Seven Archangels: Annihilation (18 page)

"Far be it from me to say he's misguided. Look," Camael snapped suddenly, "quit
probing
me, okay? You did it once. I'm not going to suddenly turn into her."

Mephistopheles murmured, "You can't be too thorough."

"You can be too thorough if it gets you knifed."

Mephistopheles said, "Try it."

Camael said, "I would, but Beelzebub would beat me senseless."

Mephistopheles enwrapped Camael in a Guard using the technique he'd reverse-engineered from Lucifer's. Letting out a yelp, Camael struggled, but Mephistopheles gripped him, iron-willed, and drew the Guard tighter as if squeezing him.

"Beelzebub might not arrive in time to beat you senseless."

Camael tried to spit at him, but the Guard caught that too.

Mephistopheles took a deep breath, then turned his back. Down went the Guard, and Camael dropped to all fours, wings splayed across the rocks.

"I know you hate your betters, but at least let's be civil."

Camael struggled upright. "I'll sell you out to Asmodeus in a heart-beat."

"Would you like to work for a loser?" Mephistopheles opened his hands. "Be my guest."

Beelzebub appeared. "Hey, you two. I can feel the fight all the way across Hell. Would you mind keeping it down?"

Camael pulled on a rock to drag himself to his feet. "Just as long as he keeps his nasty hands to himself."

Beelzebub looked at Mephistopheles in shock. The Cherub glared at Camael.

"My," a voice drifted over to them. "Discord in the high command?"

Beelzebub flashed a smile at Asmodeus, the commander of Hell's army, tilting his head so the firelight glinted off his hair. Mephistopheles drew his wings tight, then folded his arms.

Camael could feel the Cherub-Seraph pair communicating on a level even subtler than projection, a breathless back and forth so reflexive that by rights no one should be able to detect it. Certainly he never had before. But the pair shared a volume's worth of dialogue in a handful of seconds, all while Beelzebub straightened his sword and stepped toward the other Seraph, and Asmodeus swept back his cloak to reveal his armor's dull gleam and the shine of his black boots.

"Shouldn't you be selecting our next target?" said the captain.

"I'm amazed that you're able to show your face in public after you so spectacularly failed to keep Michael out of Hell during our experiment." Beelzebub moved to stand closer to Asmodeus. Camael realized how tall both Seraphim were, how they'd both drawn themselves up marginally taller, so minutely no one ought to have noticed, except that Camael did as his thoughts floated away while he listened to the gentle vibrations in the air between Beelzebub and Mephistopheles.

A second dark Cherub appeared. This one was shorter, brown-haired to Asmodeus' black, dark-eyed to his blue. He took his place by Asmodeus's side, hands clasped at his back.

Camael couldn't feel the interplay between Asmodeus and his Cherub the way he could between the other two. Momentarily he detected Beelzebub drawing power from Mephistopheles, but Mephistopheles was doing very little with his part of the bond.

"It's an internal matter," Beelzebub was saying, head tilted.

Asmodeus said to Camael, "You can retake your place in the armed forces if you desire."

"Thank you," Camael said, "but I'd rather be effective."

"Effective," said the other Cherub, making the syllables as slow and long as a country road in the heat of high noon. "Is that how one describes himself when our lord gives an assignment and he doesn't complete it?"

To Camael's surprise, Mephistopheles said nothing.

Beelzebub said, "Did Lucifer ask you to handle anything special, Belior?"

Belior looked at Mephistopheles. "How long will it take? And did you force him to take Gabriel so you could claim to be the smartest surviving angel?"

Asmodeus said, "No, we mustn't squabble. We don't want to deny that Mephistopheles has done us a great service."

Camael noticed something even subtler than even the Cherub-Seraph communications: Mephistopheles had turned off, utterly tuned out. He wasn't playing the game, was barely even paying attention. Beelzebub had stretched out to utilize the Cherub's wit without Mephistopheles engaging in the conversation whatsoever. Camael had seen Gabriel do exactly that so many times—in fact, right before they'd captured Gabriel, he'd been off on an endless series of rabbit trails in his own head. Israfel had frequently laughed and called him their distracted genius.

For some minutes, Beelzebub traded jabs with both of their rivals just fine while Camael felt his own detachment, wondered why he couldn't be at home for real—bantering rather than bickering—and if Gabriel would have a funeral, and if God would forgive Remiel for turning into Camael and going to Hell in the first place. Had there ever been a difference?

