No Shadows Fall (22 page)

“Because Ondrass sounded rather smug about where they were going to wait for us, and he chose Armenia. Now, I don’t think he and I frequent the same sort of establishments when we’re off duty, considering his idea of entertainment would be my idea of Hell, so it would stand to reason that Lyudmila would be his choice of hostess.”

“As you say.” Michael didn’t sound convinced.

“He better not hurt her,” Gabriel said.

“I concur.” Raziel stretched out his legs. “So, apart from you two, who is coming with me to this meeting tomorrow?”

“How do you know Gabriel and I will attend with you?” Michael asked.

“Because Gabriel likes Lyudmila, and you both distrust Ondrass.” Raziel looked from Michael to Gabriel and back again. “Or I could be wrong and you’re not coming?”

“We are coming,” Michael said firmly.

“Right, then.” Raziel looked around the room.

“I’ll come,” Uriel said.

“Can you control your desire to lop Ondrass’s head off? And Adramelek’s as well, for that matter?”

“I’ll put a lid on my impulses,” Uriel said drily. “If Gabriel can hold himself back from killing those annoying asses, then I can too.”

Gabriel laughed. “Believe me, Uri, it’s damn hard. They’re so
smug.
”

“Because they know it annoys us.” Raziel grinned. “Try and be smug back. Give them a taste of their own medicine and see how they like it.”

“I suppose,” Gabriel said after a moment’s thought. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m so glad that’s sorted.” Raziel looked at Hiwa and Ahijah. “You two been in trouble with demons lately?”

They both shook their heads in denial.

“You sure?” Raziel’s eyes narrowed. “Because I do not want any nasty surprises tomorrow.” He hesitated a moment, weighing up his options. “We already know of your mission to protect the surviving Nephilim, Ahijah.”

Ahijah started violently, as if Raziel had punched him. He paled, his golden-brown skin almost light as a bed sheet.

“W-what? I haven’t… no, you’re wrong!”

Raziel laughed. “Have you
met
me, Ahijah? I’m the Archangel of Secrets and Mysteries. If any one of us is going to know about your little project, it would be me. As it happens, we all know about it, but what I need to know now is this: do the demons know about it?”

Ahijah opened and closed his mouth several times. Finally finding his voice, he shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.” Then he looked at Michael. “Are you going to kill me now, Michael?”

Michael looked astonished at the question; then his expression became sad. “No, Ahijah, I am not.”

Ahijah’s own expression was bewildered. “I broke a law.”

“And we’ve been told what to do about it, so say a prayer of thanksgiving,” Uriel drawled. “Also, pinch your cheeks, you’re so pale you look dyspeptic.”

Raziel laughed.

Michael sighed. “Uriel, must you?”

“Yes. So, tomorrow”—Uriel turned to Raziel—“do you think we’ll need anything?”

“What do you mean?” Raziel asked.

“Well, as a gift of apology to your werewolf friend. I mean, we are sort of taking over her home.”

“Oh.” Raziel considered it. “It wouldn’t hurt. Her home is very, very small, Uri. I think you’re going to be in for a rather large surprise with Lyudmila and her consort.”

“Who’s her consort?” Uriel asked.

“His name’s Piotr.” Raziel suddenly laughed. “You two will get on like a house on fire.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re very similar,” Raziel explained.

Uriel huffed at that but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His expression spoke volumes of just how wrong he thought Raziel was.

Agrat, grinning from ear to ear, asked, “Isn’t Piotr Russian?”

“Oh yes.” Raziel laughed. “Very Russian. He looks like Lenin.”

Agrat began to laugh. Shateiel beside her, soundless in his own mirth, laughed as well.

“What have I missed?” Raziel looked from one to the other as Uriel glowered.

“Not one word,” Uriel growled.

“When we were in Russia,” Samael said, his voice full of amusement, “Agrat noted how much Uriel would like the Russian people. She said that their tenacity and strength of will was much like Uriel’s own. Now you say that Piotr, consort of the Queen of the Eastern Bloc Weres, would get on well with Uriel. Piotr, who is very Russian.”

