Jonathan awoke with a yelp, clamping his hand over his forearm where sudden fire had blossomed. Had someone attacked him, here in the sanctuary of Mount Sudan? His fingers found nothing but the Kiss embedded in his arm, which glowed eerily with a strange urgency and was, for once, warm to the touch. He sat up on the bed, dove-colored wings sweeping behind him, and puzzled over the sensation. Abigail was long dead--it could not be her lighting the Kiss. One of their children, perhaps? He had never seen it light up in the presence of either Miriam or Jude, but for Deborah...he remembered that it had lit up once, when he had been conferring with Uriel and Hagar at the Eyrie in Bethel. He had agreed to take Deborah with him, to show her something of Samaria outside of her home at Monteverde, and had allowed her to go off to play with some of the angel-children at the Archangel's hold. It had lit up like this while he was speaking with Uriel about the trespasses of two brothers in his province, by the name of Edor, and had stopped Jonathan mid-sentence. He had rushed out looking for Deborah, not sure what compelled him to search for her in particular; two angel-children were pulling her hair and kicking her legs and calling her a "wingless by-blow." They fled at the sight of Jonathan, leaving him to comfort his unfortunate daughter.

Jonathan leapt involuntarily from the bed; that must be it--Deborah was frightened, in danger. He hastily pulled on his flying clothes, then ran to the entrance to the mountain. The blush of dawn was just beginning to tint the sky; his sudden departure from Mount Sudan would ordinarily be thought of as unpardonably rude, but somehow he felt that Levi might understand. He took a running jump and flung himself aloft, pumping his wings to gain altitude. Being a small man, and light-boned as all angels were, it did not take him long to break through the thin layer of clouds. He surged forward on a current of air coming off the mountains, and flew to the south-and-east, not stopping until he reached the Plain of Sharon.

*****

Absalom silently watched the girl between sips from his waterglass. She had not said a word since they had left Lucifer's tent, and only sat there, gazing off at nothing. Be fair to her, he cautioned himself. She's just had the shock of her life. As I have, he added with a sigh. Lucifer's anarchical ideas had always bothered him, Absalom had never thought his former friend would put them into practice. He had thought he knew Lucifer better than that--apparently, he had been mistaken about the angel's true nature. He looked again at Deborah; poor girl, he thought. She has no place in this mess--and if she's to be Lucifer's angelica...Absalom shuddered at the thought. The red-haired angel had bedded often and frequently with the women who hung around Windy Point, "angel-seekers" they were called, never seeming to mind that his offspring born of them only helped to perpetuate the angelic tyranny he himself condemned. One-sided, Absalom thought. One-sided: that's what Lucifer is. He always goes on about how the priests and oracles and angels are oppressing the people of Samaria, but never acknowledges that his own actions abet them. He accepted his post as leader at Windy Point willingly enough—he tried to justify it by saying that if he were in a position of power he could reveal the truth to the people of Samaria without risk of punishment, but he liked the power and position well enough. To think that I called that I called him 'friend' once...

He heard alarmed murmurings outside, and turned to see what was the matter; he nearly fell out of his chair when the wild-eyed angel Jonathan tore open the flap of the tent, wings trembling with exhaustion and voice frantic. "Deborah? Is she there? Deborah!" The girl rushed forward to meet her father, and the two embraced each other tightly, as if to assure themselves that the other really was there and alive. "My Kiss...I thought you were in danger," Jonathan said between gasps of breath, holding her at arms length to examine her face. She turned her head away. "Father," she said softly. "I am to be Lucifer's angelica."

Jonathan was silent for a moment, shoulders and wings still lifting with each labored breath. "He told you this himself? He--" The Monteverde leader caught sight of the darkening bruises on her wrists, and his face grew grim. "There is no denying it if it is so--but by Jovah, he shall come and ask for you respectfully before you ever stand at his side! I will not suffer you to be so ill-used!" Deborah's stiff frame seemed to collapse, and her father pulled her gently against him. "Never, never, my daughter." The Monteverde angel turned his gaze upon Absalom. "But what are you doing with this man?" he asked. "If I am not mistaken, he is often in Lucifer's company and confidences."

