Heaven is burning.

Not literally, of course, but I suspect even an inferno engulfing the very gates wouldn’t have my brothers and sisters in this much of a frenzy.

“The human needs to be destroyed.”

“Do you wish to end up like Uriel?”

“She made her choice. She chose Hell and him.”

A dozen voices clamor over each other, arguing over the fate of a human they’ve never met, and I bite back the urge to scoff at their anger at her “choice.”

Choice. There’s that word again.

Did she really have a choice at all? Uriel slaughtered his way through her family line for centuries. Heaven tore apart her young life, and for all his innumerable faults, Lucifer was kind to her.

Lucifer loved her.

I never imagined I’d see the day when my errant brother would risk his skin for anything but his own pride, but I saw Lucifer stand before Uriel’s blade with my own eyes, ready and willing to trade his life to spare Grace.

In the aftermath, bloody and battered, surrounded by the rubble of the hotel bar, they still only had eyes for each other. I watched Lucifer twist one of her blonde curls around his finger, a touch that spoke of familiarity and affection, not the base lust I’d grown to expect from him. That small, intimate gesture showed me how Lucifer had changed far more than any grand declaration ever could.

It wasn’t the first time I’d felt envy burn through me like a sickness concerning my brother, but the depth of the emotion still had me reeling.

He defied our Father, shattered every rule, and somehow still won.

And I, the ever-obedient son, was left to collect Uriel’s body and return to Heaven alone.

“Enough!”

Raphael’s voice cuts through the din, silencing the squabbles of the Thrones and Dominions as they weigh the pros and cons of starting yet another war without pausing to consider the cost.

To them, she’s just another human, no more important than any other. To Lucifer, she’s everything, and no part of me doubts that my brother will rip through the gates and tear a bloody swath through Heaven if any harm comes to her.

In those moments, I find myself understanding Uriel far more than I ever expected to, and I slip away to the sound of Raphael chastising the crowd.

It won’t work.

Once we all would have fallen in line at the first order. In those days, Lucifer’s infraction was so unheard of, so utterly inconceivable that a thousand years passed without another hint of insurrection from anyone. Lucifer’s war left scars on all our memories, and we followed Father’s orders like good little soldiers, never questioning if what we did was right.

Myself especially.

The voices of my brethren fade as I follow the familiar path to Eden. Without Uriel’s hulking form standing sentry by the gates, the garden seems subdued.

Then I step inside and the word subdued drops from my mind. However the humans might imagine it, Eden is no manicured garden with neat rows of flowers swaying in the breeze. The plants grow wild, tendrils of jasmine twisting and twining through rosebushes, tall irises standing stately above tangles of wildflowers, the tiny white bells of the lilies of the valley poking through the ground cover. The overlapping scents of a hundred blooms make the air feel thick as honey, and for all his madness, I can’t blame Uriel for retreating here.

Respite from the back-biting and endless politics the other angels constantly embroil themselves in feels like a balm. I’ve scarcely been back for a week, and all I can do is wonder how I never saw it before. Was I so caught up in my perpetual obedience that I missed what Heaven has become?

A tiny, poisonous thought has already started to take root in my mind, and no amount of hiding in Eden can stamp it out.

Lucifer was right.

I hear the crunch of the sand and gravel and turn around, schooling my features into the serene visage of someone who isn’t discovering a sudden empathy with the Fallen One.

Raphael regards me coolly. “You left.” His voice is flat, but free of accusation. If any part of him notices the turmoil running riot in me, he doesn’t mention it. Raphael takes a step closer and rests his arm on my shoulder, his head cocked to the side as he scrutinizes me.

I doubt he even realizes what he’s doing. The perpetual healer, taking stock of the physical and mental state of those around him is as unconscious as breathing for Raphael.

A head shorter than both Uriel and myself, there’s no mistaking Raphael for a warrior. Like all the Archangels, his hands are no strangers to wielding a blade, but he was a healer first, always preferring to use his talents to mending rifts in flesh and soul rather than causing them.

