Chapter Forty Seven
Hugo flicks a hand dismissively in response to my question, as if informing me of what had occurred when my uncle and Emilio had first crossed paths is prosaic and boring. "When Bryon first taught Emilio to fight, the little bugger was fatherless and fifteen with an attitude. To help cure him of that attitude, Bryon would tape Emilio's wings to his back and chuck him off of cliffs."
Paige gasps, her horror reflecting mine. "No way."
"Didn't believe it until I saw it myself." Shrugging, Hugo leans back in his seat. "It was always into the sea or some other body of water, and he'd always fish him out afterwards, make him a cup of cocoa with Belgian chocolate and sling the cloak over his shoulders. Helps remind you that, although he's a good and gracious guy, Bryon don't take no shit from no one. If he was gonna school that boy, he was at least gonna school him into a gentlemanly little fuck of an assassin."
"An assassin?" Raffe inquires sharply, furrowing his brow. "Is that what the Hispanic's considered?"
"More like an elite warrior-general type thing," Bay corrects cheerfully, at last separating from his carousing with the Watchers to join the conversation. "A super soldier, if you will, under the direct command of Bryon. Emilio's kicked and scratched to get his way to the top; don't get in his way. He's an angsty Chuck Norris with wings."
"I don't care who's protecting my daughter-in-law," Sariel thunders with an impressive belch, "so long as he doesn't let a single hair on her head get so much as singed. Else I'll scalp the boy myself."
"'Course you will." Hugo furtively rolls his eyes in my direction, making an exasperated face I've only ever seen on middle school girls. "Right after your nap, eh, great and powerful?"
"I hope you won't be napping with the likes of those," calls the chilling voice I've learned to fear. The sound of metal and bone scraping sets my teeth on edge as the demon furls his wings by his side. Raffe's lip curls, and he throws his chair backwards with the alacrity he stands with.
She-angels begin to trickle out of the cafeteria in greater numbers and in more dense groups, but the drama halts them in their tracks, causing them to set down along the walls and watch in what they perhaps think is subtly.
"The hell do you mean?" Sariel booms, his golden brow furrowing. "And where's Big and Ugly?"
"I have your son to thank for that." Halfheartedly, Lucius shakes a fist in the air. "Let's go, muscles! In repayment, I must offer him something, though, so I suppose this is good enough. Find better company to nap with."
A few outraged cries echo throughout the Watchers, but whether their anger springs from misinterpretation or truth, I'm not certain. Lucius has the stage, however, as a hush falls over the previously chatty she-angels – the mere mention of Bryon had sent them into a quiet, respectful silence.
Raffe pounds his fist on the table as Lucius begins to stride back to his vodka, causing my pancakes to wobble. "Elaborate, you monster."
"M-word," grunts a warm, familiar voice. I swirl around to see Bryon walking through the balcony, holding one of his metal feathers in a single hand, as if it'd broken off from the old wings. "But do as he says, Lucius."
Lucius sighs in exasperation. "I mean I wouldn't go napping with the likes of old Bear over there snooping about, especially if you've got important documents lying around. That's all I'm willing to give."
A rush of conversation scurries around the cafeteria. As it silences, I notice Belle perched on the back of an empty chair, her eyes wide and curious.
"Ogden?" Bryon's voice is sharp, his eyes narrowed. "What does he mean?"
Ogden looks absolutely terrified.
And I snap.
"You know what?" I stand up alongside Raffe, complying to the blaze of heat at my heart. "I'm so sick of your bullshit, Lucius. You go around bullying and blackmailing and then expect us all to pity you. That I can handle. But framing Ogden? Making it so that he won't be able to go anywhere without suspicion? Putting him under a magnifying glass? Goddammit, I am through with you thinking that you can just pin everybody beneath your thumb with your threats and scary glares. I –"
Upon the receiving ends of one of those scary glares, I feel my breath leave me and my courage escaping with it, trickling from my bones and pooling around me. From beneath the lens of his sunglasses, I can feel ire burning, gnawing at the panes, imploring to be released upon me.
"If you must know, Miss Young," Lucius says with an eerie calm, like the serene sky before a tempest breaks, "the information you extract from me was information that shall cause Ogden his fall, despite what he may think or believe now."
