When we last left our intrepid heroes, they had just recently raided Donovan etc's underground lair and retrieved an interesting sword.  In the process, Sean cut off Donovan's hand, but angels, much like certain action figures, have reattachable limbs (though Donovan will bear a nasty scar)  Honestly, that's really the major event of note that happened last time, except for the weird blood shlopping all over everything.  Luckily that problem cleared itself up, at least for now.

That morning, I noticed Metatron was missing.  I asked Cadmiel about it while he made himself toast.

“Probably just went to report or something,” he answered vaguely, slathering butter onto his bread.  “He’ll be back.”

I thought of the strange room I’d seen in Heaven, and the torture device inside it.  I doubted Metatron used that thing for reporting.

Cadmiel tore into his toast. “Don’t worry about it.”

Outside, Sean was doing pushups on the grass.  Cadmiel lit a cigarette and watched him from the deck.

“Ready to train?” Sean said.

“After you do about fifty more of those,” Cadmiel exhaled smoke.

Sean supported himself with one hand, using the other for an obscene gesture.  Even so, he obeyed dutifully.

“At least he’s taking it seriously,” Tialiel said, appearing by my side holding a glass of orange juice.  I eyed the glass, thinking that they sure ate a lot for astral beings.

Cadmiel shook his head and didn’t reply.

Today Sean used the bone sword to fence.  While the practice sword Donovan broke had been merely a shadow of Cadmiel’s exquisite rapier, the bone sword was a real weapon, and it made Cadmiel sweat.

“I’m still not sure about that weapon,” Anael said.  He bit into the pearl skin of a hardboiled egg, probably looted from the glass pot Mom prepared earlier. “I wish I could study it.”

“It’s not just that,” Tialiel said, “You’d think they were protecting the sword, right?  But they barely fought for it.”

“Are you kidding?” I said.  “Donovan lost a hand.”

“Exactly,” Tialiel replied.  “That’s how I knew something was wrong.  Sean has brute strength, but he’s still not really a skilled fighter.  Ireul is.  He was sloppy on purpose.”

“But why would they want him to take the sword?” I pressed.

“That’s what I can’t figure out,” Anael said. “then again, there’s something very odd about that weapon.”

As he said this, Sean cut Cadmiel’s arm.  Blood spilled onto the sword, disappearing against the bone even as it dripped onto the grass.

“Like that, for example,” Tialiel shuddered.

“I was thinking more about its material structure,” Anael said. “That it’s made of bone.”

I thought it over in my head and said, slowly, because I had a feeling I was about to look stupid, “It…it has to be made of, y’know, dead bone, right?  Wouldn’t that be too brittle?  I mean, don’t bones dry out?”

I finished weakly as they stared at me, “…or something.”

“No, you’re right,” Anael said.  “It’s not human bone.”

“Unless it’s enchanted,” Tialiel put in.

“That’s true,” Anael said. “I wish I could just chip off a piece.”

“Sean would love that,” I said.

“He is a brat, isn’t he,” Anael said without emotion. “If only I’d known Gabriel had a son.  I would have raised him properly.”

“You didn’t know?” I blinked.

“No,” Anael said. “I didn’t even know they were married until ten years after the fact.”

“But,” I said, “the way you described them…”

“I knew of them more than I knew them, really,” Anael said.

“But, you and Gabriel are twins, right?”

“Yes,” Anael said, and he wouldn’t elaborate further.

When I looked to Tialiel, he shrugged, and I took it as a cue not to press the matter.

Instead I wondered when Metatron would be back.

Eventually I got tired of watching Sean and Cadmiel fight.  Inside the house, I turned on the television and poured myself a Coke.  The noise comforted me, but I focused on the fizz swirling in my plastic goblet.  It was preferable to any show.  Television and video games used to be my escape, but trying to escape now seemed sort of pointless.  I sighed into the cup.

Anael, transformed into a female, pulled up a chair at the kitchen table.

“You can ask me about Gabriel, you know,” she said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Oh,” I said, “I just…don’t want to pry.”

“Not much to pry into,” Anael said.  “There’s no bad blood or anything.  We simply never saw each other.”

I swallowed a gulp of Coke. “Why not?”

“Hm,” Anael said. “Let’s say I didn’t get out much.”

“I can relate to that,” I said.

“I’m not too popular up there,” Anael said, raising a thumb.

“I can relate to that, too,” I said. “Except, you know, down here.”

“Yes, well,” Anael went on, “Cadmiel and Tialiel approached me about Gabriel and Samael’s disappearances.  I decided to accompany them and the Metatron on their investigation.”

“Um,” I said, “What will you do when this is all over with?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…are you all going to take Sean back with you?  Up to Heaven?”

Anael covered my palm with hers.  “Claris, honey.”

She touched her fingers to her lips, smiling at my naivete.  “You’re assuming we’ll all live through this.”

“Y-yes,” I stammered.  “That would be ideal.”

Anael looked out the windows.  “They’re relentless.”

I followed her line of vision.  Bloody wounds cut wide swaths across both Sean and Cadmiel’s bodies, their clothes were shredded and muddy.  Still their swords continued to clash, one blade clean, the other cloaked in crimson.

Anael slid her tongue over her lower lip.

That was enough for me.  I headed upstairs and threw myself on the couch.  Usually if anything was bothering me, I talked to Sean about it.  Since he’d started spending all his time training, I’d talked to Metatron.  But he wasn’t here either.

Alistair and Necavi commandeered the upstairs television for their fighting game.  I stared at the walls, sipping my drink and listening to them curse each other.  I felt pretty alone, considering the house was full of people.

Briefly, I pictured myself hanging from the ceiling fan.  I could think of a few people who wouldn’t mind.

