Chapter 2: A Woman's Work

The meeting's delay wasn't caused by the drizzle of cool rain that began just ahead of time, nor by salacious rumors that Lord Rosiel had said something worryingly erratic again, nor by the sudden announcement that the barrier had been breached by Lucifer's deranged comrades. Nor was the delay due to Anael's feminine need to touch up her face and adjust her clothes, though she was the only woman in attendance and such behaviors were assumed of her. What held them up was, instead, two members of the High Council. By the time they deigned to arrive, nearly 20 minutes after the meeting's scheduled start, conversation inside had trickled into sentences that trailed off uncomfortably as if meant to be cues for interruption.

Yomiel caught the door before it could close behind the Council members and slipped quietly into the seat beside Anael. They had been pleasant acquaintances once, but the war had seen Yomiel moved to another office within the Research Division. Now that major battles had given way to a slow-burning "conflict" between the levels of the cosmos, Yomiel had managed to stay in his administrative role far from the lab.

"Is this really necessary?" he whispered to her, not bothering to hide his amused cynicism. "Everyone's just going to say what they always say, and the Council will remind us all that we're doing the Creator's unquestionable work."

She ran her eyes over the pages she'd brought instead of looking at him. If she'd missed something, her scheduled remarks would turn into a disaster. "I'm sure it won't be too painful then."

"You're giving an update, aren't you? I think I saw that on the agenda."

Anael nodded, her fingers still turning the corners of the pages. "It'll only take a moment."

Yomiel gave the softest chuckle. "Does my office owe you anything, or are we all caught up?"

"Well." She gave the question real thought, weighing her potential battles. "Our new recruit never received her debriefing package."

"Ah." He also had to think for a moment. He'd never been good at the finer details, which probably made him ideal for a high office. "I'll have my adjutant bring a debriefing package to, erm, Lailah, was it?"

"There's no need. She's already figured most of it out."

Another staccato "ah." She could feel him watching her for her reaction. Technically he outranked her now, but she remembered him as a good man, one who probably would feel some embarrassment at this level of oversight. Satisfied with the order of her notes, she finally looked up at him, keeping her expression a little more direct than it perhaps needed to be. "But still send it. She'll still find it helpful. I'm afraid we've thrown her into the deep end."

Yomiel raised an eyebrow. "Has she seen Sandalphon yet?"

Before Anael could answer, the gavel sounded, five hard beats that echoed through the room like holy thunder. The two Councilmen, required to be here, had found their way to the head of the room. The other attendees, all high-ranking members of the Research Division, stood as the Councilmen took their seats. Anael was five raked rows back and still lost sight of the Councilmen in the sea of heads in front of her. It didn't matter. They were here to give the illusion of God-ordained proceedings. No one currently on the High Council had ever served in any scientific department, and they made their lack of interest in all of the Research Division's ongoing experiences obvious.

She wasn't scheduled to speak until the end of the meeting, but she was glad to have had this interruption. Yomiel's question seemed simple enough, but she knew what would come after. And how could she explain that? Yes, the new recruit saw Sandalphon and didn't run away screaming. Though she had never had an honest, personal conversation with Yomiel about it, she knew his feelings about the project couldn't be too different from those of most everyone else who'd gotten a good look at him. Sandalphon was all but a total failure. His soul couldn't be contained in any vessel, not even the freshest, one that hadn't even begun to grow cold yet. As soon as his tissues were exposed to air, they began to rot. His screams echoed in her brain for days afterward. At home, she poured perfume into the shower and could still smell the putrescence of his melting flesh.

Each attempt at the transfer ended this way, and each time Sandalphon's suffering was so great that Anael had felt a dark wish to kill him. And maybe she would have done it if she could guarantee Metatron's survival without his twin.

So what could she say to Yomiel now, when he probably felt the same? When he was probably grateful not only that his transfer had become a promotion, but also to not have to look at that deformed clump of blind eyes anymore? When the new recruit had clearly looked at both twins on her first day and said that they were beautiful? When this should have been a good sign for the project, but Anael couldn't shake the feeling that something horrible was going to happen?

