Seven Archangels: Annihilation (7 page)

A dozen Principalities maintained a dome-shaped Guard over the field, shielding the archangels and saints.

Across the field, Raphael had drawn storm clouds, six wings extended, eyes raised, wind whipping around him louder than a shout. Parents had gathered their children into minivans to hurry them home in advance of the storm, not knowing this storm would encompass all Heaven and Hell.

Beside Raphael at the storm's center stood Israfel, adding her Seraph surge to the might that had shredded the temple veil and shaken the Earth on Good Friday. Their combined strength shot through creation like a needle: deep, insubstantial, a probe into the heart of Hell searching for the heart of God.

Find him.

Then Michael found Gabriel, found his own sigil protesting on Mephistopheles' hand, found Remiel's sigils shrieking rage, and he tracked their outcry through the labyrinths of the mind to the locked room in a lightless area. He landed on the roof of the room, then grasped and targeted that Seraphic spike, guiding it into the Guard like a surgeon's biopsy needle. Using his sword, he'd pried at the Guard—not enough to force himself inside, although the bonded pair within thought that was his intent. Instead he called to his sigil, and it responded. With thrusting against both sides, he widened the mesh just enough to slip that filament inside.

Like a pump, Israfel and Raphael had flooded Gabriel with their strength, sending all but their souls into Gabriel's heart. Raphael couldn't force himself through, but he struggled to feed more than a tendril of power through the eye of that needle. And when at the end they all realized it was too late, not enough, no more time, Raphael engulfed whatever he could and aspirated everything out of that cell.

With a cry, Raphael snapped back into himself, but more than himself because within him he contained the dissolved remnants of his bonded Cherub. Israfel dropped her sword.

Uriel rolled out a command to the others like a shock wave:
Everybody leave!

Raphael knelt, eyes flared, hands open as if at a loss for what to do next, how to fasten together the shattered slivers of a soul. Millions of them.

"Heal him!" Uriel's breath brushed Raphael's lips, their faces were so close. "Heal him—all of you! Don't let a single part of you not be healing him!"

Raphael enfolded his wings around himself and Uriel. An amber sheen suffused the Seraph, pulsing, searching, seeking out every sliver of Gabriel—glue to grains of sand. The energy formed up like egg-white, shimmering in Raphael's lap.

"Dear God," Uriel was whispering in a voice lost to the wind, "dear God, let this work, please make this work—"

Uriel could insert spiritual fingers into what Raphael had dragged back, but fitting the pieces together was like stitching marmalade. There wasn't nearly enough, and it had no cohesion.

Uriel pulled back from Raphael's sphere.

Mary had remained, Israfel at her side with one hand on her shoulder while the wind whipped their drenched hair.

"Do you need me to go?" There was no reason for it, but Mary's voice had reverted to a hospital hush that the storm scattered like dry leaves.

"Stay." Uriel looked at Israfel. "You should leave. Your substance might mix with his—but—"

Israfel didn't budge.

Uriel looked again at Raphael. "If anyone can heal him, he can. Their bond, plus his God-given healing ability. But…"

Michael reappeared, pale, his red hair tousled and his eyes stark. The Archangel's whole soul formed one question mark, but Uriel just let him sample the silence to sense their tension. Michael plunged his sword into the ground and leaned on it, then dropped to his knees and rested his forehead against the hilt.

Dear God, please make this work.

Mary turned to Israfel. "Are you still strengthening Gabriel?"

The angel faced the wind. "It's like pouring wine into a sieve."

Mary stepped closer to the pregnant orb that was Raphael, her face aflicker with the ferocity of eternity and existence struggling to survive. "Gabriel," she whispered, "it's okay. We're working. You're with friends. God loves you. We'll find a way."

Michael glanced at the Guard shimmering around the field. "We've got to move them both. If we're attacked here, now, I can't protect them. The slightest disruption—"

"Agreed." Israfel sheathed her sword. "I'll cast a Guard around Raphael and transport them together." She frowned. "Where to?"

"Gabriel's home," Michael said.

"No." Uriel looked back over one shoulder. "Mine. There's too much of Gabriel's residue in his library, and the same with Raphael's house. We're going to need to repair him, and we'll need to know what's him and what's not without a question."