"I was, sir," Absalom said quietly, rising from his seat, "but I have renounced him. He went to far in his treatment of your daughter." Jonathan nodded slowly. Absalom knew that the Monteverde leader still did not entirely trust him, but his condemnation of Lucifer put him a little more at ease. "Come, daughter," said Jonathan, leading her from the tent. "It is time we quit this place."



*****

Lucifer tapped his foot on the cool stone floor, the only outward sign of the fury and impatience that was seething inside of him. "Surely you can see," he said smoothly, "the pointlessness of this argument. She is to be my angelica--Jovah himself has said so; and I can assure you she shall not want for anything at Windy Point. The attendants there are most considerate."

"It is not them I mistrust," snarled Jonathan. "It is you. Unless you allow her to remain here, she shall never stand beside you at the Gloria--even if that means calling down Jovah's wrath."

Damn this angel, Lucifer raged to himself. He must have the girl--it was a matter of pride, of influence, of control. How dared this old, withered, misborn thing to deny him? "You wouldn't," Lucifer returned coldly, sadistically. "You haven't upheld the Librera and Jovah's law your entire life just to cast it aside for the sake of your wingless daughter." He saw a spark of something flicker in Jonathan's dark eyes, and pounced upon it. "Hah! You don't love the priests and oracles and angels any better than I do! We are of a like mind in that respect, Jonathan--you were there when it began to go wrong! You were one of the first victims of their meddling; you've let yourself be their tool for your entire life; why are you digging your heels in about your daughter, hmm? One wingless girl?" He paused, gauging Jonathan's reaction; although the Monteverde leader was struggling to hide it, Lucifer knew he had touched on one of the questions which gnawed at the silver-haired angel the most; and he could see that he had awakened unwelcome memories from Jonathan's youth.

"I can see what you are thinking--you look at yourself, at all the angels, at the way mortal children are treated, and wonder if this isn't all a debasement of our lives? They worked their art upon you, Jonathan, twisted your life so they could have their way--why do you now defend them? Together, you and I could stop them in their tracks, unmask them before the entire world!"

The Monteverde angel's eyes grew suddenly cold. "Not at my daughter's expense--never." With that, he turned on his heel and left the room. Lucifer watched the gray wings disappear into the darkness. You choose your way, he thought, and I'll chose mine. But I shall have my way, with or without your worthless daughter. He tugged at his lower lip thoughtfully. So, Deborah would never sing at his side—which meant he would have to unmask Jovah before the next Gloria, when the so-called god would unleash his wrath with impunity. But how to grasp Samaria's attention before then, only a year away?

Lucifer heard someone cough behind him. A plain mortal man, one of the servants at Monteverde, hovered politely near the door. "If your business is concluded," he said in clipped tones, "I shall escort you out."

"I'll find my own way out, thank you," the red-haired angel said by way of dismissal. He saw disapproval register in the man's eyes, but he acquiesced and left. Unable to hold still any longer, Lucifer began walking down one of the corridors, which led to the kitchens. He was about to exit to the place where the angels came and went, when he heard someone yell in one of the rooms.

"Reu! For Jovah's sake...give me that." Lucifer pressed himself to the wall, and peered around the doorframe. One of the cooks had snatched a kettle out of the hearth and was emptying it into a slop sink, all the while brandishing a wooden spoon over the head of a bewildered-looking young man, with a doughy, misshapen face and small, beady eyes. "Can't you do anything right? I'll be damned if I ever let you tend the fire again..."

Reu...the name struck a note in Lucifer's mind. As the cook stomped off through another door, he ran his eyes over the boy--he was huge for his years, but sat on the floor, blubbering like a child and wiping his nose; the Windy Point angel could see that his limbs to were malformed, twisted. He suddenly remembered where he had heard the name before--this was Reu, born to the angels Adah and Eliab. He was another of the mistakes the doctors and priests had made; right after his birth, the Librera had been amended to bar relations between two angels, to prevent more children like him from being born. He was conclusive proof of what Lucifer had always suspected--that angels were closely bred, like prize horses or dogs, creations of men who claimed to uphold Jovah's law. Only interbreeding with mortals could thin angelic blood enough to prevent misfortunes like Reu. Lucifer straightened up, and slipped through the door to put a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, the seed of an idea planted in his mind.