There But For The Grace (3 page)

“I guess not,” I said uncomfortably.

“Interesting,” he mused. I shut my mouth and tried patience. If I’d learned anything hanging with Tab, it was that Angels, no matter what their flavor, got around to things only if and when they were ready to. Frustrating for sure when I was so short on time, but they lived forever so like it or not, I was on their schedule.

“What is your name?” the old priest asked, and I opened my mouth, but I’d been down this road before with Tab. Rather than having to listen to Adelaide this and Adelaide that all the time, I kept it simple.

“Addy.”

“Ah.”

“What should I call you?” I asked.

“You know my name, do you not; to specifically seek me out as you have?”

“Haziel it is then.”

“Don’t be pert.”

“Sorry, it’s kind of my natural go-to thing to do.”

“I see.”

We pulled up to a small church in the nearest town, and he parked beside it. It was a brick building, with a small attached rectory. Haziel unlocked and opened a side door, and I followed him through it. We were in a small kitchen with a table that could seat four.

“Sit there,” he said and pointed to one of the end chairs. I sat down obediently and set down my pack beside me while he moved about the kitchen putting soup on and heating up some bread.

“Can we talk while you do that?” I asked.

“So impatient,” he remarked.

“I have good reason to be,” I shot back. “My friend Tab,” Haziel’s head jerked in my direction at Tab’s name.

“Tabbris, eh?” I nodded, and he mulled it over for a minute, “Why did Tabbris send you to me?”

“He said I needed to find you; that you would know what to do being the only other Angel to fall in love with a mortal.”

“Haziel. Remember it. West Livingston, death row. Go there, find him. He’ll help you.”

“Why?”

“Because... he, too, is an Angel who fell in love with a mortal.”

I closed my eyes against the desperation of Tab’s plea, echoing in my heart and mind, but all it did was make it stand out against my memories more starkly. Of course, I had the pretty distinct impression that it had a little extra help from the Grace I harbored. And Gabriel had said
I
was mean.

Haziel set down the bowls he had brought out of the kitchen cabinet. He drifted over to the table and took a seat in one of the chairs at my side. He gathered up one of my hands between the both of his, brow furrowed in sympathy.

“And where is Tabbris now?” he asked.

“Hell. He’s in Hell, and it’s all my fault,” I squeezed my eyes shut and felt the hot tears fall from my lashes. I wanted to scream my impotent rage at myself for having been so stupid, for having not seen what Iaoel was doing… I got the distinct image of Iaoel laughing, her golden head thrown back, deep laughter reserved for a time when it was for something like the funniest thing you’d ever heard.

I jerked my hand from Haziel’s grip and scrubbed my face with my hands and fought her down. Thinking loudly at her,
I don’t want to hear it, you cow! You’re going, whether you like it or not, and you can either keep us alive or you can die with me. I don’t even care anymore.

And I didn’t. I really didn’t. I was exhausted, tired mentally and emotionally, which was translating into an almost bone-weary physical exhaustion at having to keep her in check all the time. I was beginning to wonder how I did it. I sighed and brought up God’s canteen from under the table, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink while Haziel looked on, thoughtfully.

“Tell me what’s happened,” he urged gently, rising to finish preparing the meal he’d promised, and I was suddenly famished and all too willing to fill the silence. I told him everything, from walking into work and finding Piorre, all the way through Uriel and Raphael and even Gabriel the night before. By the time I was finished, our bowls had been emptied, mine twice, and had sat that way for a goodly amount of time. Silence stretched long and large between us, until finally I sniffed, and leaning back in my chair, I asked him, “So, what’s your story?” Just so I could have something to fill the quiet.

Haziel leaned back in his chair as well, “It was a long time ago…” he uttered and I was surprised at how candid he was with me, probably because I had been with him. He told me a story of a time so far back, when Angels freely mingled among the humans. Of a woman, named Arachne, and how he’d loved her so. Arachne had been foolish. She had placed her craftsmanship of weaving above that of the Angel of Craftsmanship’s. I guess the Angel challenged Arachne, and the woman had easily won. The Angel, having taken the sin of vanity into their heart, had damned Arachne into the form of a monstrous creature and even though it’d happened probably several millennia before I was even thought of, the pain on Haziel’s face was as fresh as it’d just went down the day before.

