The spirit of the House moved silently through the well kept halls, sensing the approach of familiar visitors – and one aura that troubled him. The power approaching was muted but recognizable as a Son of Heaven, someone who had only been in this House once before – when it had been created. He wondered briefly why this angelic being would have need of the services of the House of Refuge then put the thought out of his mind as he prepared for his visitors.

"Here, put him on the sofa until I talk to the Caretaker about a room for him." Rowan's voice was calm and businesslike as she gently released him to Baird and Cassandra. The angel's eyes followed her as she moved out of the room.

"Uh, Eve" Cassandra whispered, motioning the Guardian to a corner of the room. "What's happened? Who is this guy?"

"I never thought I'd hear myself saying this – but he's an angel."

Cassandra blinked then cut a quick look at their prisoner, who was sitting hunched over on the sofa. "An angel?"

"Not only an angel but specifically the Archangel Michael, patron of soldiers and protector of Mankind." Baird shrugged. "At least that's who he says he is."

"An archangel? Really?" Cassandra eyed the man quizzically. "But then, who hurt him?"

"A Fallen" Michael whispered. "One of my brethren who chose to follow Lucifer during the First War in Heaven. Azazel – leader of the Watchers who taught mankind the art of warfare and women the art of deception. He rose up as the First Prince of Hell to take over an alternate reality that I and my brothers were attempting to protect."

"Attempting?" Baird asked.

"We faced him in battle with our young ones using their own forces to act as a distraction, allowing us to take the war to the Fallen. But we were fractured, at odds with each other. And he used that division against us, showing us what would happen to our young ones if we continued to try to save this world from his forces. I thought…"

Baird eyed their "guest" pensively. "When you say your "young ones" – who exactly are you referring to? Younger angels?"

Michael sighed in frustration. "No. Beings created by our Holy Father, a mix of Fae, human and angelic blood. A type of Nephilim, strong and wise yet without the desire of power and the joy in destruction. They were our students, our companions, our…" his voice stuttered to a halt as the memories become overwhelming.

"So Rowan was your "young one" – your student?" Baird asked tentatively.

"Miriam" he corrected automatically. "Yes, she was my student from the time she was sixteen. Her brother Damien was my youngest brother Uriel's student from birth. And Miriam's twin was Gabriel's adopted son from the moment Andre was born. I don't understand how they can be alive in this reality yet he is not. The twins were never far from one another from the moment they met until…"

"Until?" Cassandra asked, breathlessly.

Rowan walked in with the spirit of the House following closely behind her. "Okay – we have a bed for you and a bath set up. Let's get you out of that armor and see to whatever wounds are still bleeding."

"I will be FINE!" Michael replied angrily. "Leave me be."

"You will NOT be fine" Rowan said, brushing off his ill temper. "And you won't be any use to yourself or us if you keel over from blood loss or infection so up you go…"

Michael's snort of laughter surprised Baird. "Something funny?"

Michael shook his head ruefully. "She doesn't remember me, yet we still fall into the same old patterns. She argues with me, I respond and we end up doing things her way."

"And what, pray tell, is wrong with that?" Rowan responded briskly, helping the angel to his feet. "You are simply being smart enough to acknowledge that in this case I happen to be right."

Michael's slight smile lit up his somber face. "Yes, little queen, this time you are right. Just as you were that day when I cut my wings off and started us on this path to destruction." He glanced back at the other two with a shrug. "A story for another day."

"Seems we have a lot of those" Baird looked over at Cassandra pensively. She watched them walk away then sighed. "Cassandra, when Rowan gets back we need to send you to the Library and have Stone come and take your place."

"But why!" Cassandra protested. "I could learn so much about Heaven and magic and…"

"I don't think he's in the mood to take on another student right now" Baird laid her hands on the pretty red-head's shoulders. "And besides – we need to get that story he just told us to Jenkins. Maybe knowing the last thing he remembers before appearing in the Library can tell us what's going on."

In the guest room

Michael's eyes watched Rowan's hands as she briskly undid straps and gently removed his armor. She frowned at the sight of his injuries, most of which were already starting to heal. "Well, not as bad as I thought but still bad enough. You seem to be healing fine on your own. Flex your wings and let me check them. If you're this cut up under your armor I hate to think what your wingspan looks like."

Michael looked up into her hazel eyes, his expression inscrutable. He flexed his shoulders and his black wings unfurled, spreading from one end of the massive bed to the other. He watched her as she gently examined them, pulling feathers that were hanging by a thread and gently relocating others. "I had forgotten how gentle you can be when dealing with the wounded. Rafael taught you well."

Rowan sighed. "Our father taught me how to do battlefield triage. I don't know anyone called Rafael." She sank to her knees in front of the injured angel with a frown. "Something has really gone haywire here, hasn't it?"

Michael nodded. "Something has changed but I cannot fathom what or how. The Fallen was powerful but this…" He waved a hand absently around the room. "This I would have though was beyond even his abilities. And why is it I can remember what you cannot?"

Rowan shrugged. "Maybe someone's had another go at the Loom of Fate. From what Jenkins told Arthur that had some interesting effects on this reality."

"Ask the spirit of the Library" Michael whispered, suddenly very tired. "Perhaps it will say more to you than it did me."

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that? Even Flynn Carson, the Librarian, isn't able to hear the Library's voice." She rose and helped the angel to his feet. "Let me work on that while you work on the hot shower I've got ready for you. Cleaning the blood from your wings will go a long way to make them feel better."

Michael smiled down at her. "Yes, my lady. Whatever you command."

She swatted him gently on the arm. "Don't be an ass" she said with a smile. "I'll be back to check on you in a bit. If you need anything…"

"The spirit of the House will serve me. I know. I was here when it was created." He moved quietly into the bath and firmly shut the door between them.