Alistair, as if sensing I was having these types of thoughts, put down his controller.  Necavi played on his own while Alistair perched on the couch’s arm.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Hmm,” I said, into my Coke, “nothing makes sense and everyone’s fine with it but me?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m fine with it,” Alistair said slowly.

“But you’ve been done there and done this, right?  You’ve gotten the proverbial t-shirt,” I said.  “This shouldn’t even be happening to me.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But it is.”

“And there’s nothing you can do about it, so stop your whining,” Necavi said, otherwise completely focused on his game.

“Um, that wasn’t what I was going for,” Alistair said.  I stuck out my tongue at Necavi’s back.

“It’s true,” Necavi shrugged.  He put down the controller and faced us.  I retracted my tongue hastily.  He went on, “I don’t know what makes you think I find this situation enjoyable.  Because I don’t.  I simply can’t tolerate heinous acts committed out of my jurisdiction.”

“But, um,” I said, “don’t you want the world to end?”

“Not if I’m not the one doing it,” he replied.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Necavi.”

“And I suppose I’m not as stuck on the idea as I used to be,” he muttered.

“Anyway, time for a rematch,” Necavi threw the other controller at Alistair.

“Do you need anything, Claris?” asked Alistair as he caught it.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, getting up.  “I’m gonna go check on Sean and them.”

Sean was walking in as I descended the back steps.  Sweat dripped from his blood and dirt smeared skin, and his long hair matted and stuck to his neck and back.  He tossed the bone sword onto the kitchen table and grunted, “Time for work.”

“But you look exhausted,” I said.

“No worries,” he said. “I feel fine.”

He crossed the room and opened the door to the garage.  He waved goodbye and left.

“So sad,” Anael said, pouncing on the bone sword.  “For you, that is.”

I left Anael to his examination and trod miserably up to my room, feeling terribly alone.  I changed into a long nightshirt and hid myself beneath the covers, not sure of whether to sleep or cry.

The soft fluff of Donovan’s feather comforted me, and I held it tightly until it was damp from the moisture of my hand.  The silence and my own breathing lulled me into a light sleep, which eventually progressed into deep, dreamless slumber.

I awoke to the sound of the shower running.  A quick glance at the alarm clock told me that it was about seven in the morning, so I knew it wasn’t my brother in there.  A pair of black drawstring pants on the floor confirmed my suspicion.

When the bathroom door opened I dove under the covers.

“You know you wanna look,” Sean teased, prodding the comforter with his forefinger.

“Cut that out,” I squirmed.

A moment later he said, “Alright, it’s safe.”

I wasn’t sure if I trusted him, so I sat still under the sheets, pondering.  Impatiently, he jumped onto the bed and yanked back the covers.  I instinctively shrunk back.

“Relax, baby,” he said, gesturing to his lower body.  “See?  Pants.  Just for you.”

“You’re too kind,” I said.

“I know, I really am,” he sighed, stretching out on his back, cracking his knuckles.  His ankles hung over the right side of my bed, while his hair fell in a straight cascade down the left.

“So I guess you’re not fired, huh?”

“Nah,” he said, “It’s not that surprising.  There aren’t many people willing to work a graveyard shift, in a graveyard, digging graves…”

“Why do you work the graveyard shift?”

“I dunno, ‘cause it’s spooky?” he rolled over onto his stomach. “I guess because it’d be kind of disconcerting for visitors to see someone digging a grave.  Especially a visage as brilliant as mine.”

“Right,” I said, poking his bare back with my big toes.

“I don’t know how you stand it, Claris,” he grinned beneath his bangs.

“Yes, I don’t know how I haven’t gone blind from the sheer glory of your face.”

“It’s really a mystery,” he agreed in solemn tones.

I disappeared under the covers again.  All last night I had waited for and thought of him, and now that he was here I had nothing to say.  But I liked the weight of his body on my sheets.

He shifted, possibly sitting up, but he didn’t pull back the covers again.  I sat with my blankets over my head for a while before emerging, to find him holding a feather.

Donovan’s feather.

“Where did you get this?” he said, very quiet.

Oh, God.

“U-um…” I stammered, grasping at the blankets, bunching them up in my hands.  “I…”

His eyes moved from the feather to me, coolly expectant and foreboding.  I wished for the skills of a liar, and blurted, “It’s Donovan’s.”

“Donovan?” His tone strangled.  He clenched and unclenched his fist, as if wanting to rend the feather to the bone.  “Donovan.”

“Yes…” I said, “A while ago, he visited…”

He wasn’t listening. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, he sa-said he would kill you—“

He dropped the feather and crawled towards me, bringing his nose and lips a breadth away from my own, knowing that wasn’t the real reason.  He repeated, very softly.  “Why didn’t you tell me.”

I kneaded my comforter in my fingers, mute with terror.

Sean withdrew.  “You really don’t trust me at all, do you.”

“No,” I whispered. “That’s not it.”

“What is it, then?”

“Well, I, I mean,” I was faltering, my voice was struggling in my throat. “You know.”

“I know?  What do I know?” The softness of his voice was intolerable, it was, like his expression, cold and sad.  It hurt to feel his eyes on my face.

“You know,” I tried again, forcing myself to hold eye contact, “you know I get scared easily.”

I inhaled. “And so-sometimes, you’re a sca-scary person.”

“Have I not told you that I’d never hurt you?” Sean said. “I don’t know how many more times you want me to say it.”

“I’m not so worried about you hurting me.”

In all the years of being friends with Sean, of crying in front of him, of saying every ignorant, stupid thing imaginable, I had never seriously told him that he was insane.  Talking about the how of his insanity would lead to the why, and the when, and the where.  I knew him well enough to understand that such a conversation would not go well.