The gavel relieved her of that burden. Her shoulders stiffened as she stood but then relaxed, and Yomiel's eyes lingered on her only for another moment.

The meeting began as it always did, with all attendees reciting their holy vow in unison. Despite the doubts she'd begun to harbor about the work, there was something comforting about the recitation. A sense of assurance, of purpose. She let her close for a moment, concentrating on the meaning of each word as if it were a prayer.

When the vow was finished, the members of the High Council sat and the other attendees followed suit. Out of habit she tugged the hem of her skirt down to her knee. For the next hour she waited, listening probably closer than some of the others but not entirely engaged. Her eyes went down to her notes every few minutes as she tried to memorize the most important points. Half of what she'd prepared could be summarized as simply uncertainty. Not ideal, but not as bad as outright failure. Not yet anyway. If she started with the boring part they might not notice.

The officiants adhered closely to the agenda. Anael let her face react when appropriate, the mood of the room determining the arch of eyebrows, the movement of her lips. When the others laughed, she joined them. When tension arose, she frowned and prepared to choose a side of whichever argument suddenly became a priority. Certain names were deliberately omitted from relevant discussions, and she obediently kept her face blank when those omissions became conspicuous.

Meanwhile her brain kept running through the words, silently devising the cues that would carry each thought into the next. The first priority was the cohesion. If she made it sound good, if she never stumbled, chances were that they'd accept the report without question. The second priority was the lie. Nobody present in this room could know her new suspicion.

The twins were going to die.

Metatron's early success had given them hope. How beautiful he'd been, each aspect of his physical being observably perfect. He had been responsive to stimuli at first, his pupils reactive to light and movement, his mouth quickly opening, his tiny fingers flexing. His flesh reddened under heat and tensed in cold, and small stippled bumps appeared on it under light bursts of air. He was a miracle.

But nothing could be done for Sandalphon. When the other half of the incubator opened, Metatron's twin had spilled out of it, a shapeless clump. Gelatinous orbs that looked vaguely like eyes rolled through the muck that pooled on the floor. At first, the puddle was mistaken for waste protein, some type of lipoma that had formed in Metatron's wake. Those present for the birth, Anael among them, watched in horror as the substance flinched. When gloved hands tried to scoop it up, Metatron began to cry. This was the twin, the second half of the new god –

Back into the incubator, then the tank, then the largest vat in the lab. The muck grew into a monster. The twins could only thrive off each other and so Metatron was kept asleep, barely above a coma, in the hopes that his brother could be saved, but Anael knew it: there would be no saving this. And yet –

"They're beautiful…"

They.

She was brought out of these troubled thoughts by the sound of the gavel and the officiant's proclamation: "In final business, Anael of the Dominions will report on the progress of Projects Metatron and Sandalphon."

Yomiel gave a slight tap to the table in encouragement. She cleared her throat quietly, patted down her hem under the table, and stood to her full height.

"Members of the High Council –" How high her voice seemed in comparison to theirs – "fellow members of the Research Division, we at Projects Metatron and Sandalphon thank you for your time and support. We are pleased to report that the subjects remain stable. The central laboratory is currently running at 85% efficiency, with waste primarily a result of energy fluctuations in the support systems. These fluctuations, while inconvenient, are nonetheless within the acceptable range. The second greatest compromise to efficiency is containment of bio-material. An inconsistent supply means that just as there is an occasional lack, there is an occasional surplus, and the material decays quickly. A proposal is being put together to restrict–"

"Anael," an administrator from the Research Division interjected. "Waste is hardly the most essential topic here. Am I understanding correctly – the subjects remain the same as they were in your last report?"

"They are stable. Yes."

Another administrator on the first row followed up, standing to look up and back at her. "Stable – so, there has been no progress?"

