My sincerest apologies regarding the wait on this newest chapter. First and fore-mostly, I started school last Monday, and have been settling into that schedule once more. In addition, we've been hosting a foreign exchange student, and I feel that spending time with her ought to take precedence to vegetating in front of the computer screen.
On a related note, I'd also like to apologize for this story's content hitherto. Upon reflection, it seems to me that I've provided a lot of action with very little explanation - sorry about that. I guarantee you that there's a plot hiding in here somewhere, and hopefully by chapter nine the nature thereof will be more apparent.
In Which Disappearance is Not Equivalent to Absence
The next several days ran their course, and Javert's condition improved slowly. The first to go were the dizzy spells, then the crippling headaches. Any traces of fever ebbed away, until the only indication that he had been poisoned was the weakness of muscle that confined him to bed rest. Javert was biting at the bit, eager to do anything other than lay in one place, but Valjean insisted that he was pushing himself too hard and that anyone who broke into a sweat just because they sat up had no place galavanting about the house. As could be expected, the Inspector was less than pleased with this diagnosis, but he suffered in what he hoped was a dignified silence.
Amali had made herself scarce; though she popped in to check on him at least twice a day, she always had to leave, citing a meeting or something similar as her excuse. Javert caught himself wondering if perhaps he'd upset her, or done something else to frighten her off.
When he realized he actually hoped that he hadn't, he gave himself a very stern talking-to. He hadn't done anything worse than make a few mordant comments, and even if he had, there was no reason he ought to care. He'd be gone as soon as he was well enough. At least, that's what he told himself. It seemed cowardly to even entertain the notion that he was safer (and perhaps happier?) here than anywhere else in this Paris-but-not-Paris.
It was the middle of the afternoon. Amali had disappeared, as per her usual of late, and Valjean was puttering around downstairs. Presumably, he was making a late lunch, but privately the Inspector felt the other man was trying to give him some time to himself; Javert had been in a particularly bad mood that morning.
Grumbling quietly, the police Inspector rolled onto his side, holding a small book in his hands. The novel was called La Chartreuse de Parme; it was not particularly to Javert's tastes, especially as its protagonist couldn't seem to sneeze without doing something illegal, but reading it passed the time with marginally less tedium.
There was a knock at the door. Javert grunted in response, skimming the next page of his book. When the door opened, it was Amali who poked her head through. She smiled a little sheepishly.
"Hello, Inspector," she began, sidling inside the room.
"Good afternoon," Javert replied distantly. "Your meetings went well, I trust?"
Amali grimaced. "Things could have been worse, I suppose."
"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."
The angel dropped into her chair, wings flopping to the side with a poof of feathers.
"My superiors are being... difficult," she explained delicately. "Some of them don't care for my way of handling things."
Javert breathed an internal sigh of relief - it seemed she had genuinely had other appointments. Then he berated himself in equal measure for worrying.
"I see nothing wrong with the way you conduct business," the Inspector informed her. "You've done a remarkably good job of keeping me alive so far."
A queer expression came over Amali's face. "It's... funny that you say that. My superiors would have to disagree. They feel I've been most lax in my duties."
Javert snorted. "And what exactly would they have had you do differently?"
"For starters?" Amali's eyebrows arched in grim amusement. "Never let you leave my sight, for one thing. A few of them are of the opinion that your escapade last week ought to have been stopped by force, if necessary. As if. Never mind the degree to which the former violates your right to privacy, the latter is just moronic. The Guardian has yet to be born who can forcibly stop her charge from doing anything he damn well pleases. I don't know why I even bother."
The Inspector could not prevent a small bubble of pride from swelling up in his chest at the thought that his particular angel was so keen on following the rules. Imagine, an Archangel in a position of authority blatantly suggesting that the Guardian disregard established regulations. Disgraceful.
Thoughtfully, he said "It's strange that they tell you to watch me constantly and then call you out to meetings. Surely they want you at the house to keep an eye on things?"