Michael swallowed. "You're right. Mary—" He looked at her and drew a long breath. "I hate to say this, but stay here. Right where Raphael is now. In case something—some part of them gets left—"

She bit her lip.

Michael clasped his sword. "Okay. Move."

Israfel appeared above Raphael, flung out her arms and all six wings and cast a magenta sphere around the amber orb of the Seraph healer, shading him violet. Uriel set a second orb around Israfel, and first Israfel vanished, then Uriel. Mary sat on the grass, her eyes on Michael until he wrenched his sword from the hill and vanished too, bringing the Principality Guard with him.

It took another half hour for the storm to ebb, but Mary remained in the rain, eyes closed the whole time.

- + -

Uriel guided Israfel and Raphael into the bedroom of Uriel's bungalow. Uriel immediately changed the house so there were no windows, and the walls and floor met without any seams or chinks. With the room now doorless, Uriel turned to Raphael.

"I don't know what to do." Raphael's cracked words dissolved like a match shaken out.

Israfel added, "He's so weak."

Keep working.
Uriel knelt in front of Raphael, who now existed half as disembodied energy and half his own spiritual form. The Throne extended a hand to the globule of an angel unrecognizable any longer as Gabriel. A touch evoked no response. "Gabriel? Cherub?"

"Oh, God, my God," Raphael whispered, his hands over the orb. "He can't die now. You can't let him die like this. Not among friends. Not with all of us here."

"He's firmer than he was." Michael had appeared from the hill and raked his hand back through his hair. Heat shimmered about him momentarily, and then the rain was gone from him. Israfel and Uriel had already done the same. "You're doing some good."

"I can't feel his mind." Raphael remained soaked from the storm, but Michael understood why he wouldn't want to heat up.

Israfel settled on the floor, her wings tucked at her back.
"Holy, Holy, Holy,"
she sang, her voice a thread through the room. "
Holy God, Holy Omnipotent, Holy Immortal, all your works adore you—"

Raphael ran his fingers along the light energy inhabiting his lap, and he joined Israfel's song, the Trisagion of the Seraphim. "
You are the one who was, and who is, and who is to come."

Uriel sat with closed eyes, praying. Michael stood in the corner, pale.

As if in a dream, Raphael raised his hands to shoulder height, and between them he cast a bar of light, then flicked the fingers of his left hand so it began to spin. Michael frowned, alone watching in silence as Israfel continued singing and Uriel continued praying. Raphael pulled his right hand away from the spindle, and it pivoted on the fingers of his left hand until it swung perpendicular to his lap, pointing at Gabriel.

Michael's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then he stopped himself.

Raphael guided Gabriel's energy with his right hand, up and onto the spindle where it spun, then emerged on the other side more solid.

"How—"

Uriel raised a hand, and Michael fell silent. Israfel's song hesitated, but she maintained it.

As Gabriel's fabric solidified, visions assaulted the four angels: memories, stray words and odd thoughts. Like four AM inspirations, impulses darted through their minds, apparitions, scenes from the wrong point of view.

Michael recoiled, but he didn't leave.

The flashes of Gabriel's experiences left no footprints. From one moment to the next they couldn't be sure what they had just been thinking, but Raphael continued spinning, and the spiritual energy continued thickening.

Uriel moved in very close now. "Sing, Israfel. Keep singing. And Raphael, spin him through again. Make it tighter."

The whole process repeated, Raphael guiding with his hands, an amber glow cast onto his lap. Israfel drifted to the end of the song, and she didn't resume. After a moment, she lifted a hand and focused her energy on Gabriel; Michael's head raised as the random memories intensified. Uriel sat taller.

After the second spin, Raphael had in his lap an amorphous form, but semi-solid and with at least something of Gabriel's signature.

Knee-to-knee with Raphael, Uriel traced cool fingers over the angel, guiding the body into a form, calming the rough areas, firming where it was too prone to melting away. It took time, but before Israfel's and Michael's gaze, the angel developed limbs, wings, then features, then an approximation of Gabriel's features.

Sitting back, Uriel breathed deep.

Raphael sought out the Throne with wide eyes, water still dripping down his neck.