“I dunno,” I said lamely.  “All I can say is I’m so-sorry.”

Sean slid noiselessly off the bed, and started to walk away.

“Sean,” I said.

He stood with his back to me and shrugged his shoulders.  He muttered tonelessly.  “Forget about it, apology accepted.”

I sank down against the headboard.  That had not gone well.
 
 

Sleep wasn’t happening.  I left my bed and crept through the darkened house, turning the lights on and off as I moved through the hallway, down the stairs, to the kitchen.

The angels weren’t around, at least not anyplace I could see them.  The bone sword was gone from the kitchen table.

I crossed the backyard, cringing, the moist grass and soft ground squelching beneath my sandals, rising up to dirty and tickle my feet.  I hugged myself and took striding steps, vainly trying to avoid sullying the hems of my pajama bottoms.

I scaled the short fence, stumbling onto the grass and splattering mud onto my pants.

“The things I do,” I sighed, trudging towards the shed.  Nails protruded from the shed’s doorframe, stained with rust and blood.  Sometimes Sean caught fish and rabbits.

Chains hanging from the open door swung in the wind, clinking together.  Mosquitoes and other small, long dead bugs clung to the window’s ripped mesh screen.  I stepped into the meager light afforded by the dim lightbulb attached to a cord strung up in the ceiling.

Sean, lying on his cot, stared at the rotted wood ceiling, his arms folded behind his head.  He turned his face to me, slowly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said.

He made room for me on the cot.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me,” I said.

He didn’t answer, but instead lay back down, resting his head in my lap.  I stroked his hair.

“It did save my life,” I tried, “when you were up in Heaven.”

He groaned.  “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t have needed it if I’d been there.”

“D’you want me to get rid of it?”

“I dunno,” he sighed. “No.  Maybe.  Let’s not talk about this.”

“Okay,”  I said, twining a lock of his hair around my fingers.  “Um…”

“Let’s not talk about anything.”

So I just stroked his hair, leaning my head against the flimsy walls, comfortable on the soft sheets I’d given him.  After a while I whispered, “I really do trust you, Sean.”

For a long time he stayed quiet.  I started falling asleep, and I barely noticed when he pulled my hand into his, his nails touching lightly against the veins of my wrist, quivering on my lifeline.  He pressed my hand against his chest and murmured, “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

I woke up with a stiff back, alone on the cot, face sticky and too warm.  My feet dragged through the dewy grass in an agonizing procession, my knees trembled with ache.

“Good morning, Claris,” Cadmiel said, as I slouched through the kitchen and began crawling up the stairs.  I was fixed on the idea of a shower and a change of clothes, so I muttered a hello without even looking at him.

“You might want to hang on a minute,” Cadmiel said.

“Shower,” I whined, hanging my head, pressing my forehead against the carpeted stairs.

He plucked me gently from the stairs, leading me by the hand to the kitchen table. All the angels and Sean were gathered around the bone sword, which again lay across the center of the table, along with a newly made scabbard.

I slid into an empty chair, and Sean patted my hair in sympathy.

“As I said, I ran some tests on this sword last night,” Anael said. “Like we suspected, it’s made of bone.”

He tapped the sword’s blade.  “Specifically, the bone from an angel’s wings.”

“What?” Cadmiel said.  Tialiel covered his mouth in horror, Sean looked at me and shrugged.

“Yes,” Anael said, smiling as if savoring Cadmiel and Tialiel’s repulsion.

“I feel a sudden need for vomit,” Cadmiel said, paling visibly.

“But it’s not hollow,” Sean said.  “So how do you know it’s a wingbone?”

“It’s been filled with something,” Anael said.  “I can’t identify the substance, it’s somewhat gelatinous.”

Anael produced a knife from the pocket of his jeans. “There’s something else I want to show you.”

The outline of his face shifted, as his hips widened and his body curved, his shirt straining against suddenly full breasts.  Anael set the knife against her flat, open palm and sliced her own skin.  I winced, half closing my eyes as blood spilled from her hand onto the sword’s blade.  I focused on the blood, which dissolved on the bone, leaving behind a shimmering, clear film.  Anael ran a finger over this film and held it up to the light.

“The sword isn’t ‘drinking’ the blood, as we previously supposed,” she explained.  “It’s purifying it, into water.”

“Are you kidding?” Cadmiel balked.

“Why’s that so hard to believe?” Sean said.  “I mean, if you can make a sword out of an angel’s wingbone in the first place.”

Cadmiel started to sneer, but Tialiel spoke first. “If it can purify, that means it’s sanctified, holy—even though it’s been separated from the body.  See, angels’ bodies are incorruptible, that is, they don’t decay after death, and that includes the wings.  But if you dismember the wings, they’ll lose their sanctity, and decay into dirt, usually.”

He pursed his lips in disapproval. “It’s so disrespectful.  I guess you could compare it to defacing a corpse or a grave or something like that, something you’d only do to someone you hated.  Like every fiber of your being kind of hate.”

“Which brings us to the important questions,” Anael said.  “Who did this, and who was it done to?”

“And why,” Cadmiel said, with deep disgust.

“Actually, I’m really more interested in the how,” Anael said. “Clearly the wings were dismembered, but how can the sanctity remain?”

“Wait,” Cadmiel said, “you were able to pick it up?”

“It didn’t reject me, for some reason,” Anael shrugged. “Perhaps it accepted my intentions.  It does seem to have some degree of sentience.”

Cadmiel grumbled, “Why would my intentions be any less acceptable than yours.”

“Because I’m a scientist,” Anael said. “My intentions are always acceptable.”

Cadmiel’s expression said he begged to differ.

