I would like to take a moment to thank my wonderful reviewers - it's really encouraging (and slightly intimidating) to know that people are actually reading this! :D I had something totally different planned for chapter ten, but then this happened. Oh well. Chapter ten...

In Which the Storm Breaks

Amali ran her errand, though she refused to tell either Valjean or Javert exactly with whom she'd be speaking.

"Both of you would question my methods, and I don't know that I can handle any more of that today," she had informed them tartly. The men were willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since it got her off the rooftop.

The Archangel, meanwhile, had left almost as soon as the Inspector and the girl had come down the ladder, pausing only to hold her hand briefly in reassurance.

"You have my support. We shall see how many others will still stand with us after they hear of your escape," Raphael said gravely. Truth be told, it wasn't the most comforting speech he'd ever made.

Thus the front door closed both on the Archangel and on Amali, and in the lingering silence thereafter, the sudden emptiness of the house was impossible to ignore.

"Do you think she'll be alright out there?" Valjean asked, staring at the door. "I mean, she's human now, isn't she, and there's all manner of crooks and swindlers on the streets at night."

Likewise staring at the entryway, Javert did not answer for a long moment. Then he replied quietly "She said she was mortal, but not human. In all honesty, I'd be more concerned about her doing something to herself."

When Valjean looked sharply at him, Javert explained, briefly, what had been said on the rooftop.

"But I have to ask," the Inspector concluded, "why you sent me up there? Surely at this point I'm nothing but an unpleasant reminder of what helping me cost her."

Valjean shook his head slowly, wondering how much information he could safely provide.

"I think," he said finally, "that you are the only one who could have talked her off that roof. I don't think... I don't think she would have listened to me."

Javert opened his mouth to ask something, but thought better of it and walked to the couch instead, sinking heavily on to the old pillows. After a moment, Valjean joined him, and they stared at the flickering in the fireplace instead of at the door. Eventually, Valjean stood again and fixed two mugs of tea. Javert watched, absorbing nothing, wondering what night-rule was at large in Paris that evening. Overhead, the storm broke violently, and heavy torrents of rain fell from the heavens.

Miserable, Javert thought. That is the only way to describe it.

The tea was hot. It gave some warmth to the cheerless room. Eventually, Valjean nodded off, his head lolling gently against Javert's shoulder. For once, the Inspector didn't mind - he felt he could use the silent company. Somewhere across Paris, a bell tolled the hour. It was late, and still Amali had not returned. Javert sensed his silent vigil fading into slumber; he forced himself awake. Too soon, the oppressive mantle of weariness fell over him again. How long had it been since he'd slept? Only a day? It felt like a year's time had passed since that morning.

The melancholy rain beat out a steady tattoo across the city, running down drain spouts, splashing on roof tiles, sweeping through the sewers. Its rhythmic humming slowed the blinking of the eyes, steadied the heart, calmed and soothed all in one. In the little house on Rue Plumet, Javert found it harder and harder to hold sleep at bay. It seemed he dreamed with his eyes open, even, the shadows dancing like skeletal figures on the walls and small clouds of steam twisting into the forms of women in white.

Javert blinked. The living room was just as it always was. He blinked again, more slowly. His chin nodded, and he closed his eyes for a third time, promising himself he would just rest a bit; staring at firelight for so long was surely bad for one's vision.

Javert dreamt, and this is what he saw. There was at first a rush of monochrome, of greys and blacks and whites, and this at last solidified into the image of a forbidding figure standing on a bridge. Before he could observe further, however, the picture spun and then he was gazing up at an enormous courthouse, one rather Neoclassical in structure, forth from which issued a steady outpouring of the Heavenly Host, dashing here and there, their arms piled with notes and records. This image too shattered into a thousand fragments, coalescing into a dark hall full of darker pits, all sealed with iron bars. One such pit at the dungeon's end seemed darker still than the others, and Javert felt compelled to see what unfortunate soul had been thusly locked away. The further down that grim hall he walked, however, the farther his destination seemed. And then there was a deafening clap of thunder, and Javert woke in a panic.