"Better to have the truth out there than be caught in blackmail," I assert, trying to maintain my brave face before the hundreds of curious gazes now trained on me.
Ogden's wide, brown eyes swing to me, shimmering with fear, and only then do I doubt my statement.
"Fine." Lucius's eyebrows perk. "Ogden was not only the one responsible for paying the Seraph to hand your boyfriend's wings off to Uriel, but he was also the one to suggest using the Horses in the first place. And not just one. All four. Tell me, Young, is the truth better than my warning for him to cover his tracks better?"
If I had considered the lack of voices to be a silence before, I had not known the utter stillness in the air now. An angel's feather falls to the ground, and, as it hits the tiles, I swear the silence is suffocating the air enough to hear Lucius is the only one that seems to move, returning to his seat and pouring another glass of vodka. The strangest part is that Ogden, though humiliated and shrinking on himself, almost seems relieved.
"Oh, also." Lucius looks up from his toast, his expression one of deadly leisure. "He's planning on creating civil war amongst the Nephilim. 'Down with the Dragon' would be an excellent campaign motto, if he was going to run an election like a civil creature." Lucius smiles and nods sarcastically. "I agree with you on this one, Penryn." A cruel, serpentine smile pulls at the corners of his lips. "It was definitely much better for me to tell the truth rather than blackmailing him. Good thinking, wifey."
Silence.
Utter silence.
The voice that next imperturbably seeps through the room like icy poison makes me long for the silence once more.
"Those that have no right to be here," Bryon says coolly, "should take their lunch and leave. I will not ask again."
The brilliant light haloing Bryon seems to intensify around him, as if the sun has finally crept over the ridge of the triangle to blast behind him for this exact moment – his face is dark as ebony velvet, his eyes blazing like a pair of coins, and his fangs curling from the corners of his mouth like ivory tusks.
And, as both angels and human servants bustle out the door, they part around him, like the Red Sea before Moses. My attempts at a hasty repeat are marred as Hugo grabs my arm and pulls me back down to the table. Sariel hands Paige off to Bay, who, alongside the rest of the Watchers, swiftly escapes.
The two horns that wrap around Bryon's head seem to grow thicker, shading his eyes more, making the two discs of bronze even more of a contrast to his face. "Lucius. Leave."
The demon doesn't look up from his vodka to flash Bryon his middle finger.
Despite the audacity Lucius's ardent refusal, Bryon takes no notice of it. Instead, he strides angrily towards Ogden, eyes ablaze with fury. The staff taps an ominous heartbeat onto the stone floor.
"Do explain," Bryon commands chillingly, the disks of bronze narrowing, "what he meant by that, Ogden."
He'd been shivering, cowering from Bryon, while the people had trickled away, perhaps merely for show, perhaps to only portray my uncle as a merciless bane of old men. Now that we're alone, Raffe, Sariel, Hugo, Bryon, and I, he stiffens his spine and rises from his seat, ignoring Sariel's drunken glares and Raffe's curled lip, ignoring even the faltering mask Hugo wears over his heartbroken bewilderment.
Without fear nor malice, Ogden sidesteps into the center of the aisle, positioning himself between the lunch tables carefully. Once severe and crippling, his old injuries seem to affect his gait in the minimum. Though his eyes don't maintain the dramatic ring of bronze as he meets Bryon's gaze, their chocolaty color darkens into inky black.
"You are unfit to rule," Hugo whispers, watching Ogden with betrayal in his eyes. It takes me a moment to realize that he's perhaps intercepting Ogden's thoughts and playing them out for us. "I did what I had to, my son. You must understand that. I only want what's best for the Nephilim."
Blinking several times, Bryon balances his staff in the crook of his arm, his lips twisting into an expression of cold disbelief. "So it's true, then?"
Ogden cocks his head to one side like a dog. "I have no reason to deny it. I am caught doing what is best – shoot me if you think otherwise."
"And you think what's best for us is to be torn apart by civil war?" Bryon whispers incredulously, shaking his head slightly and causing the beams of sunlight to dance between his horns. Had Raffe not been vaulting over the table to sit in the vacated seat beside me, I would've noticed the emotional tremble in his voice.
