Seven Archangels: Annihilation (23 page)

Raphael set Gabriel up on his feet, although still clinging to Raphael's shoulders; the Cherub radiated fear, shock, confusion, and then it ebbed.

Drawing close, Uriel looked over Gabriel, then into his eyes, then around to the side of him. "There doesn't seem to be any harm done."

"I've change permissions on the Guard," Michael said. "You guys will have to ask me if you want to leave."

Uriel said, "Gabriel?"

The Cherub turned to look, and then whipped back projecting the same emotional gyrations: shock, confusion, and then understanding.

Israfel said, "What's going on?"

Uriel moved in front of Gabriel so they were eye to eye. Gabriel was shaking, leaning more on Raphael. He'd paled all over, and his wings drooped. "Back to bed with you," Uriel said, and Raphael flashed him there.

Gabriel startled: shock, confusion, and then relief.

"Every time he moves," Raphael whispered.

Uriel sat beside him. "Are you in pain?"

Gabriel shook his head.

"Do you recognize us?"

He nodded.

"Do you remember being captured?"

Gabriel's eyes widened. His fear filled the room.

Uriel reached for Gabriel's hands. "Do you remember what they tried to do with you?"

Watching over Uriel's shoulder, Michael saw Gabriel's eyes cloud. The fear grew cold as an arctic wind, and both Mary and Israfel backed into corners. Michael stemmed his own urge to run.

"Do you remember anything afterward?" Uriel leaned closer. "Do you remember being rescued?"

Gabriel shook his head. He'd begun to tremble.

Uriel took a deep breath. "There's a lot to tell you, but right now, you need to know that I'm trying to repair all the damage they did. Your soul is like beads on a string, and—" Michael didn't catch what happened, but Uriel laughed. "Yes, that's it. So they took the time to explain? Lovely." Uriel gave Gabriel's hands a squeeze. "I'm nearly done, but there are still quite a few pieces that need to be attached. I assume that's why you can't keep track of where you are. And you're freezing."

Gabriel was shivering violently by now. Raphael repositioned his wings over Gabriel like a cloak, but the Cherub kept shaking. His teeth were chattering.

"Lay him down," Uriel said softly, and when Raphael did, the same projections: shock, terror, confusion, then realization.

Raphael had gone white. He lay alongside Gabriel, form-fitting around him and warming the air with his wings but not with his Seraphic fire. Gabriel closed his eyes, curled tight with his fists wrapped around the blanket, and by the time they were done raising the temperature of the room, he was in a restless sleep.

Raphael raised his head. "I couldn't feel him at all."

Uriel looked at Israfel, who stepped closer to the bed. "Me neither. That's really unusual."

Mary said, "Why didn't he talk?"

Michael replayed the last five minutes and realized she was right—Gabriel had never spoken.

"He's able to communicate," Uriel said. "If he has to project for a while, I'm okay with that. I'm not sure what all the pieces are that we've connected, but maybe one of the remaining ones is speech." The Throne looked at Raphael. "Are you all right? There's a bit more to go."

He let out a long breath. "I'll have to be all right, won't I?"

Uriel went misty again, but this time it did seem to go faster, and Uriel stayed partially visible. They had the finish line in sight. Three hours ago they'd accepted that Gabriel would die, and now he'd not only awakened but seemed to be himself, if still damaged. It had been thirty hours of solid tension.

Uriel let off an aura of surprise. "I can see where Satan broke your bonds."

Israfel jumped up. "What?"

Sparks shot from Raphael's eyes. "That jerk! What right did he have to do that?"

Michael fought a grin. "Is there a little Cherub-to-Seraph socket?"

Uriel smiled at him, agreeing.

Raphael said, "Plug it back in, then."

Uriel sent a negative. "He's going to be weak for a while." A frown. "It doesn't look damaged, so there shouldn't be anything stopping you from re-bonding after he's stabilized."

Raphael didn't look happy, but he assented. Israfel said nothing else, so Uriel continued the repair. After another fifteen minutes, the Throne pulled back and solidified.

"That's it?" said Mary.

Uriel sighed with weariness.