Valjean was looking at him with some concern, and the Inspector realized that he was quite flushed, his chest pounding much faster than its usual.

"A dream," Javert explained. "Nightmare. I'm sorry - did I wake you?"

Valjean shook his head. "The Lord's atmospheric symphony did that. Are you well?"

Javert nodded. "I think so. 'Twas just a very odd dream. Not enough sleep, I suppose. Is Amali back yet?"

No sooner had Valjean started to shake his head than the front door blew open and a dripping-wet Amali fell, face-first, to the floor.

"So much for the dramatic entrance," they heard her mutter. "Stupid lack of traction. Angels are supposed to be graceful." She pulled herself up and smiled wryly at the pair on the couch. "It's raining outside."

"We'd noticed," Valjean replied faintly.

"Mind if I join you?" She hobbled over to the couch, dripping the whole way, and dropped back to the floor in front of the fire. "I was beginning to think I'd never be dry again."

"Were you successful in your errand?" Valjean asked with a touch of trepidation.

"Mmm," came the mumbled reply. "I made it there without difficulty, though the boys required more persuasion than I'd anticipated. They'll be here, never fear, near one o'clock tomorrow afternoon. It started to rain whilst I was at their apartments, and it was in coming home that this-" she gestured to her dress "- happened. Complicating matters that much further was the fact that I found myself pursued by some unpleasant individuals. It wasn't difficult to give them the slip, but it did require me to go out of my way. That's why I was late. My sincerest apologies."

"Apologies are hardly necessary," Javert assured her, waving his hand in an unusual show of geniality.

Next to him, Valjean frowned. Something had been nagging at him for the last few hours, and now seeing Amali brought the issue back to the fore.

"Might I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"Earlier, you locked that demon, Melalo, down in my basement, right?

"Right."

"So... Not that I mind or anything, but we can't really just leave him there, can we? I mean, what exactly does one do with an evil demon obsessed with destroying people painfully?"

Amali laughed once, coldly.

"You ask it a few questions," the girl answered. "And it had best hope to God that it can answer before you get tired of waiting."

There are few things eerier than entering a crypt-like basement, dark but for the supernatural shine of spell-light, only to find a pair of hideous eyes staring at you from the back corner; all three mortals felt the hairs on the nape of their neck prickle.

Melalo had, in a fury, done everything in his considerable power to escape; the stone floor contained with him beneath the magicked dome had been reduced to mere splinters, dirt tossed this way and that, but even below ground Melalo found himself thwarted, for the dome extended as a sphere, preventing all mischief-making. Even the demon's black magic, which had first granted him access to Number 55's interior, failed in the face of the offensive power of a Guardian. Now he sat disincorporated, a shapeless fume of black smoke, glaring with coal-red eyes at those who dared restrain him.

Amali was the last of the trio to enter. Melalo ignored her pointedly, choosing rather to focus his attentions on the men. Javert regarded the demon with a cool indifference, which Valjean silently applauded.

"Come back to try your luck, mortals?" he asked. By some shred of power, the monster's voice sounded from every corner of the room. "You shall find me a mite harder to bend to your will without an angel in your midst. At least," he amended, turning at last to drip derision on his captor, "without a proper one."

Amali did not rise to the provocation, though Javert looked murderous.

"An angel's role I may not be playing," she said with measured calmness, "but I remain blessedly less-than-useless. Observe."

Her satchel was left on the basement floor where she had dropped it earlier; from within she drew the selfsame chunk of charcoal she had cast the circle with that afternoon. Scribbling a few lines on the ground, she looked on with satisfaction as the dome shrank about a foot in its radius. The black fog was forced to condense itself to fit within its new confines.

"How...?" Valjean began uncertainly.