Yes, Mephistopheles had said as much: Camael was less twisted.

At the time Jesus had died, roles had been reversed. Asmodeus and Belior had the top two spots in the Maskim, and Beelzebub with Mephistopheles headed Satan's army. He'd reversed the roles for a reason—keep the more popular Seraph at his right hand and not in control of the army. Mephistopheles and Beelzebub in their ascendancy could grab a handful of soldiers for an assignment, but the army was not theirs. Keep the four of them at one another's throats and if one of them tried to seize power, the others would step in and stop it. If Asmodeus became too popular, Satan would doubtless "promote" that pair back to being right under his thumb and give Beelzebub and Mephistopheles back the army. But for now, Mephistopheles was a hero to the lower orders because of his discovery, so Asmodeus would stay down for a little longer.

Five minutes had passed. Asmodeus and Belior left. Beelzebub said, "Good riddance."

Mephistopheles shuddered. "He's ugly just to look at."

"Not that you were much help." Beelzebub snorted. "What on Earth made you form a tertiary bond with him?"

"The same thing that prompted all my bonds," Mephistopheles said. "Terminal bad judgment."

Beelzebub whacked him with one of his wings.

"You've got a secondary yourself with that backstabbing piece of tenure." Mephistopheles didn't bother turning his head. "At least Asmodeus can't hear my thoughts."

Camael said, "What's the assignment they keep talking about?"

Mephistopheles said, "Lucifer entrusted it to
me
."

"I'm not going to steal your glory." Camael folded his arms. "Like I could even follow whatever it is you figured out, and Lucifer even used me as his focus." He leaned against a rock. "But you know Belior is going to tell him you can't do it, and I don't feel like looking at his smug face."

Beelzebub said, "It's going to be hard for us if you don't finish."

Mephistopheles said, "You can't help." Then he squinted. "Actually, Camael, I'll consult with you later. Maybe you can, since you're the only one with experience."

Camael shrugged. "And?"

"He wants me to simplify the process, so anyone can do it, and do it long-distance."

Camael swallowed against terror.

Beelzebub said, "And he wants it done yesterday, naturally."

Keeping his voice steady, Camael said, "And you think—do you think it's possible?"

Mephistopheles said, "For me."

Beelzebub took a step backward, waving a hand. "Wow, the ego in here is getting kind of thick, isn't it?"

"Then you take care of it," Mephistopheles said. "Wait, I forgot—you can't."

Beelzebub glared at him.

Camael looked aside, still feeling their bond.
Dear God, what a corruption—a bond that should have completed each other—

And instead hatred. A Seraph and a Cherub yoked evenly but hating it, refusing to pull together. Asmodeus and Belior were the same way, magnets repelling but lingering nearby one another because in the back of their minds they knew they
should
, this
ought
to be good for them both, and instead it was mutual using. Two that should have been one.

Camael looked at his hands. Two that should have been one.

If there'd only been one of him, only one Irin, would he have fallen? Or would he have stayed?

It hurt to always be around Seraphim and Cherubim. They didn't have the same thing as the twins had, but it reminded him.

Only six primary Seraph-Cherub bonds had been broken in the winnowing (according to Gabriel.) Maybe one of them could help Raphael. Maybe Raphael and Ophaniel would become inseparable. Maybe Camael should just quit thinking.

Maybe it was time to go home.

- + -

Saraquael got only one glance at Remiel before summoning Raguel for help.

She arrived just as he was ready to approach the Cherubim for their answers, but immediately he asked God to send word for him and flashed with her to his home. Raguel appeared a moment after, and Saraquael put up a Guard in case someone from Hell was listening.

"Don't send me back again." Remiel clenched his shirt, white-knuckled. "I can't."

Although normally gold-speckled, Remiel's eyes had a sharp quality, and Saraquael felt her will raging against half-hearted constraints. Every feather on her wings stood apart from the others.

"You don't have to." Saraquael realized Raguel had manifested his sword but hadn't drawn it. "I can't imagine how awful it must have been."

"You needed me, but I can't go back. They're horrible." She collapsed toward him, and he held her against his shoulder, enwrapping her in his teal wings. He exchanged looks with Raguel, who intensified his alert.

