Chapter Twenty-One

 

 

After our bath, we ate breakfast and fed Lesya, then took her downstairs to play with Zariel—Sam and Fallon's daughter. When Lesya was settled, we headed down to the first floor. As the elevator neared the ground floor of Pride Palace, the sound of a commotion wafted up to us. I groaned and rubbed at my head. Despite my stress-relieving morning, I wasn't ready for another issue. But this commotion ended up being a welcome one.

When we stepped into the dining hall, we found three of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse waiting for us; Samuel, Ira, and Thaddeus. They were War, Famine, and the Antichrist respectively. With them was Michael and some Intare. The four angels were reminiscing over cups of coffee while my lions listened eagerly.

“Do you remember that guy in Palestine who called Ira a girly-boy?” Ted asked Sam.

“The one Ira made eat his own shoe?” Sam countered. “Of course I do.”

“You made a guy eat a shoe?” Lucius—one of my lions—asked.

“I made him so hungry that he'd eat anything,” Ira said dryly. “Then I made his shoe look like a side of beef.”

Everyone laughed.

“What are you guys doing here?” Azrael—the fourth horseman—asked as he walked into the dining hall smiling. “Not that you aren't welcome; I'm actually really glad to see you.”

“We came for you, buddy!” Ted—aka Thaddeus— exclaimed as he stood.

The other two horsemen jumped up as well, and they all went over to hug Azrael.

“Mike called us,” Ira explained.

“He said you were attacked by Virtues,” Sam added. “That's some holy bullshit.”

“We're here to teach those idiots a lesson,” Ted declared. “The Riders are not to be fucked with.”

“Thank you,” Azrael said sincerely. “And thanks for calling them, Mike. It never even occurred to me.”

“I wanted you protected,” Mike said. “And the best way to do that is to make you as strong as possible.”

“And I'm at my strongest when I stand with my fellow riders,” Azrael concluded. “Good thinking.”

“Yeah; you should have thought of it,” Ira chided.

“Calling in the Horsemen of the Apocalypse is kind of extreme,” Azrael said dryly. “I try not to overreact.”

“And bringing in your daddy isn't extreme?” Thaddeus shot back.

“I didn't bring him in.” Az held up his hands. “He came all on his own.”

“We may have had some ulterior motives for coming,” Sam confessed.

“What?” Az went serious. “Do you need help too?”

“More like advice,” Ted said. “We want to know what retirement is like.”

“What?” Azrael gaped at them.

“We want to retire, Az,” Sam said. “You did it; so why can't we?”

“But you don't really have any duties,” Azrael pointed out. “No offense.”

“Just that big one looming over our heads,” Ted said softly. “Not to mention the bad rep we get.”

“You ever notice how duty sounds like doodie?” Samuel laughed. “That's what our responsibility is; a big pile of shit.”

“People hate us,” Ira huffed.

“I need coffee before I deal vith depressed horsemen,” Kirill declared as he shambled over to the pot.

“We're not depressed,” Ira protested; his gaunt face making the statement seem to be a lie.

“We're having an existential crisis,” Ted added.

“Isn't zat same zing?” Kirill asked and then held up his empty coffee mug. “Nyet; don't tell me. I'm not ready to know.”

“We have no purpose beyond a future which will hopefully never come to pass,” Sam explained. “All we do is fuck around and get drunk.”

“And you think that retirement will change that?” Azrael asked with a laugh “You'll still be horsemen; there's nothing you can do about your magic.”

“We can reject the energy Jerry doles out to us,” Ted said with grim severity.

“Whoa,” I whispered. “I think I need some coffee too.”

Kirill handed me a mug that he'd already fixed to my liking.

“I love you so very much, you beautiful man,” I said with a sappy smile for my black lion.

“I love you too,” Kirill said as he escorted me to a seat a few chairs down from the angel rebellion.

Trevor and Odin joined us; too busy watching the horsemen—with the morbid fascination normally reserved for car wrecks—to bother grabbing coffee.

“If you reject the magic, you'll die,” Azrael growled. “You can't do that. I'll be really pissed at you all if you let yourselves die.”

“Az, did you not hear the bit about us not doing anything?” Sam asked. “We mainly throw our power about for funsies; that's it.”

“Except for those annoying instances when Jerry wants us to dole out some vengeance for him,” Ira huffed. “Then we have to stir up trouble.”

“We've been squirreling away magic for years,” Ted added. “We've got heaps of it; we'll be fine.”

“You can exist without him,” Azrael whispered.

“Totally, man,” Sam fist-bumped Azrael. “We don't need that fool no more. Fuck him.”

“More importantly; he won't have any hold over us,” Ted added. “We won't have to bow to the Throne ever again. We'll ride on our terms; whenever we feel like it.”

“Like in defense of a fellow rider,” Sam said. “Azrael, you've given us the perfect excuse to give Jerry the middle finger.”

“What do you think, Az?” Ira asked.

“I think all men should ride free,” Azrael declared.

“Free Riders!” Sam exclaimed. “We should turn our horses into motorcycles.”

“I am not turning Moonbeam into a motorcycle!” Thaddeus shouted in horror.

“Moonbeam?” Trevor whispered to me.

“I think that's the name of his horse,” I whispered back.

“The Antichrist rides a horse named 'Moonbeam?'” Trevor asked with wide, half-horrified and half-laughing eyes.

“He's the color of moonbeams,” Ted huffed at Trevor.

“You know it's not a real horse, right?” Ira asked Ted drolly.

“He is real!” Ted growled.

“Okay, okay.” Azrael held up his hands. “No one is making Moonbeam into a motorcycle. We're not bikers; we're the fucking Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse!” His voice lifted into a defiant shout.

The men all cheered; even my lions.

“And horsemen ride horses,” Ted added.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam gave in. “The main thing is that the band is back together.”

The four men looked at each other, smiled, and shouted, “The Four Horsemen ride again!”

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse hooted with joy as the Archangel Michael smiled on benevolently, and my werelions watched with eager grins. I knew Azrael had started something momentous when he retired, but I hadn't expected it to be epic; like war in Heaven or Apocalypse epic. I didn't want to rain on the parade—especially with horses involved—but I'd seen firsthand how things went when you tried to cheat human myth. Myths had their own energy—their own life—and they could do crazy things to protect that life force. Just as I would do anything to protect Azrael.

I dearly hoped that the myth of the Apocalypse didn't have enough power to hurt my angel. Because if it did, I'd have to decimate it, and I'd had enough of that end-of-the-world bullshit with Ragnarok.