Raphael and Israfel leaned forward, touching Gabriel. He seemed solid enough. Both Seraphim had tears in their eyes.

Raphael turned to Uriel. "Do you think he'll be all right for a few minutes? I owe someone an apology."

Michael wasn't the only one who caught the pain etched on Raphael's face. "He'll be all right longer than a few minutes," Uriel said. "Go."

Michael lowered the Guard for Raphael to exit, and immediately he had a message from Saraquael.

Michael? Can you be spared?

Not for a while longer.
He frowned.
What's going on?

Remiel.
Saraquael's "voice" was shaky.
Gabriel—?

He's alive!

Suddenly he realized how much joy there was in him to be saying that. When they'd been doing the repairs it was just something being done, but now—

Saraquael had picked up the rest.
He's better?

Uriel found the string and repaired him.

Oh, thank God!

Saraquael's voice vanished for a moment. Michael imagined Saraquael had taken the time to thank God directly, so he moved onto the bungalow roof and reset the Guard.

You mean it?

Michael laughed out loud: Saraquael sounded the way he felt.
Yes, I mean it.
He got the feeling Saraquael had needed some good news.
Now, what about Remiel?

She's really unstable. Make that completely unstable.

Michael took a deep breath.
Where is she?

She's here, but unconscious.

Here, being—?

Being at my home. She rouses from time to time, but she's radiating energy, and as I said, she's unstable. I'm sure I won't be able to keep her here when she awakens.

In the silence, Michael realized Saraquael wanted him to give an order, and Michael also knew he had no clue what it should be. He couldn't contain an angel on the verge of insanity any more than Saraquael could.
You need to stay with her. Make sure she doesn't hurt herself or anyone else.

The sick dread in response told Michael the situation had escalated beyond that point already.

Try to talk her down.

Will do.
Not much assurance, there.

Raphael returned looking stunned, so Michael flashed them both back inside the Guards.

Israfel sat up straight. "My goodness, Raphael—are you okay?"

He just stood with his shoulders bowed.

Michael looked to Uriel only to find the angel already asleep on a pile of cushions. The Seraphim looked equally cooked. "Israfel, take a break. Write a concerto. Do something that has nothing to do with anything."

Once she departed, Michael turned to Raphael. "You're in my chain of command during times of crisis, and this qualifies as a crisis. I'm ordering you to get some sleep."

Wan, red-eyed, Raphael collapsed onto the opposite side of the bed and lay facing the wall.

Michael turned next to Mary, who had settled herself in the rocking chair.

"You go," she said. "I'll stay."

"I'm going to stay with him."

"If I go home," she said, "I'll cook, I'll pray, I'll knit, and I'll talk to everyone about what happened. If I stay, you can head out to take charge of the heavenly host. You'll be immediately accessible if they strike again. You can get the Cherubim to work out a system to protect everyone else. And you'll be able to handle whatever crisis had you so worked up when you came back inside."

Michael sighed.

"Plus, I can do math." Mary called a knitting bag to her hands. "If three of the Seven are in this room, and you stay, that leaves only three out there to keep things running smoothly."

Michael shook his head. "One more of them is down for the count right now. Remiel is in trouble. So it'd be two."

"Then definitely leave the unimportant person here to do the easy job." Mary smiled. "I'll pray for you and for Remiel too." So Michael went.

Chapter Fifteen

He felt her awaken.

Saraquael moved closer to Remiel, unable to look at her too carefully but also unwilling to take his attention away from her. His heart pounded.

Remiel opened white-ringed eyes, shivering as she huddled against the arm of the couch. Her chest heaved. Saraquael's cats scattered through the open window, but although he watched them with envy, he remained. Remiel reeked of ozone and smoke which Saraquael tried not to notice.

Clutching a brown pillow to her stomach, she regarded the paintings and the book shelves with a flat affect. Her eyes had faded to butter yellow, but despite that, her grip around her legs remained locked, and her chin rested on her knees. Saraquael had pulled the drapes, but that didn't account for the darkness. Although she must have sobered some because she hadn't fled, she seemed more feral than before.

Zadkiel and Raguel stood guard—Zadkiel on the outside and Raguel within. They'd put up a Guard although it was futile.