I swallowed hard, and it was my turn to reach out a hand and offer some kind of comfort. I pursed my lips.

“So is that why you’re the Angel of Monsters? Did you fall with her because you loved her so much?” I asked and then blushed hard. “Sorry, that’s really none of my business,” I said quickly, and Haziel chuckled and squeezed my hand.

“No, no, it is a fair question, young Addy. No, I am not exactly Fallen as you imagine it to be so. Rather, I went to God and asked him to take my wings. I like to think he set me down rather gently as compared to those who have truly Fallen from his Grace.”

“So,” I asked when the quiet began to backfill where our conversation had been, “Will you help me?”

Haziel sighed and searched my face for long moments while I waited with bated breath. Finally he bowed his head and nodded gently. “I will help you, but first, sleep. The dawn comes early, and we must go to the prison.” He stood, and I stood with him to help clear the table.

“How am I supposed to get in there?”

“My dear child, for all intents and purposes, you are invisible to the rest of the human race for now. I suspect the Archangels had a little something to do with that. It will do to serve our purpose. Simply stay close to me, and be silent as we make our way inside. It should be rather easy, I suspect.”

I nodded and mulled that over, thinking quickly as Tab had taught me to do. Adapt to the situation. It was imperative to survival. I played our arrival out in my mind and chewed my bottom lip until Haziel’s chuckle interrupted me.

“Sleep first. Come with me.”

I got up and followed him to an office with an old brown leather couch. He opened a cupboard and pulled down a pillow and blanket, holding them out to me.

“I am sorry I have nothing better to offer you,” he said.

“It’s no problem. It’s a lot nicer than some of the places I’ve had to crash in lately.” It was true. Tab had always done his best, but some places couldn’t be avoided, especially not during the heat of pursuit. I sighed heavily but kept it on the inside as Haziel bid me goodnight and slipped back out into the rest of the rectory.

I made up the couch and lay down, hand hanging off the edge and resting on my pack. I thought back to the hotel and Gabriel’s plague of locusts, and I laughed a little to myself. Settling in, I wondered what was happening to Tab. I was scared for him. I was frustrated beyond belief at how long it was taking me to reach him. Most of all, I prayed: to Tab, to God, hell, to anyone who would listen. I prayed that he was somehow safe, that he wasn’t hurt, but truthfully I just didn’t know.

I lay in the dark in the office, and for the first time, felt alone enough to let myself cry. I curled into a ball on my side and gripped the rosary wrapped around my wrist, the wooden beads digging into my skin and tried to take some comfort from it but there was none to be had. I tried valiantly to pull myself together before I unraveled too far, but sometimes, you just need to fall the fuck apart, and boy did I.

I cried myself to sleep, and I have no idea why, but this old story that Piorre once told me swirled through my mind. I think Iaoel had something to do with the imagery that played out against the inside of my eyelids. Maybe it was her way of trying to be a comfort. Who knows? Our relationship was really, really complicated. Anyways, once upon a time, an item from Japan had come through the old antique shop, and Piorre had told me this fascinating fact about ninjas or samurai, I can’t remember which.

He’d said, that they purposefully broke their arms and legs, because they had figured out that once the bone had mended, the place where it’d been broken was that much stronger. Maybe my falling to bits was a lot like that. Maybe my falling apart right now, where no one could see me, was me breaking so when I mended, by morning I could face some of this a little bit stronger for having broken. A kaleidoscope of color burst behind my eyes, and I took it to mean that
yes
that was exactly what this meant.

I sniffed, hard and muttered, “This does not make us friends. We will
never
be friends, not after what you’ve done.”

The presence in my mind went as dark and silent as the room, contrite I think, but I didn’t care. I settled in a little bit more, salt dripping from the end of my nose, my head on the arm of the couch, the pillow clutched defensively to my chest. It was still dark outside when I woke to Haziel shaking my shoulder gently, thrusting a steaming mug of coffee beneath my nose.