Amali frowned. "You noticed that too? I'd thought I was being silly - after all, Michael in particular has never forgone the chance to yell at me for something, but you would expect them to come here, instead of the other way around. Not that I really want them here either," she conceded, "but it does seem unusual giving what I was being reprimanded -"
Amali stopped abruptly at the expression on the Inspector's face. He'd looked up and turned ghost-white.
Five minutes prior to these developments, Valjean was in the midst of a crisis. No matter where he looked, there wasn't an ounce of butter to be had in the house. There was jam enough, but it seemed wrong to serve the Inspector anything less than the best his modest cuisine could offer. Javert had been awfully snippy that morning, and Jean Valjean wanted his peace offering to be perfect.
He was sure he'd bought some; maybe Amali had seen it before she went upstairs. With the determination of a man on a mission, Valjean made to call her back down. She'd been by but a minute before.
There was the sound of something crackling near the coffee-table. Valjean turned in surprise.
There was a sort of black shape suspended in the middle of his living room. It could have been termed a circle, if the word was meant loosely. The edges seemed jagged, and it shimmered in the air like a heat mirage.
"What the -" Unless it was in the Bible, Jean Valjean was typically outside his area of expertise in dealing with things of a metaphysical nature, but he didn't feel that a black hole opening in the middle of one's house generally constituted a "good thing".
He spun on his heel, opening his mouth to call the angel. He raised his eyes to the stairs; just before his retinas had the opportunity to focus, something clobbered the unfortunate gentleman over his head. Valjean crumpled to to the floor.
"There's a... thing behind you," Javert said with a very deliberate calm. "On the ceiling."
"Yes," Amali said with an equal degree of calm. "It's been there a little while now."
The Inspector coughed slightly. "Are you going to do something about it?"
"Presently," the angel decided, clapping her hands together. "Though I would love to know how it got in the house."
"Wouldn't you though?" Melalo growled, dropping with a hefty thud on the wooden floorboards. In most cases, one would be surprised to hear a bird growl; in most cases, the bird in question is not green, two-headed, and six feet tall. One could look upon this demon and be so shocked by its appearance that the manner in which it spoke was the farthest thing from one's mind.
"What do you want, Melalo?" the angel asked, standing but retaining an apathetic countenance.
"You already know what I want." His double voices dripped menace like fetid slobber.
Amali smiled. It was a nice smile, or at least might have been deemed nice if she were a viper or a shark.
"It doesn't do to make assumptions. It's possible that you have a perfectly legitimate reason for bypassing my alarms and protective enchantments only to sneak up on myself and my charge whom, as I'm sure you recall, you attacked last week. If you do have such a reason, I advise you start talking."
The bird hissed, the feathers along its crest flattening.
"Give me your charge, and no harm will come to you."
Amali laughed aloud, though Javert could see nothing even remotely amusing in the situation.
"Give you my charge, and I won't be harmed? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? So much as entertaining the thought of complying with that ill-reasoned ultimatum would be followed by great personal discomfort."
Melalo hissed again, in that way that only birds do, more like a cat than a snake. It was especially disconcerting when there were two heads to do the threatening.
"It was worth a try," the demon said, advancing on the angel and, by extension, Javert.
Amali stood perfectly still, not in a state of petrification but rather of unadulterated nonchalance.
"I've never known you to even take a stab at subtlety, demon," she said casually. "Why the sudden change in approach? Or are you acting under someone else's orders?"
"I take orders from no one," Melalo spat, but his eyes bore a hunted quality that betrayed him.
Amali made note of this, but said nothing. As the great bird drew closer, and still the Guardian did not act, the Inspector pulled himself slowly backwards. He would edge along the wall until he was near the window. If he had to, he'd jump for it. He knew the odds of escaping the winged monster, even had he been in the peak of health, were slighter than a snowflake's chance in the Inferno, but he'd be damned if he'd sit and let himself be overcome.
The bird's yellow eyes bore down on him hungrily; for a moment, Javert's resolve faltered - what was the point of running when it would only delay the inevitable, and only that briefly?
Then the angel struck.