Uriel rolled his eyes. “I suppose eventually there’d be a race of the carbon apes that wouldn’t totally offend me. I’m not sure this has happened yet, though, so laugh it up while you can.”

“Oh, I plan to,” Agrat grinned.

Raziel shook his head, amused. “Oh, Uri,” he said fondly.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Raziel ruffled Uriel’s hair, and Uriel huffed once more.

“My sons have been busy,” Ishtahar said then. Her expression and her voice were calm. “I am not surprised at what you have done, Ahijah.”

Ahijah turned to face her. “Are you angry, Mother?”

She smiled at him. “No, dear one, I am not. I understand why you did it. They are your kin, the last of your kin. Family is dear to us, no matter where they come from.”

“Semjaza’s family too, Mama,” Hiwa pointed out, “and he isn’t dear to any of us.”

“Semjaza is not family.” The smile faded from Ishtahar’s face. “Semjaza lost the right to call himself that when he sought to rule us by fear.”

Hiwa frowned. “Was there a time that he didn’t?”

Ishtahar sighed. “Once, long ago, he made a pretense at being kind and compassionate. Not long after Ahijah was born was when he began to change. Oh, I know you Archangels have no love for him. I know that you believe many of the things he did to humanity were repugnant, and so they were. Yet, without him, I would not have my sons, and so I cannot damn him entirely.”

“You are very forgiving, my lady Ishtahar,” Michael said quietly.

“No,” she said after a moment’s pause, “I think I am more pragmatic. I will not grieve when he is killed, for I know that you will all see to it that his death is the outcome of this latest action of his. But if it had not been for him, I would not be alive today and my sons would not have been born. My life as his high priestess was meant to be one of servitude to Hashem and to all of angelkind, a life of religious observance and celibacy. Semjaza himself changed that to take me as his wife and to bear him children.”

“Sometimes I think we are a great disappointment to you, Mama,” Hiwa said.

She smiled again. “No, my son, you are not. Although I know you have lived a… colorful life, with your tattoos and your long periods of incarceration in prisons around the Russian land. I would that you had made different choices, perhaps, but I will not condemn you for the ones you did make. You are still my son, Hiwa, no matter what. As are you, Ahijah.”

There was a long silence at that. Raziel was once again awed by Ishtahar. Her calm acceptance of events and decisions made by others was unfathomable to him. Although it was God’s Word that Archangels, and indeed, all of angelkind, could not interfere in humanity’s right of free will and freedom of choice, Raziel often wished that he could. He knew he was not alone in that wish, but he also knew that was what had started the whole downfall of the Grigori and the expulsion from Eden.

“Thank you, Mother,” Ahijah said. “For understanding.”

“You do not need to thank me,” Ishtahar said. “Have you eaten?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Ahijah’s lips. “Yes, Mother.”

“Good. And you, Hiwa?”

“Yes, Mama.”

She nodded, pleased.

“You are a very good woman, Ishtahar,” Samael said in his soft, rich-timbre voice. “You shine like the moon and the sun.”

Ishtahar blushed prettily. “Dear Samael,” she said fondly, “you are as ever the poet.”

Samael smiled at her. “With such a muse as you, my lady, it is impossible not to be.”

Ishtahar laughed at that. “You are very kind.”

“Oy,” Remiel said, pretending to be offended, “keep your eyes off my lady, Sammy.”

Samael laughed. “Peace!” He held up his hands in surrender. “You are both very well suited to each other,” he said.

Remiel’s smile was warm as he looked first at Ishtahar and then at Samael. “I think so too. Thanks, Sammy.”

“There is nothing to thank me for, dear Remiel.”

“So, tomorrow we’re off to Armenia, then?” Gabriel interrupted.

“Yeah.” Raziel nodded. “Leave at dawn, I think.”

Michael pursed his lips. “That will put it several hours later in Armenia. Early to midmorning.”

Raziel nodded again. “That okay with you?”