“Thanks for the anaylsis,” Sean said.  He grabbed the scabbard and sheathed the sword, then threaded the scabbard’s strings through his belt loops.  “I’ll be going now.”

“Where?” I said.

“It’s nothing,” Sean waved his hand. “Just got some business to attend to.”

“What would that be?” Cadmiel said.

Sean was already out the door.  He called back, “I’m gonna go trim some hedges.”

“The hell he is,” Cadmiel said.  “Tialiel, let’s follow him.”

Tialiel jumped at the prospect.  “Sure!”

“I’m going too,” I said.

Cadmiel brushed past me as he said, “You are not.”

“I, I am too,” I said. “You can’t stop me.”

“But I can,” Cadmiel said. “We’re flying, and I’m not going to carry you.”

“I’ll carry you,” Tialiel said, earning a glare from Cadmiel. “What?  Why can’t she go along?”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

“That’s never stopped me before,” I insisted, surprising myself by my own persistence.  But I needed to see Sean, because I knew things weren’t okay.  I sensed the violence under his veneer of nonchalance.  He never did deal constructively with emotions.

“There wasn’t a choice before,” Cadmiel said.  “But now you can stay here.  Anael, Necavi and Alistair can all protect you.”

“But—“

Cadmiel took me by the shoulders.  “It’s in your best interest.”

I pleaded. “I have to go, he’s my best friend.”

My lower lip jutted out as I widened my eyes imploringly.

“Don’t make that face.  Have you got a death wish?” Cadmiel’s fingers dug into my shoulders.

“No,” I winced. “But you are hurting me.”

“Sorry.”  He loosened his grip, but continued firmly grasping my shoulders. “Listen, I only want to protect you.  Trust me.”

Frustrated, I broke away from him.  “Trust you?  Why is everyone so hung up on me trusting them!  That’s not even what it’s about.”

Cadmiel blinked.

I took a deep breath. “We-well, not with you, anyway.”

“Oh, alright,” he said.  He pointed back to Tialiel.  “But you’re carrying her.”
 

I closed my eyes to avoid seeing the ground, focusing instead on the heavy, steady beating of Tialiel’s wings.  He held me close, and I let my head rest on his chest.  Tialiel’s arms were soft against my cheeks and calves.  I bet he moisturized.
The sound of his wings mixed with the sound of his heart, and the weakness of sleep crept up around me.  Once, when I was five, I fell asleep on the back of my dad’s motorcycle.  This was a comparable moment, except that I couldn’t quite forget about the shrinking landscape beneath me and what my body would look like were I to slip from Tialiel’s grip.  But all things considered, I was pretty comfortable.

I didn’t try to talk over the rushing wind, so I mumbled, “Where are we?” when Tialiel landed and set me down, though they hadn’t flown very far at all.

“The strip mall,” Cadmiel replied.

“Oh.  Why would he be here?”

“To trim the hedges,” Cadmiel said grimly.

The door to the trinket shop was unlocked, though it was a weekend and thus closed for business.  We made our way to the back silently, me watching Cadmiel anxiously, wondering if he knew about Donovan’s feather too.

The scent of wet, muddy walls struck me as we descended the steps beneath the grate.

“Who’s there?” Lucius called in singsong, the quick patter of his feet echoing against the dirt and rock.

“We’re, uh, looking for Orifiel,” Cadmiel began.

“We thought he might be trying to attack Donovan,” Tialiel said.

“Ohh,” Lucius said.  “Yeah, he came by.  But Donovan’s not home, so he left.”

Cadmiel relaxed. “Really?”

“Yep,” Lucius said. “Actually, Donovan said he was going to he graveyard, so I told Sean to go there if he wanted to say hi.”

“What?” Cadmiel said.  “Why did you do that?”

Lucius shrugged. “Cause he asked?  Also he threatened to cut off my legs.  I didn’t think that sounded very fun.”

Leliel walked up behind Lucius. “What’s going on here?”

“I was just telling them where Donovan and Sean were.”

“And where would that be?”

“The graveyard, remember?”

Leliel’s red lips puckered sourly. “Ireul didn’t tell me he was going there.”

Cadmiel ignored Leliel and Lucius, whipping around and stalking back up the stairs.  “Let’s go Tialiel, Claris.”

“Hey, wait,” Leliel said. “Wait for us.”

Again, Cadmiel did not acknowledge that she had spoken.  It occurred to me that he probably didn’t know her name, but it’s still rude to ignore people.  Even if they are trying to end the world.
“Cadmiel!”

At the top of the steps, Cadmiel paused, his eyes sliding to see her peripherally. “Yes?”

“I said, wait.”

Cadmiel started walking again, followed by Tialiel and me.

“Arrogant bastard,” Leliel said, stomping up behind us, Lucius skipping merrily after.

“Excuse me,” she said, moving carefully past me and Tialiel.  She caught up with Cadmiel and spoke into his ear. “Would you listen to me?”

He met her eyes, but kept moving through the dark store. “Say something worth hearing and I might.”

“What are you hoping to do?  Break up a fight?”

“If I have to.”

“Why would they fight in a public place, in broad daylight?”

“You obviously don’t know Orifiel,” Cadmiel said. “Though I personally find his mental instability rather noticeable.”

Now outside, he took off without waiting for a reply.

“Sorry about him,” Tialiel said, before picking me up and following his friend.
 

We landed some distance away, in a nearby field.  Leliel and Lucius trotted along as we walked down the road in silence.

The graveyard was peaceful and well manicured.  People stood or knelt in front of tombstones, hands clasped, leaving flowers, pruning weeds, praying.  It was the middle of August, but the breeze softened the heat.

