It would be sooner than he thought that Crowley appeared again. In the meantime, Michael and Lucifer hastened back to the hut with the unconscious Gabriel. Michael started to say something a few times, but Lucifer never even looked at him. He figured it was wisest to stay silent. Upon reaching the hut, Lucifer laid Gabriel down on a couch by the window and sat down, staring outside blankly.
The noise downstairs woke Danielle. She rolled out of bed, landing silently on the balls of her feet, and slipped her angel blade out from beneath her pillow before creeping downstairs: she wasn't sure who to expect. Danielle relaxed visibly when she saw the angels in the living room. The tip of the blade lowered and she cleared her throat slightly to announce her presence. She wasn't sure who the woman was, but if she was with Michael and Gabriel, she could be trusted.
Michael turned when he sensed Danielle approaching and crossed the room to meet her before she could enter. He felt it would be best to explain this on his own grounds. Unfortunately, she had no such ideas. Unfortunately, she had no such ideas and slipped into the room past him.
"What happened?" Danielle asked in concern. She could tell something was wrong, and she hated to see the angels suffering. They were practically her brethren; she could read them well.
"Gabriel and Lucifer have been saved. That is all that matters," said Michael simply. He wasn't eager to share the rest of the incident with her—fortunately, he was spared that.
"Michael screwed himself," said Lucifer, breaking from her trance and turning to look at Danielle. She raised an eyebrow, daring her brother to argue.
"Lucifer?" Danielle asked, recognizing the tone with which the fallen angel spoke, as well as the fire behind her eyes. Lucifer confirmed it with a nod.
"He sold himself to Crowley," she continued in a highly dissatisfied tone, "to fix a problem that was none of his business."
Danielle turned towards Michael, sadness and dismay in her eyes. "You sold your soul?"
"No," he said with a simple shake of his head. "I sold my services. The King of Hell has no use for an angel soul." He paused. "I must also confront Zachariah."
"To kill him?" asked Danielle. While she had been trying to break free from her mentor, the thought of anyone fighting him brought a shudder. In other instances of rebellion, Zachariah had not hesitated in hurting her.
"Yes."
"I see…" She bit her lip and looked away, glancing briefly at Gabriel and Lucifer. The latter was once again glaring at Michael. "I want to help," Danielle continued, trying to break the tension.
"I am not sure—" Michael began, but was cut off by Lucifer.
"You can get him here, can you not?" she said. "You're supposed to be his apprentice; you can call him."
"I…I guess I can," Danielle nodded and swallowed nervously. The angels stared at her in silence. "You mean…now?"
"No time like the present," Lucifer confirmed with a sigh. There was no sense in putting it off: if they moved now, Zachariah would most likely be caught unaware. Besides, she didn't know how soon Crowley expected Michael to kill Zachariah, but if it wasn't fast enough for the petty demon, he would reverse the effects of his spell. Lucifer didn't think Gabriel could survive that. None of it mattered: Michael would be Crowley's bitch anyways. Better to get it over with.
Michael seemed to agree. The faster Zachariah was disposed of, the faster Heaven would be safe, as well as his brothers. As far as he was concerned, he was already under Crowley's command, Zachariah's murder being simply his first task. He nodded at Danielle. "Yes. Now. But not here. Gabriel is vulnerable."
Lucifer and Danielle looked back to Gabriel, lying comatose on his back, his breathing alarmingly shallow. Unbeknownst to any of them, Gabriel was actually conscious of the situation around him; his Grace was simply too weak for him to respond. He wanted to do something: speak, plan, fight, help take his dick brother down—anything. But the Trickster was trapped inside his own head, screaming as loud as he could in the hopes that maybe someone would hear him. His hopes went unfulfilled.
"No," said Lucifer. She held her head high as she looked at Michael; now that they were on the same side, she had no reason to fear him. "We face Zachariah here. On our grounds. On our terms. And we stay here to protect Gabe. Zachariah's not dumb: if we leave Gabe alone, he'll send someone after him."
The others were quiet, thinking over this. Gabriel wanted to punch something: he felt so damn useless, and what was worse, they were letting his presence affect both their strategy and their chances. Danielle was subdued, looking down at the ground and fidgeting with the end of her blonde braid nervously. Eventually she looked up timidly and gave Lucifer a small nod. Michael stood completely still. He had to admit, Lucifer's logic was sound. He blinked once, slowly, in her direction—one could almost imagine a nod—in approval. Lucifer, who had always been well attuned to Michael, understood immediately. "Good," she said firmly and looked to Danielle. "Summon him. Now."
Dani nodded and took a deep breath, stepping hesitantly into the centre of the room. "Zachariah…?" she began faintly. "Zachariah, I…have something to report."
Silence.
Then, "Hullo, kiddos!" in that cringe worthy, false, gleeful tone.
Lucifer glanced up in, startled, and both Dani and Michael whipped around to see Zachariah leaning against the doorframe. He rocked easily to his feet and continued in the same fake voice, "Nice of you to invite me to the party…though I don't appreciate the tardiness." No one moved as Zachariah sauntered over to Danielle, glaring down at her with a cruel glee behind his eyes. "Well? Make your report, girl."
Michael watched the scene passively. Every time they met, there seemed to be something darker and darker about Zachariah. It was disconcerting, but perhaps they could work around it. Both he and Lucifer were stronger than Zachariah and if he valued his own life, he would stand down.
Danielle opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly found she lacked the air. Even though they had the advantage, she was still terrified. She swallowed nervously, wetting her throat so she could speak. "I…" she breathed in a shaky voice.