Uriel opened both hands and looked down.

Raphael flinched, his body projecting mortal confusion.

Uriel was barely audible. "It will come in God's time. The Spirit showed you how to spin."

"We can't leave him like this," Raphael urged.

Uriel looked right into Raphael's eyes. "You're exhausted. I'm exhausted. No one has any clear idea of what to do next, so until God chooses—"

"That's crazy!" Water sprayed around the room as Raphael's wings snapped open. "God
let
this happen! God let them attack with no warning, and now you're suggesting we just wait on God?"

Israfel met Raphael's eyes, the heat rolling off her. "Maybe we could wait for God to send in a second wave of demons."

"Or a text message." Raphael's fire surged. "We could wait for a clear sign for years and let Gabriel fall to pieces and find out afterward that God wanted us to
do something
rather than sitting on our wingtips waiting for revelations with instructions."

Michael found his hand on his sword, but Uriel remained calm. "We've discussed this before, that God won't step in to avoid the results of someone's evil."

"Don't try to out-Gabriel Gabriel!" The pitch of Raphael's voice had steepened to a painful degree. "This isn't theory! This is his life and he's almost dead and there's hardly anything left of him, and it wasn't his evil, and it wasn't his fault!"

Israfel said, "How can you call non-interference fair when Gabriel is going to die and Gabriel never sinned?"

Israfel and Raphael both gasped simultaneously, and Israfel darted toward the angel in Raphael's lap.

"He moved?" Michael whispered.

"Gabriel?" Israfel stroked where his hand ought to be. "Gabriel, squeeze my hand."

Nothing.

Uriel moved between Israfel and Gabriel. "Raphael, Israfel, the two of you have got to get control. He's trying to absorb your fire, and it'll tear him apart in this state."

Raphael closed his eyes and stilled his soul's vibrations.

"Gabriel," Israfel whispered again, "can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand?" She draped herself and her wings over Raphael's lap, resting her head on the crook of Raphael's arm and keeping Gabriel cuddled at her shoulder. "You've got to come back. Please, just let us know you're still in there."

Raphael rested his hand where Gabriel's shoulder ought to be. With his eyes closed and his mouth twisted, he swallowed. "For the love of God, Gabriel, don't leave me."

The milky form shifted on Raphael's lap.

Michael shivered.

Uriel looked at Raphael. "You're going to have to be his principal healer for as long as it takes. Can you stay with him?"

Liquid gold, Raphael's eyes projected that he wouldn't leave.

Uriel turned to Michael. "I've got the room Guarded, but I want you to re-Guard it over mine and link to my permissions. We'll make sure there's no second strike."

Michael did this.

Uriel opened both hands in such a way that the room itself widened, then created a full-size bed in the corner and a couple of chairs. Raphael gathered Gabriel, allowing one pair of his wings to drop around his shoulders like a cloak, which Israfel pulled free and gathered underneath the Cherub's form. They wrapped it tight before lowering Gabriel on the comforter. Stretched out, he lay so small, wispy like a malnourished four-year-old.

Uriel told Michael and Israfel, "I'm going to ask the two of you to leave. Raphael is already so close to him, and at any rate he needs to be here, but I don't want to have lots of angelic residue when I get down to the actual repair work. It might be difficult to tell what's him and what isn't, and in this state his soul might graft onto anything else around."

"Except for you," Michael said.

Uriel shrugged. "I know what's me."

"I only meant you're made of Teflon."

Uriel snickered. "I'm a Throne."

"I know your choir. It's the same thing." Michael departed.

After laying her hand on Gabriel's forehead, Israfel left too.

Uriel sat at the edge of the bed, wrapped in a purple aura of prayer, wings relaxed. Silence enveloped the scene, the only movement the flicker of Raphael's healing glow that traveled over Gabriel's form while the Seraph sat closed-eyed at his side.

Mary appeared in the room, drenched, and Uriel looked up to meet her gaze.

She extended a hand. At the very center of her palm lay a silver drop, rounded on itself like a bead of mercury.

Uriel closed both eyes and struggled against a frown.

Chapter Five

Michael took the long way home, walking through the Gobi desert instead of to the conference center where the other angels awaited.