She bit the inside of her lip, weighing her response. "Stability is progress, in this case. It's essential that both subjects are at a healthy baseline before more dramatic steps can be taken. Metatron is ready. Sandalphon has experienced too many setbacks. But we're confident that he—"

"We could just let him die." The third interruption came from a member of the Council itself. "Maybe without him siphoning nutrients and resources Metatron will make progress."

"No," she said too quickly. She took a deep breath as their eyes fell on her. "The goal of the twin experiments has been to replicate the dualistic power of Adam Kadamon. They must exist in balance. Twins are the only way. One must be the source of creation, the other destruction. Even if there are…aberrations."

Someone snickered. "Don't let Lord Rosiel or Lord Michael hear you say that."

"If Lords Rosiel and Michael take issue with the circumstances of their birth, they should take it up with the research teams in charge of their projects." Another mistake. She absolutely should not have said that. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

The projects that had resulted in Lord Rosiel and Lord Michael were not to be mentioned. Both were said to be divine, carried out through holy power rather than science. Lord Rosiel, after all, was the direct son of Adam Kadamon, created when the Heavens were still young. But this was only partly true, and even then people like Anael and her colleagues had been involved. No one knew the names of the researchers who'd worked on those projects, not even Anael or her own superiors. There was no record of their identities or current whereabouts. Only some of their results, the least controversial, were available.

There was a terrible truth behind Lord Rosiel's origin, one that Anael could only suspect but never voice. It crept into her most secret thoughts sometimes when she looked at Sandalphon's mangled body. Perhaps something similar had happened with Lord Michael and his twin. If so, it was no wonder the research teams had either disappeared or been threatened into perfect silence. And, of course, the team that had brought about the abominations Astaroth and Astarte had disappeared so quickly that it could only have been foul play, their creation almost immediately banished -

She really was playing a dangerous game. Others had died for similar infractions. Her chest ached as she waited for their outrage.

But the others only laughed. Whether they thought she was just an idiot or if their laughter was a slight against Lord Rosiel she couldn't tell, but she took their reaction with relief.

The officiant stretched his arms and flexed his hands as the laughter gradually died down. "All right, Anael, let's wrap this up so we can all go do something better with our time. When is the project going to have some tangible results?"

"We aim to attempt the second birth within the year."

Nods and half-hearted agreeable sounds spread through the room. It was an ambitious timeline even to someone who didn't know the project was doomed. Progress had been at a standstill for so long now. But they were desperate. Maybe extreme measures would give it the start it needed, a last resort.

"That's, erm…" the officiant cleared his throat, "impressive. Far better news than what you started with. I believe that will suffice. Do we have any questions for the Dominions Think Tank or the Project?"

A wave of declining grunts and harrumphs. Some men shuffled their own notes. She spotted one of the cherubim loosening his tie as if he were already outside. When she was younger and new to the project, she would've taken offense at how quick they were to dismiss her. Projects Metatron and Sandalphon were, after all, the holiest work in all of Heaven, even if they were failing. But now she was grateful to lose their attention. Obediently, she'd attended the meeting. She'd delivered her report. She'd promised results, and maybe she was wrong and that promise wouldn't turn out to be a lie. If they wanted more than this from her, the situation might have a different outcome. There might be more questions, some she couldn't answer. The Council might want someone to come to the lab and observe the work. Then there might be even more questions or, worse, the removal of the project from her hands. Then the most dreaded possibility – she'd have to decide if losing the project was defeat or a blessing.

Another triplet of the gavel dismissed the meeting. The Councilmen who'd arrived last were the first to rise and begin making their way for the door.

Anael collected her notes as a means of collecting herself. There. It was done. There would maybe be one more meeting before their next attempt to revive the twins, and then another few months' reprieve before she had to deliver that report. If she timed things right, the Council wouldn't give any more notice to her for almost another year.

Standing, Yomiel leaned close to her. "Sounds like the dogs are fed. Well done."

