Seven Archangels: Annihilation (21 page)

Michael moved close to her. "Wait," he whispered.

She whirled on Michael. "Why are you torturing him?"

He projected into her heart with the force of a pile-driver,
Stop!

"Stay relaxed," Uriel murmured to Raphael. "Keep letting him go."

Tension rolled off the Seraph until Michael longed to send him calming thoughts.

Mary settled at Raphael's side. "Are you in pain?"

Raphael's head dropped. Michael got the impression that he thought murder should hurt. The things in the room were rattling as in the early stages of an earthquake.

"One more bit," Uriel said, and then Raphael collapsed to his knees, elbows on the edge of the bed, and he sobbed.

Israfel pushed past Michael to kneel with her arms around Raphael's shoulders. "I hope you're happy."

"Look," Mary whispered.

Michael stepped aside to see around Israfel's wings, and he too gasped.
Oh, God, my God!

—because while before Gabriel had been like an emaciated preschooler, now he seemed almost the right size, certainly an adult, and the misty edges had firmed up.

Raphael raised his head in shock.

"What in blazes just happened?" Israfel jumped to her feet. "I thought he would be gone."

Uriel let out a long breath. "Raphael had his heartstring."

There was silence in the room. Raphael didn't even move, only stared.

Israfel pushed close to Uriel. "And you didn't tell him?"

Like a marionette with its strings cut, Raphael dropped his head into his hands, and his chest onto his knees, his wings splayed.

"Why didn't you say something?" Israfel shouted. "You made him let Gabriel die!"

"I did tell him to let it go." Uriel's voice jumped as Israfel grabbed the Throne. "I did it the only way I could ensure he wouldn't keep holding on."

"I could kill you!" Israfel was like lightning. "What you put him through—what you put me through—!"

"I'm sorry." Uriel's gaze dropped. "I did what was necessary."

Forcing himself between them, Michael stared into Israfel's eyes with what he hoped was enough steel to bring her to her senses. "Don't make me force you to leave. None of us have done this before. Uriel may just have saved Gabriel's life. We can quibble about the techniques later."

Israfel swung away from him. "And boy, are you getting an earful about it then, too." She gestured to Raphael. "You nearly destroyed him with that stunt."

Raphael still hadn't moved, as if giving up Gabriel's heartstrings had ripped out his own.

Mary had her arm over Raphael's shoulders, the other hand smoothing his collar. "You've done the repair?"

Uriel projected a negative. "I only dumped the thread back in with the rest of him. We need to give him time to settle, and then I learn to do beadwork on a soul."

Michael positioned himself on the floor beside Raphael and laid his wings over him. It wasn't just relief he could feel but also shame. "You didn't know," he murmured.

Raphael didn't reply. Maybe he hadn't heard.

Uriel rested a solid hand on Raphael's head.

A glow flared around Israfel. "Maybe it would help Raphael if you had Ophaniel wish him dead."

Michael glared at her. "I told you to back down. Uriel isn't cruel. If it had to be done that way, it had to be done."

Uriel slipped off the bed and hugged Raphael, who buried his head in the Throne's shoulder. Uriel soothed him for a few minutes, and eventually Raphael reacted, first by crying, then by putting his head against Gabriel's chest and hugging him, repeating how sorry he was. Mary and Michael stayed nearest, and Uriel didn't move, shoulders bowed as if defeated. Israfel laid on the opposite side of the bed, covering Gabriel with one wing while she traced his hair with her fingertips.

Time passed, until eventually Raphael calmed. Israfel no longer looked ready to detonate. Michael breathed easier. It was time to proceed.

"I need your help," Uriel said to the Seraphim. "What is Gabriel's biggest regret?"

Raphael pulled back, rubbing his eyes.

Israfel said, "He doesn't have any regrets. He just thinks it all to death."

The Seraphim exchanged a knowing glance.

Uriel sighed. "I need to know because it's hard to feed the string back through all the beads, so I need something heavy on the end to push it through."

Mary said, "Like the way you put a pin on the end of a drawer string that's come loose, otherwise it bunches and you have nothing to grab?"

"That's a good analogy." Uriel looked from Israfel to Raphael. "A regret should be heavy enough for me to keep track of the end and push it through."