Ogden lowers his eyes to his feet, unfurling his haggard hands and looking into his palms.
"It was not an easy decision, but one that had to be made."
Bryon turns his back on Ogden, raking his hands through his hair and taking a deep breath. His eyes roll shut and his brow screws up, causing my heart to pinch – memories of Bryon tagging adoring compliments upon Ogden, the one he'd said had become his father, the one he had treated with utmost respect all of my time with them.
Ogden stands still as a statue, not a tinge of remorse gleaming in his gaze – all I see is grim acceptance of an enemy. A shiver rattles down my spine at the utter indifference dulling his eyes, causing Raffe's hand to linger at my waist. Through the glance we exchange, I realize he's having just as hard a time wrapping his head around Ogden's apparent treachery.
With a deep, steady breath inwards, Bryon turns back to Ogden, eyes flat and emotionless like a shark's.
"And do you mind telling me why I'm unfit to rule?" Bryon demands bitterly. "Why you choose now, a time of unrest and chaos, to impeach after all these centuries of compliance?"
"Because you were a different man all those centuries." Ogden's gaze grows harder. "You've changed, Bryon. They say knowledge is power, and maybe it is, because something in you has been missing for the longest time. I hardly know who you are anymore – maybe it's knowledge that changed you, maybe it's loneliness. There was a time when I would've called you my son. But I don't know who or what you are."
"I'd still call you father!" Bryon snaps, whipping his staff around and causing a few sparks to crackle at the tip. They smolder in shades of orange and purple upon the tiles. "And people change! You've changed too, I see. You power hungry old man!"
Ogden shifts into a fighting stance as well.
"This has nothing to do with power – I do what I must, Bryon. It all started with that angel girl of yours – you grew soft, Bryon. You never were the most tenacious of people, but your will turned to putty. You've forgotten your first and only responsibility is to your family."
"My only tie is to my family!" Bryon snarls in indignation.
"Your real family, not those that have consanguinity!" Ogden begins to circle Bryon like a lion capturing its kill. "Not the Seraphim! Not the she-angels! Not even the goddamned monkeys! But to your family!"
"I have been nothing but loyal." Bryon's blazing eyes follow Ogden as the older Nephilim circles the younger. "You are as heartless as an old shoe! Forgive me for saving a few more lives along the way. How dare I despair over the loss of life!"
"There is a difference between taking pity and being stupid." Ogden throws his hands into the air. "What were you thinking, taking Raphael in? He's not a puppy dog someone left out in the rain. He's going to kill every one of us. And even if you've worked your magic, then we should at least kill him before his brain becomes polluted once more! He knows all of our secrets, you idiot! Don't you tell me he isn't going change back, because he is, the moment his Daughter of Man dies and he forgets the reasons he softened in the first place – and he will right his sins! The façade of peace is an illusion of your own creation, and when it crumbles, all of us will pay!"
"Do you want our people to become bloodthirsty war dogs?" Bryon cries, looking alarmed. "We're separated by a hair from monsters, Ogden. You wish to thrust us into savagery by forgetting that!"
"The angels are reportedly the savage ones, yet look at who's at the top of the food chain. You wish to become the bottom dwellers, to replace the demons at the bottom of the food chain." Hugo's fists tighten at Ogden's words, undoubtedly harboring thoughts of Bay. "Life isn't all butterflies and rainbows and a God that cares whether you do good or bad."
My uncle bares his teeth. "Oh, so we're getting metaphysical here, are we? You want to send the Nephilim into depression by stripping them of their King, their God, and their dignity. How would you make a decent leader for my people, never mind a good leader? You would crush them!"
"I would succeed where you have failed. It is plenty fine to feel emotion, but it isn't acceptable to be driven by it. I am the Father of the Nephilim. It is time for me to take my place at the head of the house."
Bryon takes a step back, slowly shaking his head, holding his staff in his hands like a teddy bear. "Why?" he whispers heartbrokenly as the light from the balcony ripples around his head. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because something's changed in you." For the first time, Ogden allows himself to display the same heartbreak that's been demolishing Hugo's calm. "You're not my Bryon. You've lost sight of who you are, gotten too tangled up in your web of benevolence and belligerence, dedicated yourself too much to answers and not enough to your people."