"A very simple procedure," said a pleased Amali, "and in fact, we can thank Michael for it. I could already feel his draw on my essence when I first constructed the circle, and frankly, with him it's always fire and brimstone. I built a few safeguards into my spell as a result, just in case something were to happen, as it tends to do. You don't have to have superhuman powers to effect change on the circle or its contents, you just have to be outside of it and very, very familiar with arcane languages and scripts."

Inspector Javert started to grin sardonically in Melalo's direction. "You could be a member of the police, girl. Brilliant strategizing."

"Well," Amali shrugged modestly, "it's mostly a thing born of practice. At any rate, we still have control over one situation."

"And what good, pray tell, does that do you?" hissed an extremely irritated demon. "It's not like The Lord of Darkness is going to sell you information with me as ransom." He clucked at the very thought.

"True. But methinks there is something you haven't told us, Melalo," Amali replied shrewdly. "On whose orders did you pursue my charge?"

"Oh-ho, is that what you're after?" Melalo clucked again, appreciatively. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not telling. You'll forgive me, but I don't find little girls especially intimidating."

"Loyalty to one's employer has never been a common trait among demons," Amali commented.

"Neither is giving information to one's quarry," Melalo pointed out, the smoke swirling in amusement. "Especially not anything truthful."

"He's right," Valjean whispered to the girl. "We can't trust a thing he says!"

Slowly, Amali nodded. "I'd had hope that he would prove more helpful, though in retrospect, I don't know why. I suppose we'll have to work a bit for the information, hmm?"

This time when she knelt, she closed her eyes to write. The characters she scratched out on the floor were tiny and winding, and it seemed to the observers that they were forming a pattern, though what it was, they couldn't tell.

Melalo shrieked in anger.

"You can't do that! Angels are forbidden to use such magics!"

Amali kept writing, her concentration never wavering. "I believe that you were the one to suggest that I'm no proper angel. Make up your mind. Are you going to give me as straight answer?" When Melalo said nothing, she inclined her head to the other two, adding "This is going to feel really weird."

The sensation was one of the spirit turning into rubber, being stretched and pulled like taffy until one's consciousness was quite outside one's body. If they had looked around in that instant, all three would have found themselves standing next to their own person. Then the world around them seemed to dissolve, and they were instead standing before a Neoclassical courthouse, one which shimmered and bent like a mirage. Javert grimaced in recognition - it was the place from his dream.

"Why are we here, of all places?" Valjean asked, confused.

"Where is here?" Javert amended.

"Welcome to the court of the Sacred Citadel," Amali replied grimly. "In the center is the Hall of Records, where the Archangels meet. The building also serves as a library, a prison, and guest suites for visitors and diplomats."

Dryly, Javert summed up what they were all thinking. "How very... accommodating."

"Isn't it, though? I must admit, however, that the fact that Melalo's thoughts took us here is not the best news I've heard all day."

"What does it mean?" Valjean asked, the alarm present on his features.

"It means," growled Javert, "that whoever set all these demons against me is here, in the angels' city. Am I right, Amali?"

"Unfortunately. Though we can't rule out the possibility that there are others involved as well - Melalo is only showing us the hiding place of the one individual ordering him around."

"Brilliant. Just brilliant." Javert cursed under his breath. "Is there any way to get more specific information out of this little spell? Because there are a lot of people here to investigate."

"We should be able to do better than this, yes," Amali said. "Let me see what I can do..." She cocked her head; almost at once the ground shifted like water beneath their feet and in but a second, they were the only stationary objects in a maelstrom of motion.

When the vision settled, they were standing in a long hallway. The floor was tiled in white marble, and the arching ceiling was carved of the same. A long runner, colored vibrantly red, stretched the hall's length. Dozens of alcoves lined the walls.

"This isn't far from the Hall of Records," Amali said slowly, "so I don't understand why..."

"Someone must have been listening in on the Council's meetings!" Valjean exclaimed. "Perhaps they're still here!"

