None of us will be safe. He'll always hold that threat against us." He folded his arms. "We can't afford to have our movements restricted to only certain areas or curfews or a buddy system. We have to attack now."