Another spark of envy flares in me, and I hate myself a bit more in the face of my brother’s concern.

“You can’t stay, Michael.”

I open my mouth to protest, but close it just as quickly. I failed in my mission, after all. It didn’t matter that there was no stopping Uriel without ending his life. One of my brothers still died under my watch at the hands of a human.

I just never expected Raphael to start handing out sentences.

Raphael sighs, shaking his head slightly at whatever he sees written on my face. He squeezes my shoulder briefly before stepping back. “I don’t want to ask this of you again, Michael, but you need to return. You heard them.” He cuts his eyes back to the gate, and I’m startled at how weary he looks.

“I hope I was able to make them see reason, but so many of them can’t see anything but how Lucifer had a hand in this, even if it wasn’t his hand that slew Uriel.” Raphael scrubs his hand over his eyes, the gesture shockingly human. “If one of them chooses to take punishment into their own hands and harms the human. . .” Raphael’s voice trails off, and his warm brown eyes glimmer with curiosity at his next words. “Is it really true, brother? What they say about Lucifer and this mortal?”

I exhale slowly as I try to gather my thoughts into some semblance of order before nodding slowly, chuckling at the look of utter astonishment on Raphael’s face. “If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t believe it either. He’s different, Raphael.” I quickly sober as I add, “But in some ways, very much the same. If the Last is harmed, and Lucifer even suspects Heaven had a hand in it. . . I think the first war will pale.”

Raphael can’t hide the flash of alarm across his face which quickly fades into resolution. “You agree then? That someone needs to keep an eye on the both of them until this blows over?”

I nod numbly, barely listening to Raphael’s words even though the last thing I want is to return to Earth so soon. I have no intention of making Lucifer aware of my presence, but I can’t help mulling over his and Uriel’s words.

“You did have your little detour in Phoenicia all those years ago, didn’t you?”

“We all remember your little sabbatical in Phoenicia with your blasphemous little whore.”

“And how is dear Elissa? Tell me, does she still despise you?”

I pick at the words like a half-healed wound as Raphael takes his leave and I’m alone in the garden once more.

Lucifer was always a master at knowing just which words would cut the deepest. Uriel wielded his words like a cudgel - no finesse or subtlety, but I still ended up bloody by the end as they both brought up the memories of her I’ve been trying to bury for centuries.

Elissa.

I whisper it, my voice sounding impossibly loud in the still air of the garden. It’s the first time I’ve let my lips form her name in centuries, since I shuttered myself against the memory of what I lost.

What I was forced to give up.

Lucifer’s words sliced open the scars with surgical precision, and I can’t stop myself from poking the wound.

Elissa.

A beautiful mistake. A mistake that cost us both, but her most of all.

God’s Poison.

God’s Blade.

God’s Bloody Fists.

I was content with just being that until she showed me another choice.

And how did you repay her, Michael? By sending her straight to me.

I shake my head, trying to clear it and force the image of her back into my memory.

She’s long gone. It’s been centuries since I sought her out, watching her like a voyeur on the streets of Paris, swallowed in petticoats and yards of pale lace. With her dark hair hidden under a powdered wig, her ice blue eyes were even more striking as they stared into the darkness where I hid.

It was a long way from Phoenicia and the cliffs of Sidon where I met her, and she was many years removed from being that girl.

She took a step forward, and her hand twitched, ready to conjure a light and reveal my hiding place.

Like a coward, I flew, and the ball of flame cupped in her palm illuminated nothing but an empty alley.

I haven’t looked for her since.

I made my choice, all those years ago, and she’s right to hate me for it.

Elissa never was the forgiving type.

The honeyed air of Eden has gone cloying to my senses, and I choke on the heavy scent. The beauty of this place feels like a cage.

Once more the dutiful soldier, I shoulder my duty and walk out of the garden, mentally preparing myself for the messy, chaotic world that waits outside.

If she could see me now, see the doubt seeping into my veins, I think she’d laugh.

Too little, too late to save us. To save her.

I spread my wings and go.