He started at the run down the hall, Amali and Javert no more than a length behind him.

Out of nowhere, as if they had crossed some invisible boundary line, everything went black, and the trio was struck by the sensation of just having encountered a brick wall head-on at a run.

Somewhere in the distance, Javert heard Amali shouted something, and the spell collapsed upon itself. A moment later, the Inspector blinked and found himself sitting in his own body in Valjean's basement. It seemed the other two were having a similar moment of unreality. Melalo cackled maniacally to himself.

"Be silent, you stupid bird," Amali spat.

"What just happened?" Valjean groaned, rubbing his forehead.

"Something blocked the spell," Amali explained. "The whole Citadel is lined with enchantments to repel malicious spell work, and the courthouse all the more so. The Hall of Records is the most heavily fortified chamber anywhere in the Astral. Whatever we ran into is designed to keep people from spying exactly the way we just tried."

"So sorry I couldn't be more helpful," the demon-bird laughed, "but then, it is very rude to intrude on someone's thoughts like that."

"I thought I told you to be silent," Amali growled, sketching a jagged line in the air.

The space around the dome seemed to bend before completely enveloping the magicked circle. It was as though a pocket had opened and swallowed it whole.

"Where did he go?" Javert asked in astonishment. Amali waved him down.

"I stuck him in the Astral. He can make all the obnoxious threats he wants there and we won't have to listen to it."

"Thank Heaven for small favors," the Inspector quipped. "Can we get out of the basement now?"

"Sure. Valjean, I'll scrub the marks off your floor later."

A cup and a half of coffee later (Valjean was by this time out of tea) and everyone felt themselves steadied enough to discuss what they had learned.

Valjean took the initiative, saying "We know now that the individual targeting Javert is in or near the Hall of Records. We know that they must be a powerful entity to be giving demons like Melalo orders, and we know that we cannot attempt to find this entity through magical means. What options does that give us?"

"At this point it sounds like our only choice is to go to the Hall of Records ourselves," the Inspector told him, though Amali shook her head vehemently.

"Not on your life," she argued. "I don't want any of us anywhere near that place right now. Consider - any spell powerful enough to break into an angelic fortress of that caliber was cast by the demonic equivalent of an Archangel. None of us can combat that."

The trio stared into their coffee cups considering this grim prospect.

"If I may make a suggestion," Valjean offered, "I recommend that we all get some rest. It has been a long day and it is late. Surely we can reevaluate matters in the morning, or even tomorrow afternoon when Amali's guests arrive."

Having no better idea themselves, Javert and Amali consented wearily.

"Do you want help making your bed up?" Amali asked Valjean.

"Thank you, but no, I can get it," he replied smiling.

Javert was halfway to the stairs before he processed what the girl had said. Then he paused, mid-step.

"Aren't you sleeping in your room, Valjean?" the Inspector asked.

Valjean shrugged. "Well, if you'd really rather sleep on the couch, you may, but I find that of late the mattress upstairs is too soft for my old bones."

"You mean that there are only… two rooms upstairs, yours and Cosette's?"

"Those and the powder room. Same as it's always been."

"Of… course," Javert replied.

He finished climbing the stairs contemplating this unanticipated revelation. Logically, he knew that there were three rooms on the second floor - he'd been through that hallway several times. However, he had assumed that the house on Rue Plumet had three sets of sleeping quarters upstairs. The knowledge that the "sick room", which he'd taken for a guest space, was in fact the master bedroom… Well, it was disconcerting at best. He'd been sleeping in Valjean's bed for over a week. How did one react to that?

Javert sat gingerly down on the mattress. It seemed that sleep ought to come more difficultly now but he found himself too tired to form any real sense of propriety.

Sleep fell upon him even before he had the chance to make a change of clothes; fully dressed, the musky scent of another's bed washed over him, and Inspector Javert dissolved at last into a deep and dreamless slumber.