Faster than any human could have, Zachariah whipped his hand across, striking Danielle a vicious backhand. She crumpled to the ground, tasting blood. Lucifer jumped to her feet, but Michael was faster, stepping forward to grab Zachariah's shoulder. "Stop this!" he commanded, his fingers digging into the other angel's arm.
Danielle struggled to her knees, but was unable to get any farther: Zachariah seemed to be holding her down with the power of his mind. He plucked Michael's hand from his arm with fastidious distaste. "Please. You'll wrinkle my suit." Pause. "This isn't your business, Michael. How about you just stick to what you know? Blind slaughter. You may outrank me, brother, but I'm a thinker. You were born only to fight." Turning back to Danielle, he grabbed her by the throat.
Lucifer was in shock, staring at Zachariah with a slight curl to her lip. There was something seriously wrong with him. Not even Lucifer herself had gone to these measures: Zachariah appeared to enjoy his own cruelty. A small crease between her brows as she considered whether Zachariah had some dark new power of which they were unaware.
"I just can't believe," said Zachariah through a giggle, "that you thought you could stand up to me." He concentrated his Grace into his hand, the heavenly fire burning Danielle's flesh. He didn't do it all at once; the heat steadily rose, becoming gradually more unbearable. Danielle was reluctant to give him the satisfaction of showing weakness, but the pain was excruciating. She let out a choked sob that turned into a cry and grasped at Zachariah's wrist, trying to get him to stop.
Michael had had enough. He thrust his hand towards Michael, fingers splayed, sending the other angel crashing to the far wall and bruising his Grace. Danielle quickly scrabbled backwards out of Michael's way as he advanced on Zachariah, eyes bright with holy light.
"Michael…Michael," Zachariah addressed him pleadingly, giving him the most innocent smile he could muster. It looked slimy to everyone else present. "Think for a moment. Think. She is an asset of Heaven, a soldier—like us. And like us, she must be punished for disobeying."
"She has disobeyed only your orders, not those of Heaven," said Michael, standing over Zachariah.
The lesser angel laughed. "Don't you get it? I am Heaven. While all of you are down here consorting with humans, I take care of business upstairs, I oversee the garrisons, I provide guidance, I make the rules." He continued to laugh softly, as if amused by his own competence.
A small crease appeared between Michael's brows. "You're insane," he said softly, shaking his head sadly.
"Of course you would think that," spat Zachariah. "You. Who was made to be perfect. You, who—"
"Shut up," snapped Lucifer, stepping forward once more. "Do you have any idea how stupid you sound? You're talking out of your ass." She came up beside Michael and glared down at Zachariah, who blinked at her innocently.
Danielle had managed to stand, the pain having died down significantly, and she was braced against the arm of the couch. Michael was dimly aware of this and turned to go to her; as he did he reached towards Zachariah with his mind, dampening his power. Danielle fell gratefully into Michael's arms and he turned his full attention towards her, passing a hand over her throat to heal her.
Lucifer had been left alone with Zachariah, who looked less than thrilled about that fact. He tried to push himself to his feet, but Lucifer put a hand to his forehead to hold him down. She got close to his face, staring into his eyes with cold malice. "You know there's something wrong with you when you disgust the Devil," she snarled, and drew her blade, jamming it into Zachariah's throat and into the wall behind him in one smooth stroke. Zachariah's mouth fell open and his Grace burst from him, illuminating the room. Danielle screwed her eyes shut as she felt it brush over her; Zachariah's death seemed brighter than most, the light stinging through her eyelids.
Michael turned in astonishment. He knew Lucifer was rash, but he hadn't expected her to kill Zachariah, at least not without consulting him first. He caught the dying light in Zachariah's eyes, just as Lucifer yanked the blade from his throat. Zachariah slumped to the floor, mouth slightly agape and sockets smoking. Michael's gaze lifted from the corpse to Lucifer, who was cleaning her blade on her victim's suit. She twirled the blade before putting it away and fixed Michael with a challenging stare, raising an eyebrow. "What? The guy was seriously messed up."
Trapped deep inside his vessel, Gabriel wanted to scream. It was bad enough that there were feuds and wars between the brothers, but now they were killing each other again? This was what Gabriel had wanted to get away from when he left the first time, and now he was forced to sit there and listen. Part of him wanted to punch Lucifer. Yes, Zachariah had been way out of line, but he had been subdued. He could have been handled in a much different way. Desperately, Gabriel raged inside his mind, but not even a finger on his vessel twitched.
Lucifer felt a jerk in the pit of her stomach, just to the left of her Grace. She realized in shock that it was Gabriel, and that she must have taken some of his Grace with her when she was expelled. It would take a very long time for him to heal that way, if he did at all, but his influence would fade from Lucifer over time. She stepped away from Zachariah, giving him no further thought, and addressed Michael. "Now what?"
"Now, I…report to Crowley," said Michael with some difficulty. Little did he know that the demon was well aware of the whole situation. Once Crowley had returned to Hell, he had used some of the remainder of Michael's blood to cast a telepathy spell, creating a link between himself and the angel. Because it was a witch spell, it awarded certain benefits to the caster, especially considering the power of the blood used. Crowley could not only communicate mentally with Michael, he also had access to his senses and memories. Since he had completed the spell, he had been nestled in the back hollow of Michael's mind, watching the events transpire.
"Oh yeah. Of course. Your new master," Lucifer sneered in disgust, the corner of her lip curling.
"No need to be so venomous about it, dear," said Crowley cheerfully, appearing behind them. As Michael turned, Crowley caught his eye and winked.
"Hullo, love."