"Don't say that here."

"They can't hear me."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." She slid the papers back into a folder in a neat stack.

Yomiel chuckled. "See, this is why I couldn't come back to the project. You all lose your sense of humor. But I guess I would too if I had to look at that all day."

"Now you really are going too far." She couldn't tell if she meant to tease or admonish him. She stepped away from her chair and into the aisle. "If you get too dangerous, we won't be able to talk anymore."

The smile in his voice was audible. "Wouldn't want that, would we?"

He followed closely behind her. As soon as they exited into the wide corridor, he caught her arm. She clamped her mouth shut to stifle a gasp. Solemn eyes bored into hers.

"Anytime you want out, Anael–" he glanced back to make sure no one was paying attention to them – "just let me know. No questions asked. We'd love to have you."

"I…" She cleared her throat, stepping back from him. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."

He lowered his face more but didn't touch her again. "I'm serious, Ana. Don't be their hostage. If that lab starts going under, you don't have to go down with it. You're too good for that."

Her eyes scanned the corridor. Several of the others were still there, milling about, moving into their own conversations, but no one seemed to have noticed them.

"Just think about it, Ana." Yomiel smiled again. His hand came to his forehead in a mock salute, the kind he used to give her at the lab after meetings. It had never seemed mocking then and still didn't now. There weren't many people she could call friends and for a moment she almost missed him.

"I will. I—" She forced a smile. "I promise."

They left in separate directions, Yomiel catching up with some of the others and inserting himself into their conversation with admirable charm, Anael continuing alone. She was due at the lab to report back on the Council meeting but, even though the meeting had gone well, she felt reluctant. It was already midday. The rain had gotten a little harder. As long as the Council wasn't shutting them down, her summaries hardly mattered. Would anyone even notice if she didn't come back?

She emerged from the corridor into the open air. The rain was cold on her face.

From the window above, the prep room looked safe, sterile. White tables formed serpentine rows over a white floor. White curtains hung over some areas. Eleven bodies, their shapes hidden by white coats and surgical caps, worked over the tables in a silent rhythm. If it weren't for the red hunks of flesh on the tables, Anael thought, this might have been the sacristy of the chapel. The hands might have been folding holy vestments. The work they performed might have been holy, life-giving, certain to please their Creator and draw them closer to Him.

Dressed in white from head to toe, Lailah was almost indistinguishable from her colleagues. A narrow black line across her forehead gave her away, the very edge of her hair's fringe peeking out from her surgical cap. Regulations stated that no hair should be exposed in the prep room and Lailah normally adhered to the rules as if they were God's own edicts. But she pulled her cap so low that its tension inevitably caused it to creep back too far upward, and this anomaly alone Lailah never seemed to realize. Or, at least, she pretended not to realize. The one exception to her austerity, Anael had noticed, was when a violation would hide her scar.

She'd seen the small cross the second time they'd met. Lailah arrived early that morning, nearly on the heels of the opening staff. Her pale, modest dress made her look as if she'd already slipped into her labcoat. The black bob framed her face with perfect symmetry as if freshly cut. Its line was severe, as if measured, cut, and measured again. As she'd gone about her work, she'd kept her head down in concentration. And at first that was all it seemed, as she finished the initial morning task of sorting the automated overnight reports before the rest of her schedule could be determined.

When Ana had gone to check in on her, she'd kept her head slightly lowered. Only after Anael asked if she'd like to see the boys again did Lailah make eye contact, lifting her face so quickly that the fringe across her forehead moved. There, slightly off-center, were the two crooked lines, intersecting just above her glabella. Their ends tapered, suggesting that the inciting injury had been quick and sharp.

It took effort to hide a reaction. The scar was well-healed, certainly not recent. And it did indeed appear to be a scar rather than a birthmark or other natural flaw. Above the lowest levels of Heaven, these weren't uncommon for men who'd gone to war but they were almost never seen otherwise. Why should they be, when the perfection of angelic bodies was a sign of the Creator's pride in them? All but the deepest of war wounds could be healed easily now, and these small lines couldn't have posed too great a challenge. Lech though he was, Raphael could probably have removed them within minutes.