“They’re not here,” Cadmiel said, pacing back and forth, shielding the sun from his eyes as he scanned the perimeter, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“I told you,” Leliel said.  She took Lucius by the hand.  “We’re going home.”

Cadmiel puffed on his cigarette, exhaling smoke in their wake as they walked off. “No one asked you to come along in the first place.”

“Er, Cadmiel?” I said. “Shouldn’t you be trying to detain them?”

“No.  I’m more concerned about Orifiel right now,” he took another drag of his cigarette, adding under his breath, “We ought to put a tracker on that boy.”

The doors of the funeral home opened and Sean walked out.

“Are you stalking me?” he said to Cadmiel. “There are other ways to show your affection, you know.”

“Are you working?”

“Just getting my paycheck.”

“See anyone we know?”

“No,” Sean said, not looking at Cadmiel but instead going right up to me. “Hey, Claris.  Wanna go out tomorrow night?”

“Sure,” I said, as Cadmiel said, “They were quick to take you back.”

“It’s not exactly a popular position,” Sean said. “And I happen to be an excellent worker.”

Cadmiel switched tactics. “Why don’t you go out tonight?”

“Because I’m busy, mom.”

“Not finished trimming the hedges?” Cadmiel eyed the sword slung around Sean’s waist.

“Not quite, no.”

Cadmiel finally left off, tiring of Sean’s evasive answers.

But back at the house he took revenge, dragging Sean outside for another grueling training session.  Necavi and Alistair joined us on the deck to spectate.

“Aren’t I done with this yet?” Sean grumbled.  He pulled off his shirt and let loose his hair.  Tialiel smiled appreciatively.

“Not hardly,” Cadmiel said. “First of all, put your hair back.”

Sean obeyed, though grudging and sullen.  His resistance from the past had resurfaced, at least for today.

“Second, you just acquired a new weapon that you clearly don’t know how to handle,” Cadmiel continued, “We'll need to go back to the basics."

At this, Sean grit his teeth, as if he were about to lash out.  But he drew his sword and focused his frustration there, knuckles whitening against the jeweled hilt.

Cadmiel started the sparring, and Sean again became an attentive pupil.

“We should be training as well,” Necavi said.

“Okay,” Alistair opened the back door.

“Not with video games,” Necavi said, reaching over and shutting the door as Alistair turned the knob.

“Oh, right,” he grinned sheepishly.

I lived on several acres of land, so they easily found a corner away from Sean and Cadmiel to spar in.

“Claris, you should train, too,” Anael said.

“Me?  How?”

“Your summoning, darling.  That pendant.”

“Oh,” I said.  The pendant, at first so heavy on my neck, was now a barely noticeable weight.  Its jewel glowed deep, dim purple, imitating my pulse. “Right.”

Anael glanced at Tialiel, sitting on the deck steps, his attentions fixed on the colorful blur of Cadmiel and Sean’s bodies.  For a moment, Anael observed and considered.

Then he took my hand, pulling me past the practice matches going on across my backyard and to the fence that divided my property from the next.  He jumped the fence, and motioned for me to follow.

“I d-don’t like standing in this grass,” I said. “There are sn-snakes.”

The unkempt blades obscured my feet and tickled my calves.  Already I sensed a snake, slithering over the hidden dirt, fangs slavering, ready to bite into my white ankle.

“You’ll be fine,” Anael said. “You’ve seen much worse, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but—“

“Honey,” Anael said, again a female. “Let’s focus.”

Easy for her, I thought, her body’s indestructible.

I dredged up the image of Anhelans, the wind elemental, and gripped the pendant in concentration.  When I had summoned Moreaetas, she told me that he would be easiest for me to call, so he seemed a reasonable choice for practice.

As it turned out, summoning Anhelans wasn’t that much easier than summoning Moreaetas.  I struggled with my focus, feeling again like I was trying to express something I had forgotten, trying to say a word that refused my tongue.

The pool of radiance spread around me again, flattening the shining grass. Wind swirled up around me, shaking the tree branches and ripping over the placid lake nearby.  Searing heat, familiar from my first attempt, flared into my hands and through my body.  The picture of Anhelans sharpened with the pain, until I dropped to my knees and raised my head to see him standing in front of me.

“Hey, how are you?” he said, clapping his hand on my head.

“Ju-just tra-training,” I gasped.

“Good, ‘cause you need a lot of practice,” he said cheerfully.

“Oh, no,” I said, leaning over, hands on my thights, fighting for a tangible breath. “Stick a fork me, ‘cause I am done.”

“Can’t expect too much with such a frail body,” Anael shrugged.

“You should be able to summon quickly, and without effort,” Anhelans. “But I guess it does take time.”

“You know, this is supposed to be my summer vacation,” I groaned.

“Yes, the apocalypse is always so inconvenient,” Anael said.

I let myself fall on my back into the grass, too weak to care about the sticky dirt and insects.  Anhelans watched me as I lay there breathing, perspiration stinging in my vision.

Around me, the grasses parted, and my ears caught faint hissing.  I jumped up, powered by adrenal fear.

“Snake!  Snake!” I hopped around, trying to see its insidious, legless body.

“Oh, I see it,” said Anhelans. “There, by your ankle.”

“Kill it, kill it!”

“Are you sure?  It’s just a garden snake,” he reached down and grabbed the snake by its middle.  “See?  Green, harmless.”

He dropped it, and it slipped away towards the pond. “Need anything else?”

“I dunno,” I said, my voice fading in my ears.  Even his continued presence wore down my energy.

“At least ask him for a spell,” Anael said. “Then we’ll stop.”

I reviewed Anhelans’s cadre of spells, trying to think of one that sounded easy.

“Um… Rejuvenation,” I said.