Israfel said, "That there weren't enough hours in the day to study everything."

Raphael stared at his folded hands. "Israfel."

She looked up. "What?"

"No, I mean you were his biggest regret."

Her eyes flew open. "Oh." She bit her lip. "It figures."

"Not that way." Raphael twisted his hands. "He regretted that he never treated you like a primary bond. He realized he didn't make time for you, and then I'd encourage him to do it, and he'd get lost in some problem, and two months later he'd remember he had ignored you again." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Uriel needed to know." Israfel forced a smile. "And I guess it's good for me to know that too."

Uriel looked pale. "I was hoping he regretted something like not studying Hungarian opera." The Throne took a deep breath. Israfel seemed to have drawn in on herself. "I'd like to get started, but if you'd rather not be here, you can go."

"I'm staying," Israfel said. "If I can help, I'm staying."

"Thank you. He'll need your strength." Uriel looked at Michael. "I appreciated your powering me up before, but I'd rather you stay separate. I may need someone on the 'outside' so to speak."

Michael nodded. "Just tell me what you need."

Mary said, "And I'll pray."

Uriel drew a long breath, then blew it out with force.

Raphael said, "You're more nervous than I am." His eyes were still reddened, and he looked exhausted.

"You know how to heal," Uriel said. "I'm brand new at this."

Mary said, "Tiny stitches are harder to see."

"Thanks." Uriel met her eyes, offered a smile. "Do you happen to have a thimble?"

Mary smiled in return, and Uriel went desolid.

There wasn't much to see from the outside. Gabriel didn't noticeably change from moment to moment, but periodically Uriel and Raphael exchanged comments: "That feels wrong." "Gentle." "That one was easy," and "Shine more over there."

Uriel eventually discorporated, working entirely in the spiritual realm and communicating with Raphael only by projection.

At one point, Michael felt compelled to remove Gabriel's trumpet from the case and bring it to the bedside. There was no reason given. He assumed Uriel wanted to pattern-match with something they knew to be Gabriel's soul material.

Uncertain what to expect, Michael manifested his armor and sword, and he kept watch over them all: Mary sitting cross-legged in the corner, eyes closed as she prayed; Israfel also with her eyes closed but suffused in a creamy light which she thickened between her outstretched hands and directed toward Gabriel; Raphael clothed in the amber that enwrapped both himself and Gabriel; and Uriel, somewhere not quite here and not anywhere else either, utterly focused.

Now Michael thought he knew why Jesus had chosen Uriel for the repair: the sheer sustained concentration was possible only for someone as contemplative as a Throne.

Raphael's voice was the only half Michael could hear or feel, depending on whether he was speaking or projecting, but the tenor had changed. Raphael had gotten tense, and now worried, and now tense again. Then it changed to, "Take a break. Take a break now. You can't afford to mess it up. Back off. He'll last another fifteen minutes."

Uriel swirled out of the mist into a shape, then into an angelic body. The Throne's hands shook. Strain lined the usually peaceful face, but there was nothing of worry or fear.

Uriel projected an apology.

Michael said, "What happened?"

Uriel sank onto a cushion, and a moment later Mary was pouring a cup of tea. Uriel waved her off, simply lay sprawled, chin pointed at the ceiling.

Raphael hunched, head between his knees, out of breath. Michael wanted to offer some encouragement, but the words wouldn't come.

"Are you done?" Israfel said.

Uriel projected a negative. Raphael gasped, "About halfway," and Uriel agreed.

Michael swallowed. "You've been working so long."

"You have no idea," Uriel said, throat raspy, "you have absolutely no idea how much damage Satan did in a quarter hour."

With an effort, Raphael raised his head. "You're doing fine. It's taking a while because you're being careful."

"I fumbled one of the eyelets." Uriel shivered. "I don't want to hurt him."

Mary rested a hand on Uriel's hair. "Rest. You don't need to worry right now."

Raphael's eyes sparked. "Just think—God did this all at once," and he snapped, "with all of us, at the same time."

Michael grinned. "That is amazing when you think about it." He sat back. "What's it like inside one of us?"

