CHAPTER 43
“Shh,” says Raffe, rocking me in his arms.
The light around Raffe’s head falls into shadow.
Behind him, Beliel’s dark form rises into my field of view.
One of his new wings is mostly torn off and dangling by a few stitches. His face is contorted in rage as he lifts what looks like a refrigerator over Raffe’s head the way Cain must have hefted a boulder over Abel’s head.
I try to cry out. I try to warn Raffe with my expression.
But only a whispery exhale comes out.
“Beliel!”
Beliel swings to see who yells at him. Raffe also swivels to take in the scene, still holding me protectively in his arms.
Standing in the doorway is the Politician. I recognize him even without the terrified trophy women following in his wake.
“Put that down, now!” The Politician’s friendly face is marred by a frown as he stares down the giant angel.
Beliel breaths heavily with the refrigerator hefted above him. It’s not clear whether he’ll comply.
“You had your chance to kill him out on the streets,” says the Politician as he marches into the room. “But you got distracted by a pair of pretty wings, didn’t you? And now that he’s been seen and rumors are running wild that he’s back, now you want to kill him? What is wrong with you?”
Beliel hurls the refrigerator across the room. He looks like he’d like to throw it at the Politician. It lands with a crash out of sight.
“He attacked me!” Beliel stabs his finger at Raffe like a crazed infant on steroids.
“I don’t care if he poured acid down your pants. I told you not to touch him. If he dies now, his men will turn him into a martyr. Do you have any idea how hard it is to campaign against an angelic martyr? They’d forever be making up stories of how he would have opposed this policy or that.”
“What do I care about your angel politics?”
“You care because I tell you to care.” The Politician straightens his cuffs. “Oh, why do I bother? You’ll never amount to more than just a mid-demon. You just don’t have the faculty to comprehend political strategy.”
“Oh, I comprehend it, Uriel.” Beliel curls his lip like a growling dog. “You’ve turned him into a pariah. Everything he ever believed in, everything he ever said will be the ravings of a demon-winged, fallen angel. I get it more than you’ll ever understand. I’ve lived through it, remember? I just don’t care that it gives you an advantage.”
Uriel faces off with Beliel even though he has to look up to glare at him. “Just do as I say. You got your wings as payment for your services. Now get out.”
The building shakes as something explodes above.
The last ounce of will drains out of me, and I just can’t keep my head up any longer. I wilt in Raffe’s arms. My head dangles, my eyes are open but unfocussed, my breathing imperceptible.
Just like a dead body.
“NO!” Raffe grips me as if he could bind my soul to my body.
An upside-down view of the doorway shows up in my field of vision. Smoke wafts through it.
Although the pain obscures Raffe’s warmth, I feel the pressure of his hug, the rocking of our bodies back and forth as he repeats the word, “No.”
His embrace comforts me and the fear ebbs a little.
“What is that he’s mourning over?” asks Uriel.
“His Daughter of Man,” says Beliel.
“No.” Uriel sounds delightfully scandalized. “Can’t be. Not after all his warnings to stay away from them. After all his crusading against their evil hybrid spawn?”
Uriel circles around Raffe like a shark. “Look at you, Raffe. The great Archangel, on his knees with a pair of demon wings puddled around him. And holding a broken Daughter of Man in his arms?” He chuckles. “Oh, God does love me after all. What happened, Raffe? Did life on earth get too lonely for you? Century after century, with no companions but for the Nephilim you so nobly hunted?”
Raffe ignores him and continues to stroke my hair and rock back and forth gently as if putting a child to sleep.
“How long did you resist?” asks Uriel. “Did you push her away? Did you tell her she meant no more to you than any other animal? Oh, Raffe, did she die thinking you didn’t care about her? How tragic. That must just tear you to pieces.”
Raffe looks up with murder in his eyes. “Don’t. Talk. About. Her.”
Uriel takes an involuntary step back.
The building rocks again. Dust falls over the dying scorpions. Raffe lets me go, putting me gently on the concrete.
“We’re done here,” says Uriel to Beliel. “You can kill him after he’s known as the Fallen Angel Raphael.” His shoulders are stiff with authority, but his feet beat a hasty exit. Beliel follows him with his torn wing dragging in the dust. It’s a heartbreaking sight to see Raffe’s snowy feathers treated that way.
Raffe takes a moment to tuck my hair out of the way so it won’t tug against my head, as if that matters.
Then he takes off running after them. He roars out his rage as he tears through the doors and up the stairs like a cyclone.
Two sets of footsteps pound up the stairs ahead of Raffe’s.
A door bangs shut at the top of the stairs.
Blows echo off the door and walls. Something crashes, then clangs down the stairs. Raffe yells his fury and it sounds like he’s punching through the walls. He’s raging like a mad dog at the end of his tether. What’s he tethered to? Why isn’t he going after them?
He stomps down the stairs and stands at the doorway breathing heavily. He takes one look at me lying on the cement floor and hurls himself at a scorpion tank.
He practically howls with fury. Glass shatters. Water erupts.
Things flop on the floor and screech as the scorpion monsters are separated from their victims. I can’t tell which explosions and screams are from upstairs and which are from Raffe’s rampage as he demolishes the lab.
Finally, after there’s nothing left to smash, he stands surrounded by rubble, chest heaving, looking around for more things to break.
He kicks broken glass and lab supplies aside and stares down at something. He bends to grab it. Instead of picking it up, he drags it over to me.
It’s his sword. He maneuvers me so he can slide it into the scabbard that’s still on my back. I expect the weight of the blade to pull against me, but it’s barely perceptible as it slides into the scabbard.
Then he picks me up in his arms. The pain has plateaued, but I’m completely paralyzed. My head and arms dangle limply like a fresh corpse’s.
He shoves his way out through the door to the stairs and we head up toward the explosions.