She knew better than to get caught looking. Mysteries here were never a good thing.

Yomiel's voice floated back to her as she watched for the scar now: Any time you want out…

She always kept a close eye on new recruits. The work here was too important and too confidential to be lax. There had only been two very minor instances of indiscretion by newcomers since Anael had become director, but she stayed ready for something much more serious. The conflict the war had given way to made it all too possible that this lab would become a strategic site for espionage or even terrorism. Entry was difficult to obtain, but key cards were hardly a match for the powers of Hell.

The chances that this new recruit was a spy were laughably slim. This somber, petite woman looked hardly capable of being conscripted into nefarious dealings. Moreover, her curiosity was noticeably tempered by obedience; not once had she seemed to go poking around where she wasn't explicitly told to go, and she barely glanced at any screens that were left open in front of her. Her habit of keeping her head down seemed the opposite of what a good spy would do, even one committed to feigning innocence.

Anael knew the story, of course. They'd had to disclose at least some of it to her in order to arrange Lailah's placement at the lab. During her candidacy, Lailah had displayed signs of seraphic power - not entirely unprecedented in a woman, but nearly so, and never had a woman successfully demonstrated that she was truly suited to the Seraphim. Her work with nerve agents at the Ophir facility had quietly impressed her superiors, who suspected a link between the power she wasn't supposed to have and her scientific prowess.

Then it was all rumor. Not filtered into any angelic class's Think Tank after the academy that would create a pathway to full membership - "it's so hard to tell sometimes" was the early excuse - her progress at Ophir brought her under the Council's scrutiny. Someone, Anael figured, must have told them to consider her case personally, whether out of hope that she might earn the rank or an indirect way to punish her. The Council, the rumor went, had actually agreed. They must have been curious. Seraphim were rare. Their abilities were unique. Since the creation of their species, fewer than a hundred angels had ever been given that designation. If anyone, especially a woman, and especially a woman as reserved and pious as this one, might be worthy of the rank, the Council would have been foolish not to look into the case.

The Council's rulings were always private, but Anael could guess the outcome. The notice of transfer had listed no rank, nor even a proper description of the new recruit's abilities, which was expected for one joining such a prestigious but secretive project. There was only "Her results have been adequate and you will find her assistance satisfactory." This facility was the most difficult to get into in all of Heaven. Even the lowest-level recruits came with glowing recommendations – and a spy certainly would.

So more than watching her for the lab's safety, Anael realized, she wanted her to feel welcome, mystery or not.

Down on the floor, Lailah unrolled a wide bolt of biomaterial. Removed from its original host and drained of blood, the material was pressed thin as fabric. The station Lailah had been assigned to for the day was the final step of biomaterial processing. Instead of large cleavers and saws, this one was flanked by a table of precision surgical implements and a mesher. It had its own water basin and bowl of disinfectant that Lailah used frequently, cleaning off her tools even if she'd only picked them up, studied them, and decided against using them. She was just as fastidious about changing her gloves. Protocol held that gloves must be changed after certain tasks but she changed hers nearly twice as often.

She guided a meter of the sterile, severed flesh to the opening of the mesher. Closely watching, Ana noticed that she had to raise up onto her toes to securely handle the farthest end of the material. She made a mental note to herself to have that table lowered after hours.

The machine ran silently. The flesh emerged thinner and doubled from its original size. Ana repressed a wince. It had been easy once to watch this part of the work. The material's grotesque origins were unfortunate but necessary, even noble. But lately her feelings had changed. She imagined the living breath that was once in the complete bodies and the complete bodies to which the butchered pieces were once attached. On one cold mangled scrap of face, the lingering scream, on another, a smile. They were children.