“Come break fast with me, Child,” he said and slipped from the room. I sat up, tried the coffee and grimaced. Black was not my favorite, but fuck it. I didn’t want to be rude. I took a deep breath and choked it down as fast as I could before grabbing my stuff. I left the blanket and pillow neatly folded, because I’m not a shitty houseguest, and went out into the little kitchen and dining area.

“Sit. Eat.”

Haziel spooned oatmeal into a bowl, and I was surprised to find I was famished. I bolted half of it down while he watched. He didn’t comment, but topped off my bowl after it was three quarters gone. I killed it, ate every last bit and some toasted English muffin too, feeling a little guilty for eating him out of house and home, but knowing that I apparently needed it.

“Good.” He nodded his approval after I pushed the bowl away from me, and with a gusty sigh he said, “Come. We’re going to be late.”

We went out to the old Mercedes and got in. I made a strong mental note, that when we got to the prison I would need to climb over the center and over the seats to get out on Haziel’s side. Otherwise it would look like the passenger door popped open of its own accord. That wouldn’t be awkward or anything. I mentioned it to Haziel as we drove, and he smiled broadly.

“Clever girl,” he praised and I thought back to the few times Tab had ever said something like it. Usually it was just a terse ‘Good!’ followed by ‘Very good.’ If I’d really done well, but nothing more than that. I kind of missed his brisk responses now that they were gone, when before, all I did was hate them, figuring he was just being a condescending ass. Ironic, huh?

We pulled through the imposing chain link gates of West Livingston Prison, and I asked, “Can they see something if I’m not touching it?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, why?”

“My pack, I should keep it with me.”

Haziel searched my face and finally said, “You have nothing to fear here, there will be time enough to fetch it.”

I debated internally about it for a good long while before finally deciding to leave it. However, I kept my messenger bag and God’s canteen with me. No way was I parting with either of those. I crossed the center console of the car and slipped out the driver’s side door while Haziel seemed to fiddle in his pockets. Once I was clear, he ‘found’ whatever he was looking for and shut the door.

He straightened, one of the guards greeting him by name. “Hey, Father Gallagher, what’d you stop for yesterday?”

Haziel smiled at the guard, beaming actually, and told him, “An errant bee, my boy! I figured it best I let him go home.”

“Ah, good call. It’d suck to get stung. You aren’t allergic are you?”

I tuned out their conversation and followed Haziel, making sure to be close but not to touch or crash into him if he stopped suddenly. The guard fell into step beside the older-looking priest and it suddenly occurred to me that he looked the way he did. I had yet to meet an Angel of anything who appeared older. I filed that information away for later as we made our way through buzzing doors and crashing bars and gates. We passed down narrow, institution-green hallways and arrived at a door with that thick glass with the chicken wire embedded into it.

Haziel took a set of keys from his pocket and let us in through the door, a small chapel on the other side.

“See you around, Padre,” the guard remarked, laughing. I slipped into the chapel ahead of Haziel and turned. Above the door a line of eight by ten photo portraits stretched along the ceiling, the length of the wall the door was set into. A different priest’s name resided under each picture, but I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the family resemblance. The age spectrum varied, but if you looked closely, you could see that they were all Haziel.

“Nice pictures,” I commented.

“I do what I have to in order to continue my work,” he went to the desk in the back of the room and sat down heavily behind it.

“And what’s your work, precisely?” I asked, dropping into the chair across from him, “What does the self-professed ‘Angel of Monsters’ do?”

He looked off to the side at nothing in particular and took off his glasses, setting them gently on the desk between us. He rubbed his eyes and asked me, “You remember the tale of my beloved Arachne?”

“Yes,” I answered evenly and I felt for him. The pain was still so very clear, etched in the deep lines of his face.

“She was not beyond redemption,” he sighed heavily, “She simply wasn’t given a chance. She was deemed a monster, made into one, and that was not a fate that she deserved. No one deserves such a fate.”

“And so you’re here, hanging out on death row with a bunch of dudes deemed unredeemable.”

“And so I am here,” he agreed, nodding.