Tension emanated from Remiel in concentric rings like the plunk of a stone in a pond, and for a moment Saraquael wished he could do for her as a Cherub did to a Seraph and absorb all that erratic power.

And then the energy ended like a broken circuit. Remiel slackened into the cushions. Raguel stepped forward, then stopped as Saraquael reached for her. A moment after, he recoiled.

She'd done that deliberately.

She'd run herself out of energy deliberately.

His heart was all one question as he knelt on the carpet facing her.

He sought her pale eyes with his green ones, and she reached for his hand. She extended her fingertips to his hair, and they shook as she rolled some of the brown strands between thumb and forefinger.

"It's over now," Saraquael murmured. Why had she drained herself of all her power? Was it still the madness? "You're safe with us, and no one's coming for you."

Remiel said, "I thought angels couldn't dream."

"We can't," Saraquael said.

"I've been dreaming."

Raguel started, and Saraquael had to force himself not to recoil.

"I've been dreaming I'm destroying Gabriel, and my hands are puppets and I have to do whatever I'm told. Over and over I have to rip out his heart, and I know he's dead because his blood is all over me. Camael looks at me, but it's only a mirror. Voices tell me I'm finally special because Camael never destroyed an angel."

"I'm sorry," Saraquael said.

"You didn't know." Remiel knit her fingers, then shifted so her feet dropped to the carpet. "Which one am I? I can't remember. Am I determined by my company, so when I'm with you I'm Remiel—but when I'm with them, am I Camael?"

Saraquael didn't answer. She leaned forward and rested her hands on his shoulders. "Sit with me," she said, and Saraquael joined her. "You too," she said to Raguel, and he took a position on the ottoman.

"Do you still love me?" she asked Raguel.

The Principality nodded.

She closed her eyes. "And you, Saraquael?"

"You know I love you. You're my closest friend."

Remiel hesitated, then rested her head on his shoulder as he cupped her in his wings. "And what about God?"

She waited, and then a tentative smile spread from her lips, transforming her eyes back to golden.

Saraquael let out a long-held breath.

She tensed again. "Let me tell you my other dream." Her wings seemed plastered to her body. "I dreamed that angels are coming to me, all in black, and they're crying, but they say Gabriel is alive. Then Satan comes, but he's disguised as Jesus, and he says, 'Will you believe me? He's alive.' Only he's lying."

"It's a dream," Raguel said.

"But angel's don't dream." The pitch of her voice rose. "We sleep and awaken in the same state of mind. Our bodies sleep to heal, but not our minds, so here I am all at loose ends, only I'm not the way I was when you stopped me—"

Saraquael flinched.

"—and here I am at full spiritual power so I can do things like create hurricanes and slash my own wrists."

Saraquael grabbed her in a hug, closing his wings around her as he realized why she'd deliberately exhausted her energy. She'd wanted to right the scales in order to control herself.

"You're safe with us," was all Saraquael could think to say.

"It will happen again and again." Remiel's voice cracked. "God himself will have to come for me to set things straight inside."

Saraquael tried to ignore the horror on Raguel's face. "Open the drapes," he said.

A moment after, the room shone with colorful morning light that captured Remiel's attention.

"Gabriel isn't dead," Saraquael said at last.

"He's still hanging on?"

"Apparently they fixed him."

She looked puzzled. "Israfel was called."

"I was there," Saraquael said. "They thought it was the end, but Uriel did something, and he's better."

Remiel dragged her forearm across her eyes. "For how much longer?"

Saraquael selected his words slowly. "Michael said Uriel mended him. They recovered the rope or whatever it was. He's weak, but apparently this is for real. Forever."

Light glinted in Remiel's eyes. "But…" She gulped. "Is this a dream?"

Saraquael smiled. "I don't dream."

"I guess you don't." She laughed. "He's really okay? I didn't kill him?" She flung her arms and wings around Saraquael, then tackled Raguel, shrieking with laughter. Zadkiel came inside to see what had happened and got a flying hug for her trouble too.

"Thank you, God, thank you, God," she trilled, then opened her arms to hug all three of them. "Let's go see him!"