“Good choice,” Anhelans set his thumbs and forefingers together in a triangle formation.  A soft purple light filled the triangle, bursting out in streams, flowing around my and Anael’s bodies like gossamer ribbons.  The tension and stress ebbed from my muscles, the salty sweat dried on my lips, and the ache in my head lessened.

Still, when his hands dropped, I wanted to do the same.  But it was a comfortable exhaustion, the kind where I could rest on the hard earth and sleep for days, thinking myself on a bed of satin.

“I’d better leave before you pass out,” Anhelans said.  His body broke up as he spoke, becoming particles that scattered in the wind. “Call back soon.”

Anael caught me as I staggered forwards.

“Keep it together,” he said, helping me back to my house.

Swords clanged in my ears as we crossed the yard, but I couldn’t even stretch my neck to see the battles.  Once in my living room I flopped onto the couch, seeing nothing but the carpet.  Soon the carpet gave way to darkness, and I slept.

When I woke up the house was empty and the lights were on.  Outside the world was shaded in early evening, and I heard shouts from the backyard through the tall windows behind me.

I walked onto the deck, rubbing sleep from my eyes, thinking that they must still be training as I could hear the snicker and snack of fierce metal.  But when I unfolded my glasses I saw not Cadmiel and Sean, but Sean and Donovan.

They were certainly not training.  They were quite clearly trying to kill each other.

The other angels observed from the pool, faces expressionless.  But Cadmiel’s head whipped around as my feet beat against the deck’s wooden floorboards.  He thinned his mouth and furrowed his eyebrows, carefully flicking his hand back at my house.  I stepped away, and the traitorous deck muttered under my weight.  But the battle was such a blur that I couldn’t imagine how Donovan and Sean saw each other, much less me.

My hands found my pendant, clutching it for comfort.  I thought it would be all right if I stood noiselessly, but Cadmiel continued to wave me back inside, his terse expression worsening to something like fear.

Abruptly, the battle paused.  Donovan’s claw was pressed to Sean’s throat, pinning him down.  He dug his knees into Sean’s legs and choked him with his bare hand.  His claw he raked across Sean’s chest, deliberately, slowly, as he had not done before.  Sean struggled and squirmed as his veins opened and thick lines of blood welled up on his chest, smearing together like rivers, his scream stifled by Donovan’s stranglehold.

I couldn’t bear it.

“Sean!” I ran, unthinking, full of brave stupidity.

“Don’t!” Cadmiel grabbed my arm and pulled me back, but too late.  Donovan looked up, sneering with bloodlust and madness.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he said. “Didn’t I say I would kill him if you said anything?”

He strode towards me, leaving Sean to gasp and writhe.

Tialiel and Cadmiel tried to stand in front of me, but he knocked them aside easily, catching my wrist with his bloody claws.

“Didn’t I mention something about killing you?” He squeezed my thin wrist and I twisted in agony, whimpering.

“You don’t have it, do you?” he said.  He was right.  The feather, sitting on my bed, cut through the pain to my memory.  I had forgotten to put it back in my pocket.

His grip eased, and I coughed weakly.  “It’s, it’s in my room.”

“That won’t do you any good, will it!” Donovan said.

He slashed my midsection.  My shirt tore, falling in bloody shreds at my feet.

I stared at my bleeding belly in mute shock as Tialiel and Cadmiel, recovered, drew their swords.

Sean called my name over and over, but he was far away, whispering.  Pain numbed every nerve.  All I could see was blood, warm and thick, sticky and wet, like crimson mud coating the entire world.

I blinked, and the scene cleared slightly, filtered through pain and the blood and dirt smeared on my glasses.  I could see the scream in Sean’s mouth but I couldn’t hear it.  I was too tired, and it was too cold.  I felt for something warm and found my pendant again, and then I lay there, barely feeling the breath in my lungs, muscles twitching like a gutted fish waiting to be devoured.

“Shit,” Cadmiel said. “If she would have just stayed inside!”

“I’ll try to find Alistair and Necavi,” Anael said, already running.

“Right, Necavi’s got healing spells,” Cadmiel nodded.

“I can do it.”

Cadmiel glowered at Leliel, who had suddenly stepped out from behind a weeping willow.  Lucius, glowing faintly, hopped down from the tree’s thickest branch.

“You really need to choose a side, lady,” Cadmiel said.

“I have chosen,” Leliel knelt down by Claris and Tialiel. “I’m on Ireul’s side.”

“Then why would you want to help her?” Tialiel said, reluctant to let Leliel’s hand go near Claris’s bloodied body.

“Because I know he’s not in his right mind,” Leliel replied.

“Does he even have a right mind?” Cadmiel said.  He gestured to the continuing battle, which had escalated in intensity.  Sean fought despite the open wound across his chest, with an enraged fervor that matched the hate in Donovan’s eyes.

“Orifiel’s not what I would call stable, either,” Leliel retorted.

“Oh, no,” Cadmiel said. “They’re both insane.  But Orifiel’s not trying to destroy the entirety of existence.”

He paused, and then added, “Not yet, anyway.”

“Look,” Leliel said, “If I don’t help her now, she’s going to die.”

“I don’t want Claris to die,” Lucius nibbled his lip. “I’ve heard it’s bad.”

“I don’t want her to die like this,” Leliel said. “And I know Ireul doesn’t either.”

“You’re crazy, too,” Cadmiel threw up his hands.  “All of you.”

“Maybe,” Leliel said. “But right now that’s irrelevant.”

She held out her arms to Tialiel. “If you don’t let me help her, I’ll have to force you.  And I don’t want to do that.”

Tialiel relented, but he stayed close as Leliel pressed her fingers against Claris’s forehead.  Her glazed, half-open eyes shut completely.