We have established that angels possess the ability to move with a supernatural degree of speed; in this case, the action in question occurred so swiftly that it was practically completed before it began: one second, Amali's arm hung limply at her side, and then it was raised in front of her, emitting brilliant sparks of electricity. The instant in which the appendage blurred from a vertical state to a horizontal one may not even have existed, for all Javert saw of it.
Astonished, Javert fell back against the headboard. Though she could have fried a man standing within ten feet of her reach, the girl remained totally detached from the situation; one eyebrow raised slightly provided the only indication of any interest in her actions whatsoever. Melalo shrank back from the arcs of light, growling furiously.
"That petty trick will not catch me twice," the bird croaked, darting suddenly through the lightning labyrinth, talons outstretched. It took a blast to the chest, but not before raking Amali's arm with a claw. The electric storm broke off as the angel took stock of the injury.
It wasn't horrible by any means, but it didn't look good, either - the wound was deep, and a steady stream of silver liquid ran in little rivulets down the length of the injured appendage.
When Amali looked up, her eyes were blazing; one could almost imagine that the erstwhile lightning was now emitting sparks from her gaze.
"You," she said quietly, her voice dangerous, "are infinitely lucky that this -" she gestured at her arm "- happened to me and not to him." She inclined her head in Javert's direction. "Because I swear to you on all that is sacred: if you hurt him, you will spontaneously become an immortal puddle on the floor. As it is..."
She raised her hand angrily; Melalo, who was already smoking slightly, took a hesitant hop-step back. There was an explosion such as Javert had only ever seen produced by gunpowder, and a dozen arcs of lightning erupted simultaneously in the demon's direction. There was a flash, and he was gone.
"Excellent work, Amali," the Inspector said, feeling slightly more than slightly shaken. "You disposed of that disgusting creature most effectively."
The angel frowned. "I wish I had. I fear he vanished before I caught him. This bodes ill - he ought never to have been able to enter the house."
It was the Inspector's turn to frown. "What on earth is keeping him out? I mean, besides a lockable door, this house is hardly a model of security."
Amali treated Javert to a withering glance. "I assure you, there is more to this house's fortifications than a simple plank of wood on hinges. No, Melalo shouldn't have been able to get in. The fact that he did is concerning at best. I need to go check some things - do me a favor and don't wander off, now matter how exciting and potentially fatal an idea you come up with."
Javert snorted. It was hardly his fault that everyone seemed to be out to get him. It came with the territory - one couldn't be a pillar of justice without also being moderately unpopular - but usually his detractors weren't immortal.
Watching the lithe form of the angel disappear through the door, Javert reached for La Chartreuse gingerly. What were the odds that if he started reading someone would interrupt him again? High, he decided, but he'd give it a shot anyway.
No sooner had he started a new paragraph than a knock came at the door. Javert's expression turned so acidic he could have melted the door then and there, and he very purposefully ignored his caller. Amali was busy, Valjean would take the hint and leave, and there was no one else he cared to speak with just then.
In spite of his absence of attentions, the door swung open. Only when there came from that direction a very polite cough did Javert look up, eyebrows contracting in surprise. It was Amali, already back.
"Weren't you going to check on something?" Javert asked, annoyance written in bold across his features.
"I changed my mind," Amali replied. Something about her voice sounded forced.
"But," said the Inspector, sitting up, "isn't keeping Melalo out a bit, you know, important?"
The angel started. "Well, er, yes of course. But he won't hurt you while I'm here, will he?"
"He just tried to," Javert reminded her. Something was definitely off, but Javert couldn't quite place the problem. "Are you feeling alright?"
Amali nodded vigorously. "Sure. I'm fine. But, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something. Would you come here a minute?"
Now the Inspector was even more confused. "Aren't you the one who keeps saying I shouldn't get up yet?"
"Stretching your legs a little couldn't hurt. Come on - you can trust me, right?"
Javert's mental response said that he didn't trust anybody, but for once he overrode his internal warning system and stood shakily. As he walked to the door, a feeling of foreboding fell over the Inspector. Amali was nervous, and that made him nervous, too.