“Yes.” Michael looked at Uriel and Gabriel. “Behave yourselves while we are there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Uriel said with a roll of his eyes.

“Of course we will, Mishka,” Gabriel said. “Best behavior, me.”

“As you say, then.” Michael smiled.

P
ENEMUEL
WAS
in the act of taking a sip from his teacup when he found himself looking at the world through Semjaza’s eyes. He struggled, using his Grace and power to try to free himself, but he was held fast. He watched as Semjaza and Azazel wandered around Stonehenge, as Semjaza sneered and looked down his nose at the majestic stones that Penemuel thought were wonders of human ingenuity.

He knew what was happening. Semjaza was too arrogant to allow Penemuel, Baraqiel, and Kokabiel to be free of his influence entirely, and so the Grigori Prince was making them watch what he was doing.

Penemuel took a deep, shaky breath as he watched, feeling all that Semjaza did, hearing all that Semjaza said. He hadn’t felt anything like this since Eden, and he remembered with a shudder that Semjaza used to routinely force those of his choir who had displeased him to watch and listen as he planned their punishment.

Penemuel had no doubt that this was what Semjaza was doing again. By allowing—forcing—Penemuel and his friends to see what he was doing, to experience it from Semjaza’s own point of view, he was giving them information he wanted them to have. He wanted them to know he was acquiring a place of power for a specific purpose, because, Penemuel thought, it was all part of his grand plan of conquest, domination, and punishment. He had no doubt that soon he would hear what was to become of him, Baraqiel, and Kokabiel and was under no illusions that Semjaza’s plans would be anything but pleasant. And then Penemuel felt himself be shunted off to one side of his consciousness, and Semjaza was everywhere in his mind and Grace.

S
EMJAZA
FROWNED
as he looked around the featureless plain upon which the majestic, timeless structure of Stonehenge stood. It was cold here, colder than in Paris. There was nothing to break the passage of the wind, and this island that Azazel had told him was called England was small and bleak. Semjaza wrinkled his nose as he looked around.

 “Azazel,” Semjaza said finally, unable to bear lingering here any longer, “come away. This place is not suitable for my needs.”

Azazel moved out of the circle, his expression worried. “Are you sure, sire?”

“I am positive. The magic here is not compatible with mine. It is foreign. Alien. I do not like it.”

Azazel sighed. “I fear I don’t know where else to suggest.”

Semjaza considered it. “You have shown me places all through the land you called Europe.”

“Europe’s made up of many different countries, sire,” Azazel explained.

“Irrelevant. When I come back into my power, take my throne, it will be one land. I will give it to my sons to rule in my name.” Semjaza turned to fix Azazel with a hard look. “I am displeased by these places. They are old, true, but they are not of angelkind. They do not have the touch of an angel’s Grace. They are too human, Azazel. I find them offensive.”

Azazel bit his lower lip. “Perhaps the New World would be more to your taste, sire?”

“The New World?”

“The land called the Americas. The northernmost country is called Canada. The central mass is the United States of America. The southernmost landmass is South America. South America is made up of many smaller countries, unlike the North American part of the continent.”

Semjaza pursed his lips. “And there are places of power on this landmass?”

“Oh yes, sire, many.”

Semjaza considered it. “Did you not say that Michael and Gabriel had taken to having bases there?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Any of the others?”

Azazel spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Apart from Remiel, I do not know, sire.”

“Hm. Well, let us begin there. What is the name of the places Remiel, Michael, and Gabriel use as bases?”

Azazel smiled. “Michael and Gabriel are predominantly in the state called Oregon, sire. Remiel is somewhere eastward, I am not one hundred percent certain where.”

“Or-e-gon,” Semjaza repeated, slowly sounding out the name. “Very well. Take me there.”

Azazel bowed. “As you command.”

Semjaza felt Azazel’s power reach out, encouraging the few hardy humans who were milling about Stonehenge to look elsewhere. Then Azazel’s hand was on his shoulder, and they were moving, crossing the many miles from England and Stonehenge to the New World, the Americas and Oregon.