“What’s that bitch doing?” Sean shouted, knocking Donovan away with the hilt of his sword, smashing the bones in the other man’s cheek.

“Helping her,” Tialiel said.

“Allegedly,” Cadmiel said.

Donovan snarled, swiping furiously at the blade of the sword.  “Don’t you dare speak of her that way.”

In Leliel’s lap, Claris’s breathing steadied, becoming deep and even.  The wounds on her wrist and stomach mended slowly.

Tialiel watched with obvious jealousy, his lips parted in awe.

“That technique—“ he said, “that’s the healing sleep, right?”

“Yes,” Leliel said.

“I’ve heard of that technique,” he said slowly. “You must be Leliel.”

“I sure am.” She wasn’t confident or bragging, but tired, her pale skin flushed.

“So you’re the Leliel,” Tialiel said, and Cadmiel decided he had better interject before Tialiel asked for an autograph.

“Of course she is,” Cadmiel said. “There can’t be any other.”

“But you’re, you’re,” Tialiel shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”

Leliel brushed back a lock of Claris's hair that had stuck to her neck. “She’ll need to be cleaned up, and she’ll be asleep for a while, but she’ll be all right.”

The battle that raged before them had slowed.  Donovan was on his knees, his arms broken and useless at his sides.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Sean said.  He was on one knee and his right arm was limp, but he brandished the sword.  Sean brought the blade down on the bones of Donovan’s left wing, and Donovan’s scream of pain demanded everyone’s attention.  The sound vibrated in the air, full of the purest anguish and suffering.  Donovan’s pupils disappeared as Sean brought the sword down again and again, cracking open the wingbones with a horrifying smile.

“Oh, God!” Leliel leaned forward, her cry soft. “Please, stop them!  He’ll die!”

Donovan’s screaming, more intense now as blood flowed onto his feathers from the severed bone, struck Lucius still.

Recognition of the terrible sound showed in his face, and then he was sobbing as he ran.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Lucius threw himself at Sean, wresting the sword from his hand and shoving him away.

Donovan shook uncontrollably, his lips were twisted and silent, his eyes wide and blank.  Leliel left Claris’s side and gathered Donovan close.  His blood disappeared against her black bodysuit and stained her long hair.

“I can’t let you kill him,” she muttered. “I can’t.”

She and Lucius took flight, Leliel’s body invisible against the night sky and Lucius’s glowing brightly as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Fucking brat,” Sean said, stabbing the sword into the wet, black grass.  “I almost had him.”

Cadmiel slapped him.  “What were you thinking?!”

He grabbed Sean by the shoulders and pulled him up violently. “No, never mind, I know.  You weren’t fucking thinking at all.”

“What’s your problem?” Sean said, trying to break free but stumbling because of his injuries.

“You could’ve gotten Claris and yourself killed,” Cadmiel snapped. “I can’t believe you’d arrange to settle things here.”

“She had that feather!” Sean protested.

“Obviously fucking not,” Cadmiel spat. “Look at her.”

He dragged Sean forcibly, holding his head down close to Claris’s body, so he could see her torn clothes, skewed glasses, and the dirt and blood spattered on her skin.

“She’s covered in blood and it’s all your fault,” Cadmiel tossed him down roughly. “It’s no wonder she doesn’t trust you.”

“Cadmiel, he’s badly injured.  Don’t make it worse,” Tialiel said.  He sighed quietly, with a sideways glance at Sean.  “He’s right, though.”

“He’ll be fine,” Cadmiel said.  “Sean, get up and wash off so you can help us with Claris.”

At first Sean clenched his useful fist in indignation, but his fingers relaxed as he looked from Cadmiel to Claris.  Silently he got to his feet.

“What happened?” Shateiel said as Leliel and Lucius carried Donovan to his room.

“He got into a fight,” Leliel grumbled.

“Was the mission completed?”

“Yes.”

Shateiel lingered, staring at Donovan’s fractured wing bones as he trembled and twitched.

“It’s all right,” Leliel said. “I’ll take care of him.”

She propped him up on his bed, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “Ireul, don’t leave me.”

Lucius sat on the floor, speechless, his lips and cheeks glistening with tears.

“Come here, honey,” Leliel said to him, drawing him into a tight hug. “It’ll be okay.  It won’t be easy, but it will be okay.”

Lucius his head in the crook of her elbow and whispered, “I’ve heard that sound before.  I have, I’ve heard it.”

“I know, baby,” she said, drying his tears with her sleeves. “Listen, would you bring me a damp cloth?  To help Ireul.”

Lucius nodded and left the room.

On the bed, Donovan spasmed, and Leliel reached for him, but he scooted away, pressing himself against the headboard and shaking.

“Let me help you,” Leliel pleaded, grasping for him.  He thrashed, tossing his head from side to side, clawing the air with his pale, filthy hands.

“If you don’t let me help you, you’re going to die.”

His movement ceased, his hands collapsing on his lap, though his chest heaved, swollen with quick, shallow breaths.

With silence and care, Leliel tried again.

Before her fingertips reached his forehead, he caught her wrists.

“Ireul,” she said warningly, and he stared at her, through her, his pupils contracted into pinpoints, leaving only glossy, discolored amber.

Light surrounded Leliel, hot and unforgiving.  Panic rose in her throat as the light enveloped her, scalding her hair and skin.  The red drained from her lips, leaving them naked and smoking, the light was so bright that she couldn’t see anything but searing whiteness.  She opened her mouth to scream and the violent light flooded in, destroying her as it dove past her tongue and into her lungs and heart and gut.

Her hair turned white, her suit whitened and burned off, she was naked and burning to death, choking on the light.

