Chapter 22
Most angels re-entering Heaven popped out in the same place.
The Sun Terrace, a round, golden-tiled platform that floated over the crater of a crystal volcano. From there, if you weren’t stopped by security forces, you could flash to anywhere in the realm you wanted to go.
Gabriel had hoped to flash home before reporting to Zaphkiel, but as luck would have it, a Throne named Petulas was waiting for him, a Ligorial in his hand.
“Zaphkiel expected you back days ago,” Petulas said, holding out the metallic silver bracelet for Gabriel to slip into.
“Days?” His surprise overcame his annoyance at being restrained, his powers blocked. The Ligorial might look like a plain piece of jewelry, but it both restricted the use of angelic powers and would also, with a single thought from its owner, wrap around the wearer’s body like a python.
“Nearly a week has passed in the human realm. What took so long?”
A week? The evil fog must have leaked into the Earthly realm from a region of Sheoul where time ran faster, trapping the Sea Storm in its time warp.
“Just take me to Zaphkiel.”
Petulas craned his neck to look behind Gabriel. “Where is Hutriel? We were told he would be accompanying you.”
Gabriel schooled his expression, summoning the cool, superior nonchalance all Archangels had perfected. It wasn’t hard. He was numb right now. Everything was great. Just great. Fucking peachy.
“Hutriel’s not coming.” Hutriel was never coming.
The toady looked at him but said nothing as they flashed to Throne HQ. Gabriel entered Zaphkiel’s chamber, where he was seated on a dais with two other high-ranking Thrones.
Zaph stood, his formal purple robes swaying around his jeweled slippers. Man, Gabriel missed Metatron. He usually wore breezy, casual clothes and wasn’t a douchebag.
“Finally,” Zaphkiel said. “What news have you?”
Gabriel chose his words carefully. “The Gehennaportal is no longer a threat.”
“So, you destroyed it?” At Gabriel’s nod, Zaphkiel’s mouth pursed. “Did Azagoth willingly give you the tools to do so? And where is Hutriel?”
A shadow passed over Gabriel’s soul at the mention of the other angel’s name, twisting and writhing as it wove itself into his very being.
“He was killed,” he said. “In battle.”
“Killed?” Morasha, the female on Zaphkiel’s right, flowed to her feet, her crimson robes swishing. “How?”
The scene came back to him in slow motion and with crystal clarity. Demon teeth, flashing swords, blood, and feathers. His normally iron stomach roiled.
“Demons attacked the platform.” He swallowed. “Hutriel…fought valiantly.”
“What of his body?”
An image of Hutriel’s body sinking beneath the waves flashed behind his eyes and brought bile to his tongue. “Lost to the seas.”
“This is unfortunate,” Morasha said. “He was one of our greatest warriors.” She narrowed her eyes at Gabriel. “Were there any witnesses to his death?”
He pegged her with a hard stare and summoned Archangel attitude. “Are you questioning my account?”
“I’d simply like to know exactly what happened. He was my friend.”
“He was my friend too,” Zaph said. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. But first, I want to know everything that happened while you were gone. Who you talked to. What Azagoth said. What his residence looked like, right down to the color of his walls. Understand?”
“And then what?”
“Then you will be returned to your cell until your Ordeal.”
No. He had too much to do and few ways to accomplish it. Absolutely nothing would get done if he was imprisoned. But how could he—?
“I want to see Reaver first,” he blurted.
“Reaver?” Zaph looked startled. “Why? He’s not responsive.”
“It’s my pre-Ordeal right to see anyone I want. I choose Reaver.”
The idiots looked between each other and finally shrugged. “We will agree to that if our laws allow that person to be unconscious.”
“Agreed. Let’s chat.”
Like most Heavenly prisons, Reaver’s was featureless, endless nothingness. He floated about four feet off the floor…if it could be called that. Technically, there was no floor, no ceiling, no walls. Just…space. It was both complicated, yet unbelievably simple.
And even though Gabriel didn’t need his wings to hover next to Reaver’s resting form, he kept them out and low in deference to the angel.
Reaver was…a legend.
And a total jackass.
But lying there in a shimmering white robe trimmed in bronze, his gleaming hair hanging like a molten gold waterfall, he looked regal, like a king in repose.
At least he wasn’t being held captive like he’d been immediately following the Thrones’ coup. They’d cleverly used the restrained Archangels as power banks to contain Reaver.
But now, he was a prisoner inside his own body.
“Hey,” he said, trying to sound chipper and not like his entire world had gone to shit. “It’s Gabriel, your second favorite Archangel.”
Maybe. Reaver didn’t like any of them, save his uncle Metatron, who’d raised him. He treated the rest with disdain and disrespect. But then most of Gabriel’s brethren treated Reaver the same way. They constantly argued over whether he was deserving of his status as a Radiant.
In Gabriel’s opinion, he deserved it. The guy had literally gone to Hell and back, had sacrificed himself over and over. Gabriel might not like him much, but he respected him. Anyone powerful enough to lock an Archangel in a prison with Satan deserved to be held in high regard. And maybe a little awe.