"I can't actually see the pieces," Raphael said. "I'm able to feel through what Uriel is doing, and that gives me a sense of how Gabriel responds overall." He thought. "Imagine tuning a piano blindfolded. You can hear when something is going right. Then Uriel directs the healing energy to whatever has just been set in place."

"To reinforce it?" Israfel said.

Raphael shrugged. " I assume so."

Uriel said, "I hit a couple of parts preemptively to stop them from disintegrating when I moved them into place, but the rest of it is accurate."

Michael felt Saraquael probing the Guard to get inside, and he told him no.

Israfel moved up the bed toward Gabriel's head. First she tucked his wings so he'd be more comfortable, then straightened the wing-cloak Raphael had left lying across his shoulders. She reached for his hand, then stopped herself.

Uriel sent Michael a question.

"I'm fine," he said. "Only a couple of requests to get inside. Why?"

"Because this may get harder for you in the final stages when he becomes aware." Uriel struggled upright, then went forward to a head-on-knees position.

Israfel said, "Who wanted to get in? Not Satan, I hope."

"Saraquael. Zadkiel." Michael shrugged. "They can handle whatever it is."

"No doubt," Israfel said. "They might only have wanted a status report. They were pretty upset when I left."

Chapter Fourteen

One hour and a half earlier, Uriel's voice had recalled Israfel to Gabriel's side: she'd left Saraquael, Zadkiel and Remiel beneath the trees.

"We'll be praying," Zadkiel had said, but Israfel was already gone, only the ripples of her shock remaining.

Zadkiel and Saraquael joined hands, and then Remiel, and together they prayed, eyes closed, calling on their Father. The light of eternity, shine the light of eternity, don't extinguish the light of love. He loves you. Don't let him forget how he loves you. You are our Father.

Amidst the pain, Remiel's voice dropped free, then her heart, and finally her hands. Saraquael didn't immediately pursue her, but then he realized where she'd gone, and he tried to follow. He landed in a shopping center.

Zadkiel appeared at his side. "Can you sense her?"

"She jumped here, then somewhere else. I can't follow."

Zadkiel extended her senses. "Me neither."

"She was half insane when I found her before. I'm afraid for her."

Zadkiel grabbed his hand. "No need to explain."

"She's on the brink. Be careful." He folded his arms. "I'm betting she's trying to find Gabriel."

"She won't."

"But she may be able to track Raphael, and that's just the same."

Zadkiel's mouth twitched. "Now that you mention it, I do get a sense of Raphael. From…" She looked around, then pointed. "That balcony."

Saraquael tried to send Michael a message, but the Guard reflected it.

"She won't get in," Saraquael said. "Not if she's in her right mind."

"So we keep looking," Zadkiel said. "She's got to be somewhere."

- + -

Mephistopheles summoned Camael to his office. The Cherub had an assignment, and he'd learned one thing well after four thousand years: you could put off a project indefinitely by asking thousands of questions in order to formulate your hypothesis.

After ten minutes Camael still hadn't come. While Mephistopheles didn't demand the immediate-attendance dance Lucifer did—to be specific, Lucifer gave you no choice, it was just, "Come here" and then he pulled you in—ten minutes was excessive for a creature able to appear anywhere in Hell, Creation or Heaven with the direction of a thought. "Camael," he said, "get your sorry carcass over here."

Again no response. Maybe Camael had been playing both sides of the game? Maybe Belior had gotten to him with a better offer: I'll solve Mephistopheles' assignment, and then you can be my second-in-command.

That was a good one. Mephistopheles shouldn't have shared the details of the assignment in the first place. If no one knew what it was then no one could steal the glory of its completion. But the whole idea, the notion of angels disintegrating across a room from their foes—what would they call it, the Mephistopheles Touch?

Gabriel.

Oh, God, the light in the lab area. You didn't see how he died, but I did, and his light was so bright, so clean.

And then Gabriel had crumbled, his owner's name on his mouth, his eyes searching the dark for a savior that never came, a God who in the end hadn't cared.

You heartless monster,
Mephistopheles thought.
You didn't care either, not a bit. You could have stopped it at any point, but once the ball got rolling, it just thundered ahead until someone got crushed.

Are you proud? This is all your fault that Gabriel is dead—how dare you even say his name?