“Ireul!” she screamed.  “Ireul, please!”

She felt tears falling and heard herself screaming for him, but still the light was killing her.  She thrust her fists forward, beating against it and crying until it died down.

She was pummeling Donovan’s chest, and as soon as her vision cleared she drew back in horror.

“I’m sorry,” Donovan gasped out. “I’m so sorry, I can’t help it, I can’t stop myself.”

He pulled her against him, hugging her close and ferocious, whispering in a shredded voice.  “I’m sorry, Lily, I’m so sorry, I love you and I don’t want to hurt you but I might and I will and I—“

Leliel covered his mouth with one hand and his forehead with the other.

“Shh, Ireul,” she said. “Just rest now.”

He slid down against the headboard and onto his pillow, limp.

Lucius ran in clutching a sopping wet terrycloth. “Are you okay? I heard screaming.”

“It’s fine now,” Leliel wiped tears from her lashes and took the terrycloth.  She turned Donovan onto his stomach and began washing the blood off his bones.

When she had cleaned and bandaged him, she gently laid his blanket over him and kissed the top of his matted hair.

Then she left, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Someone’s hand was running through my hair.  I knew without searching that it was Sean.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” I said.  I observed the ceiling of my room and the gently whirring fan attached to the light.  Sun slipped in through closed blinds, perhaps it was afternoon.  My stomach was sore. “What’s up?”

“I’m a fucking bastard,” he said.  His body was covered in gauze and bandages, particularly around his left arm.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I said.

“It’s the gospel according to Cadmiel.”

“I still like you.”

“I almost got you killed.”

The remembrance of Donovan cutting up my midsection with his claws flared up in my mind’s eye.  I pushed up my t-shirt and dug my chin into my sternum to see my stomach, which was free of any sign of trauma, though still tender.

“I seem to be okay.”

I scratched behind my ear. “My neck’s a little itchy, though.”

“Mine, too,” he said. “Probably some peasant of an insect flitting about.”

He proceeded to explain how Leliel healed me, and how he nearly killed Donovan, and how Cadmiel slapped him like a little bitch.

“What did he do that for?”

“We’ve covered this material,” Sean said. “I’m a fucking bastard.”

“He thought settling things with Ireul in your backyard was a sound plan,” Cadmiel said from the doorway.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, it is a big open space.”

“Yes, in the middle of a residential area,” Cadmiel rolled his eyes. “It’s one thing when they come here on their own, but to invite them…”

“Alright, alright, get off my case,” Sean grumbled. “So I made a mistake, Christ.  Like it’s never happened to you.”

“The occasion is rare,” Cadmiel said. “Anyway, Claris, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Leliel’s quite impressive,” Cadmiel said.

“Sean said she saved me,” I nodded.

Tialiel piped up behind Cadmiel. “She’s well known in Heaven, or at least, she used to be.  She was a doctor.”

“Angels need doctors?” I said.

“Not in the same sense as you, no,” Cadmiel said. “Hospitals in Heaven are generally more places to recover than to be treated.  But severe injuries like damage to the wings, those require treatment.”

“In the last big war, Leliel became known for her healing sleep ability—it was perfect for regulating the violent delirium associated with recovering wing trauma patients,” Tialiel explained, equal parts admiration and envy. “But she sort of dropped off the face of the earth, if you will, some time ago.”

“You can get her signature next time we see her,” Cadmiel said dryly.

“You’re just jealous,” Tialiel flicked one of Cadmiel’s long bangs.

Cadmiel coughed and changed the subject. “Anyway, we have a problem.  Necavi and Alistair are missing.”

“Missing?” I echoed.

“Anael couldn’t find them the other day,” he said. “They went inside after they finished training and just vanished.”

“That’s not good,” I said.

“Definitely not,” Cadmiel said.

Tialiel tugged on Cadmiel’s jacket. “Anael said he might have some ideas on what happened.  Why don’t we go talk to him?”

“What?  No, he didn—“ Cadmiel started, but Tialiel was pulling him away by the collar, waving to me with his other hand.

When they were gone, Sean said, “That guy, Tialiel.  He’s not so bad.”

“I like him a lot,” I said.

Lightly I prodded one of Sean’s bandages. “I think these are becoming a fashion accessory for you.”

“Sexy, no?” he said, smiling for just a moment, quickly regaining solemnity. “Claris, aren’t you angry with me?”

“No,” I said.  “Sh-should I be?”

“I endangered you.  I didn’t protect you.”

“It’s like you said.  Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Ah, I see.  Making me feast on my words,” he said. “Why don’t you just scream at me and tell me you never want to see me again?”

“Because it’s not true?” I rolled onto my side, wincing just a bit for my stomach. “Listen, Sean.  I know you would never hurt me, not deliberately, I know that.  I trust you.  I just… I don’t always trust your frame of mind sometimes.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait, let me get a tape recorder,” I joked.

“Meh,” he stuck out his tongue. “I guess here’s the part where I say I’ll never do this again.”

“But we both know that would be a lie,” I said.  “So how about just a try harder to tell me next time you feel like inviting someone over to kill him.”

“I think I can do that.”

Yes, yes you did.  No really... lots of important things in this chapter, but now it is finally time to move from setup to execution (BLOODY EXECUTION, HAHAHA.).  Maybe. :B

Next chapter: Metatron returns, but something is amiss!   Lucius begins the latest puberty in the history of creation!  Donovan froths at the mouth! Sean fights Tialiel!  And whatever happened to Alistair and Necavi?  And WHAT ABOUT FRANK*?

(* - there is no frank)

Y'all know the drill: Email me or post. (please. ;___; show me love.  even just to say you are indeed still reading despite the viciously long waits)