“Look, I hope you can hear me because I’m going through some things.” He blew out a long breath as he questioned every move he’d made lately. “I gave up a chance to speak to someone who could actually help me so I could catch you up on the situation outside your thick skull.”
His attempt at humor fell flat, even for him. There was too much going on, and he was in too much trouble.
“You probably already know all the Archangels are being held in stasis. Only Metatron and I are conscious. I’m only free”—he held up his wrist, the restraining bracelet rattling—“if you can call this free, because they’re trying to punish me for what happened with Azagoth. Metatron is still around because they need him until they can find someone else who can give voice to the Creator. Not that we’ve heard anything. We have no guidance, and things are getting…bad. The Thrones are in charge and have no idea how to govern except through heavy-handed control. Heaven is on lockdown, and everyone thinks everyone else is a spy.”
He paced, starting to regret his choice of pre-Ordeal counsel. Not that he was too worried. But he wanted the least severe sentence possible. He did not want to be banished to another realm or planet or end up like the other Archangels, who could be held like that for centuries until they were needed in the Last Battle against evil.
“From what I can see, your family is doing good. Whatever’s going on in your head, be eased by that. And…I have news of Harvester.”
He watched closely for a reaction. Any reaction. That was why he was here. Reaver needed to be brought back. If he could escape and somehow free the Archangels…
It was a long shot. Absolutely. But Reaver had faced greater odds and emerged victorious.
He’d also failed miserably a few times.
And had paid dearly.
Reaver didn’t stir. Not so much as an eyelash.
“I know you can’t feel her anymore,” Gabriel said. “I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t comprehend the level of pain Reaver must be in. Gabriel had been in love a few times over the centuries, but he’d never felt the desire to take a mate. His purpose in life made him feel as though he was on a different path, one headed toward greatness somehow. Yeah, it sounded arrogant, but deep down, he felt as though he would make a difference—a critical difference—in the fate of the world. Taking a mate wasn’t part of that.
“You know Harvester went through the Gaiaportal,” Gabriel said, which was stupid because, of course, Reaver knew. His current condition was a direct result. “Well, not only did it kill her and sever the bond between you, but it also activated the Gehennaportal. She stirred up a lot of shit. So, when you think about it, she went out the way she lived.”
He smiled fondly, which was curious since Harvester had not been likable in the least. She’d spent so much time as a fallen angel, faithfully serving at her father Satan’s side, that darkness was part of her—even after she’d returned to the light.
“But here’s the thing, Reaver.” He stopped next to the Radiant’s head and leaned in close to his ear. No one was supposed to be listening to any of this, but Gabriel wasn’t taking any chances with information this sensitive. “Harvester’s Grace never returned to the Creator. She found a host vessel in your grandson’s female, Eva.”
Nothing. No change.
No…wait. Did Reaver’s eyeballs move beneath his closed eyelids?
Excitement stirring, Gabriel leaned in again. “Did you hear me? She’s not gone. But that human body can only contain her for so long. She needs you, Reaver. Especially if the Thrones learn where she is. They could rip her from Eva. You know that can be fatal. Or worse.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Poor Logan.”
Yeah, he was milking this, but he wasn’t lying. Reaver needed to be reminded of all consequences.
“And what will they do once they have her? I doubt they’ll release her back to the Creator. They’ll imprison her somehow. Maybe put her inside another host so they can use her for intel that only she, as Satan’s daughter, can provide for the Last Battle. They could torture her.”
Reaver’s eyes flew open.
Gabriel nearly jumped out of his skin. “Hey. You there? If so, you need to close your eyes. You can’t let anyone know you’ve got even the tiniest awareness right now.”
Very slowly, Reaver’s lids lowered, his long lashes leaving shadows on his skin.
Yes ! Excitement made Gabriel’s hands shake as he laid them on Reaver’s arm. “If you are capable of anything more than opening your eyes, flex your biceps.”
Not even a twitch. Nothing. Reaver was probably on the very edge of awareness. Which meant he could slip backward, or he could gradually come around.
Gabriel would make him come around if it was the last thing he ever did.
“Listen to me, Reaver. My Ordeal is happening soon. It’d be great if you exploded back into consciousness and started cracking heads before that. And it’s not just because I want to avoid some bullshit punishment. A lot of people need this. Your family. All of Heaven. Harvester.”
A gong rang, signaling that his time was up.
“Don’t let us down, Reaver,” he said hastily. “Armageddon draws near, and we need Heaven to be in order with our best warriors ready. We’re counting on you.” He inhaled deeply and released the breath in a slow, controlled flow as if to counter the heavy feeling in his gut. “I feel a darkness descending on us. On…me.” His voice trembled, and he lowered it again, almost to a whisper. “I’ve done something terrible, Reaver. Something that turns the soul black. I need my choice to have been the right one, and that’ll only happen if the Archangels are restored to power.” He almost laughed at his delusion that everything he’d asked and hoped for would be possible. “So, you know, wake up and save Heaven and Earth. Again.” He headed toward the exit, turning around at the doorway. “But no pressure.”
No, the pressure was all on him now.