"I'm sick of Seraphim and Cherubim." Her heart pounded against him, and in the next moment Saraquael realized she was crying. "All tied up in one another, and they should be happy, and bonds and wholeness, and I can't—"

Saraquael hummed to her, a tuneless croon from deep in his heart to deep within hers. She relaxed, and he added words, a language unheard on Earth for three thousand years but primal nonetheless. In his arms, she began to relax.

So did Raguel. Saraquael shook his head.

"I found out Mephistopheles' assignment." Her voice was muffled, but she was also projecting the words into his head. He found her echo odd, as if she were more than just herself still. "He's trying to make the process streamlined so any angel can do it. And at a distance."

Raguel bristled. "But that—"

"That changes everything," Saraquael murmured.

"He says he can."

"Criminy." Raguel shook his head. "We should have invaded."

"Why in blazes didn't you?" Remiel pushed backward out of Saraquael's wings. "I prayed to God that you would come down there and avenge Gabriel, and like a bunch of pussy cats you wrote a nice letter on a quality bond paper and said pretty-please don't murder anyone else in cold blood—"

Saraquael said, "It wasn't that—"

"'Stop or we'll say
stop
again.'"

"Remiel—"

"How do you think Gabriel would feel if he found out his death warranted nothing more than a citation?"

Raguel said, "But he's not dead."

Remiel whirled. "What?" She turned on Saraquael. "You said you were planning a funeral! That it was all a game of pretend!"

"You—" He stepped backward. "I'm sorry. I messed up. I didn't realize you didn't know."

"You kept me ignorant!" Flames erupted around her as if she were a Seraph. "I was more useful to you fallen!"

"I promise, it was a mistake!" Saraquael raised his hands. "He didn't die, but he's not well either."

Her eyes had gone totally gold. Her wings spread, and Camael's sword was in her gauntleted hand. She seemed bigger than the room containing them. "Let me see him."

"You can't." Saraquael paled. "He's not well enough."

"You're lying!" He could tell she was trying to flash out of his house, probably thinking,
To Gabriel! To Gabriel!
Only the Guard on Uriel's house would make it seem Gabriel didn't exist. In this state she could pass through Guards, but she wouldn't know which Guard to pass through in order to find him. "You're lying to me—he's dead."

Saraquael forced himself to step closer. "He's weak. He may still die. But he's alive for now."

"He's dead—or let me see him."

Given what Uriel had said about stray angelic residue, the emanations coming off Remiel right now would julienne the Cherub. "None of us can see him. He's just too fragile."

She had started emitting light, and Saraquael had to fight her contagious tension. "Where's Raphael? Mephistopheles said he might be dead too. Is Raphael dead?"

Saraquael was close to her again. "Listen to me. The contact with Camael is distorting what you feel. I won't lie to you. You're my friend." Her breathing was still too rapid, her eyes sparking. "You're home, not with them."

She said, "I have no home." Her head dropped. "I have no more home."

She tried to flash away, but Raguel's Guards contained her.

Eyes aglow, every feather spread, she pivoted on Raguel like a hawk ready to kill. "Let me out of here!"

Saraquael tried to bind her with his will, then Raguel, but she was so slippery, half there and half in the labyrinths of the mind.

"Damn you!" she screamed. "You don't know what it's like! You don't know what I'm going through!"

She blasted through the Guards, and for a moment only fire remained.

Saraquael's head dropped as he stood, empty, because she'd gone mad.

"We have to follow!" Raguel grabbed him by the shoulders. "What if she goes back to them?"

"I can't feel her anywhere." Saraquael's voice quavered. "This is my fault. I should have called her back sooner."

"It doesn't matter now," Raguel said. "Let's follow her trail."

Saraquael concentrated as he had for Remiel's game, only the game was long over and the hide-and-seek carried a deadliness. Hide and seek: find Remiel. Find parts of Gabriel. Find and find and find.

Saraquael gathered all creation in his mind the way only a poet can, absorbing it all and loving it, knowing it, and distilling it to a phrase. A breath later, it fell into stanzas, life a rhythm and a repeating pattern. Lives as rhymes, motion as themes, gravity and energy as meaning. An angel gone mad can't be tracked, but she still has an effect on the universe around her, like skywriting after the plane has landed. His heart expanded into the poetry of existence until he found the dissonance, one word out of rhyme and rhythm, careening madly to escape its own meaning.