"I love my people!" Bryon roars, a single tear tracing down his cheek. "I am doing what is best for them! I would give my life for any one of them in an instant!"
"But your life doesn't mean anything!" Ogden buries his face in his hands and lets out a frustrated bellow. "I've seen all the signs, Bryon! The way you act when you think no one is looking! The things you do when the eclipse hangs overhead! You dare to call yourself even half human!"
Bryon's face shuts down all of its emotions. "I will not discuss that. For your own good. Keep your noes out of that business."
"Bryon!" Agonized, Ogden turns his back on my uncle, clawing down his face. "You torture me so! But how could you not have expected this? First, your instant 'forgiveness' of the one I know you hate more than anything else in this world, and then you took him into a Chaza? What were you thinking?"
"You suggested that!" I accuse, feeling the need to stand up for Bryon as my uncle's expression continues to dissolve behind his impassive veneer.
"Sit down," Hugo hisses, grabbing my arm and tugging me back to my seat. His hand, tight around my forearm, shivers slightly, opening my eyes to the tremble running through his body. "He actually suggested that we feed Raphael to the cherubs to get them to slow down, and then retreat into the Chaza for safety."
"My opinion of him just goes up and up," Raffe mutters darkly.
Ogden lifts his lips in a cruel, angry sneer. "Your days are numbered, Wrath. If I don't rip out your heart, then this one's sweetheart will. Hold your tongue."
"Enough of your threatening!" Bryon thunders. "Tell me this –" Bryon sidesteps between the piercing glares of Raffe and Ogden to regain his attention. "How many have sided with you? How many see me unfit to rule? For if the grand majority leans in your favor, I will step down. I am a slave to their desires, as any king should be." A rough cruelty enters his voice. "Only lie to me if you desire your exile from this place to be all the more soon."
Defiantly, Ogden holds Bryon's gaze. Hugo utters no words, shrugging after a few seconds to indicate that nothing is being said.
"Fine." Bryon's voice, though devoid of undiluted spite, holds a more venomous tone to it – and it's a tone I know so very well, a tone I've used myself after bitter betrayals. "I'm sorry it had to work out like this, Ogden. I won't harm you if I can avoid it, but I refuse to give up my people. If you could perhaps keep your avarice in a few years longer and allow me to banish the he-angels before you stir up this much trouble, I would very much appreciate it."
His cloak flutters around his legs, its gentle undulations seeming more poignant than usual, as if biding Ogden a mourning farewell.
Ogden studies Bryon, his expression growing marginally softer. "I would if I could, Bryon. But I cannot allow you to lead us into failure. Time after time, I've given you opportunities to change back to the way you used to be. To put your people first. You can't lead us, my son."
Sariel makes the table shiver, his massive fist pounding against the wood. "My son."
Ignoring his father, Bryon lifts his gaze back to Ogden's, meeting it levelly. "I was not aware of any tests. And my family always comes first."
"True." Ogden tips his head in acknowledgement. "You were not made aware. But the best tests are the ones done with subtlety and surprise. However… that wasn't the final nail in the board. If you treated your own family as brusquely as you did poor Penryn, then how could I trust you with mine?"
"What do you mean?" Bryon questions, eyes darting to me, seemingly drawing comfort from my equal surprise.
"You allow her to stay by the side of that monster!" Ogden releases an appalled howl. "You know very well of what he is, what he could've done to her! Obviously, if you did not see my resentment, you are more oblivious to temperaments then you seem to believe – what if you'd been wrong about him?! She would've paid the price! And why? So she could soften him up, make him vulnerable to your brainwashing?"
Beside me, Raffe shifts uncomfortably – I attempt to ignore the furtive glance he shoots my direction, just as he attempts to ignore mine.
"He's right!" sings Lucius, tipping back another glass of vodka.
"And don't even get me started on that demon!" Ogden growls like an animal. "Sending her to him? How dare you! Even I, one not of the Young family name, can feel horror in that choice! He ripped out your brother's heart and stole her mother's sanity! And you sent another of your family into his clutches? How could you?! How could you?!"