Lailah turned the machine off. She stripped the glove from her left hand, meticulously turning it inside out, then used its clean inner surface as a barrier to remove the right glove. She rinsed her hands briefly, dried them on a sterile cloth, and slipped them into fresh gloves. Then she pulled the graft onto the other side of the table and smoothed it flat again, lowering her face to inspect the meshwork. Frowning, she reached to the side and plucked a razor from the table, using its tip to correct what must have been an uneven line in the crosshatching. When she was satisfied, she laid the razor next to the basin and folded the mesh into a tight sheath.

Ana had been watching her so intently that she didn't see the man until he was halfway through the room.

She couldn't remember his name but recognized him as Yomiel's adjutant, a young, tall man who'd placed into the Dominions shortly after leaving the academy. Anael's mouth opened in a useless protest. It was unlikely that he'd ever been in such a sensitive environment before, but he should know better than to stroll across the floor without waiting for an escort.

She started to back away from the window, meaning to go down and catch him before he could contaminate something, then stopped. He was heading directly for Lailah's table. A thick binder was tucked under his arm. Of course Yomiel would send someone during what he knew was the busiest shift, even if only to remind Ana of his offer.

If she moved now, she might interrupt him in time. But, she realized with some shame, she wanted to see what would happen.

Oblivious to his approach, Lailah stripped off another pair of gloves. She flexed her fingers and turned her face to look at the mesh again as she began running the water. It wasn't until he'd arrived at her table that she seemed to notice him. Her eyes became comically wide and stepped quickly back from the basin, looking like she might even trip. Ana had never seen her have so pronounced a reaction. Was it cruel to let it happen? But he was harmless, and it was too late, wasn't it?

She couldn't hear a word of their exchange, but there didn't seem to be much to hear, at least not on Lailah's side. Her eyes stayed a little fearful and her mouth turned into a confused frown. Ana could faintly see the adjutant smiling in response. He held the binder out to her, then when she didn't reach for it, held it out further as if offering food to a nervous animal. Ana saw her speak. The adjutant appear to laugh and pushed the folder toward her again

With some clear reluctance, Lailah reached for the binder, pulling it slowly out of his grasp. As soon as she shifted its weight to just one hand, the adjutant grabbed her other, shaking it warmly.

Lailah's face changed again. There was something else beneath the anxiety that Ana didn't expect and couldn't define. Anger, maybe. As if his hand were a snake that had bitten her and she was preparing to cut off its head.

Interesting.

If the adjutant noticed, he gave no sign. His smile remained as he released her, issuing some parting words and nodding toward the binder before he turned to leave.

That was enough. Ana sighed and lifted the phone to tell the front staff to hold the adjutant for her so she could pass a message to his employer.

Down on the floor, Lailah stared at her hands in disgust and plunged them into the water.

NOTES:

This chapter has been the big holdup forever. There were a bunch of bits and pieces from multiple characters' perspectives planned as this chapter that just didn't want to fit together. Ultimately, it was more important that Anael's perspective got introduced, even at the cost of leaving Lailah's out entirely. The good news is that a lot of material after this chapter was already written.

Anael is a hard one. We never really know her, do we? Only what Zaphkiel and Lailah remember of her. Yuki gives us little hints of what she must be like and I've tried to base this characterization on those. Yomiel's name was originally something different, but I decided to repurpose the original name to better correspond to its meaning in angelology. (It will be showing up in a couple of chapters…).

My judgment of Lailah's height is largely based on how small she looks in the panel where Zaphkiel corners her in Chapter 77 and my interpretation that Sevy's tall height further separates him from her. Granted, she looks much taller when she appears with NidHegg in Chapter 102, but I've got my own weirdo theories on why she looks so different in that scene. I also have some reasoning for the argument that she is actually supposed to be a seraph herself, which is a hill I'll die on.

Most chapter titles (including this one) borrow from songs on my fic playlist, which largely consists of fka twigs, Lingua Ignota, Florence + the Machine, and Kalafina.