"Love you too," Lucius mumbles, daintily inspecting the glass he holds in one hand.
"My point is" – Ogden steps closer to Bryon, gaze distrustful and odious – "you have no right to play the innocent, betrayed card. I know what you've done. I've seen the body count. And it's not all from your early, bloody days, is it, Bryon? Our secret. And for that reason, I'm leaving you."
Bryon squares his shoulders. "If it's a war you want, it's a war you'll get."
Ogden's head whips around to the table. No longer do I need Hugo to translate, for his words echo through my thoughts, their powerful tones not nearly as beautiful as they had been mere hours before. The formerly soft, gentle chocolate of his eyes has hardened into stone.
Hugo, come. We're leaving.
Perhaps I'm the only one that catches the momentary flash of heartrending panic on Bryon's face – certainly, everyone sees the way his head snaps up from its miserable position, sees the way his eyes flare to life with new passion.
Hugo stalls, hesitating, looking close to tears himself – like a child watching his two parents going through a divorce, almost. "Um, I'm not sure."
Ogden's eyes widen, as if Hugo's hesitance was something he'd not anticipated. Startled, he takes an aggressive step towards the boy, and holds out a hand firmly. Hugo! We need to leave! Our presence will not be long allowed here!
"Hugo." Bryon's soft, malleable voice causes Hugo to lift his head. I know that one could drown in those rich bronze eyes, which is exactly what the boy seems to be doing. "It's alright if you don't choose me. Go where makes you happiest, and don't look back." His lips quirk sadly. "I want you to be happy, understand?"
"Yes, sir." Hugo nods stiffly. He leans over his lap, elbows propped up against his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sariel seems immensely worried behind Raffe and I, his mouth opening and closing like a grounded fish, watching his adopted grandson with wide, frightened eyes.
We're a team, Hugo. Ogden looks positively perturbed. You are the inventor and I am your blacksmith. You are the brain and I am the hands you guide. I need you as much as you need me. I am your welder.
"Which is why I'm not going anywhere." He sucks in a deep breath, not allowing himself to glance at Ogden's stunned expression. "I think you'd better leave, Ogden. Anyone can weld and bend metal, but it takes someone special to touch a heart that's all crusty and hollow like mine. I don't want to be your brain. So get out of here, and don't you dare let me see you again."
Very well. My lips perk into a sadistic smile at the disappointed, hateful undertone in Ogden's words. The old cripple hobbles off, his silvery black wings unfurling with a snarl of metal. Glancing back once vehemently at the family he leaves behind in quest of saving another, Ogden lifts his wings and soars off.
Sariel moans and buries his head in his hands – the mixture of alcohol in the early morning and the sudden roil of emotions undoubtedly stirring his guts can't be the most settling recipe. Overtaken by disbelief, I yearn to lean against Raffe, to borrow some of his strength just for the shortest moment, before I must face Paige, before I must face Bay, but degrading myself by seeking him is surely a plea for mockery later.
Raffe makes my choice easy by lifting the arm previously around my waist so that it encircles my shoulders, clutching me against him. His opposite hand finds mine, and his thumb moves in gentle circles over the back of my hand.
"Bastard," Raffe says through gritted teeth, face contorted with a powerful ire.
Hugo doesn't bother to respond, though his intentions are quite clear – instead of refuting Raffe's insult, he casts one surly glance towards the archangel, rises, brushing past Bryon, and joins Lucius's table. Collapsing in a chair and grasping the bottle's neck, he downs the last of the vodka with a single swallow.
Astonishingly, Lucius has no snarky words for Hugo. Instead, with a face as impassive as Death itself, he reaches beneath the table and grasps another bottle, setting it on the table for the wounded warrior.
Perhaps more astonishing is that Bryon downs the entire bottle.
And here we go. There won't be very many happy moments from this point out, folks. I recommend finding a happy place.
POLL: Several times, we've seen someone poke a stick at Lucius. But instead of attacking like a rabid dog, he has a much more specific and wounding retaliation. If he does get pushed enough, what extents do you believe he'll go to? And how deadly is he, really?
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh
