Chapter Forty Three
Slowly, Hugo plucks the phone from his lap, his thumb dancing swiftly over the screen. As the metallic ring purrs from the speakers, he positions it absentmindedly against his face, eyes glued to the footage.
"Hello?" chirps Audiat's high, floaty voice.
"I've got the film," Hugo murmurs grimly, watching the ground beneath his cameraman's feet shake as a bloodcurdling roar pierces the sky. "It's a bit foggy, but it only adds to the suspenseful aura." Softly to himself, Hugo whispers, "Damn," as a pair of bronze eyes flash in the dark, choppy depths of the waters off the coast of Maine, their appearance quickly followed by a great muzzle shedding water and a massive sinuous body rising from the black sea like a monster.
"Did Bryon do okay?" Audiat whispers nervously, her voice soft and worried. "I mean, did he do better than last time? I mean… not that he didn't give it his all when he fought Famine, but…"
Hugo chuckles breathily. "He got squished like a pancake last time, Audie, but you don't have to worry about him now. I'm sending you the link now – you can see his glorious might for yourself. Jesus, he's even bigger than the fucking Horse. It won't be long before he gets too big, like Ogden. And that filly was so not prepared for the sea monster rising from the depths."
"Don't call him a monster!" Audiat chides. "He doesn't like that word. I've seen him called much, much worse, and I'm sure you have, too, but you know how he reacts to that one."
"Yeah, yeah, his Achilles' heel, I know, trust me, accidently let it slip out once or twice," Hugo grumps, recalling sour memories. "Is the footage what you're looking for? Check your emails; I sent a few extras of Raffe sic'ing a few hellions and then a clip of him crawling around late last night. You guys should really invest in video cameras that can't be hacked, by the way, but those are just background dancers, so pull up the star of the show. I mean, I don't know when the Horse is going to try and attack the eastern seaboard again, or where, but I can always get my people to try again."
Audiat's laugh tinkles like bells, its tinny, captured version from the speakers even making Hugo smile. "Oh, no, I think this is – oh, wow." She falls silent for a second, awed by something. Through the phone, Hugo hears the ear-shattering roar he'd been listening to moments before. "Wow." Warmth coats her amazement in its rich, buttery layers. "My God. I've forgotten how beautiful he is in action. Look at that – they call angels the perfect predators. If I was the Horse, I'd have turned and ran, too."
"You have a strange choice in men," Hugo critiques, watching the sea spray ricochet off of Bryon's bronze scales as the two beasts collide with one another, scaled paws braced against bladed hooves. "Look, I've got to go. Things are a bit hectic on this end. I'll try to hook this thing up to that projector machine you guys have in the dining hall."
"Alright, I'll let you go." Audiat's cheerful voice sounds slightly reluctant, as if she lusts for more time with Hugo – and, with complete honesty, his heart would leap should there be such an option. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"You too." Hugo grins, leaning his head back, ignoring the blazing question in Belle's eyes as she lifts her elegant head from her pedestal by the window. "Won't be easy, taking care of Uriel's rebuttal. If you need footage from Raffe's surgery, let me know, I know a guy or two that confiscated all security tapes. But… you've got Godzilla versus Kicker the battlehorse, so it shouldn't be too difficult to convince the angels that Raffe's been nobly combating a big, bad dragon all this time."
"Hopefully not." Audiat sighs nervously. "I'm glad Emilio slipped over. At least, if anything happens, he'll – my God, I'm keeping you from your hectic situation!" she laughs apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm just talking for the sake of talking. I'll let you go."
"Thanks, Audiat," Hugo smiles, chuckling into the phone. "Remember, if you get too nervous, breathe into a paper bag. Fare thee well."
"Take care!" Audiat squeaks, before her end of the line goes silent.
I glare at the thousands of steps I've gone down in loathing, puffing my breath irately, imagining the agony I'll have scaling the staircases after a healthy breakfast on the ground floor. Unfortunately, the she-angels' building abilities, though they are impressive, aren't adept enough install petty things like elevators. More than once, I've seen a munificent angel snare any humans making the long trip up the staircase to give them a lift, but, evidently, being a downwards traveler, I'm not as high a priority – and, when it becomes my turn to venture heavenwards, I'm certain I'll be grateful for their preference.
Leaning on the railing, I tip my head towards a trio of maids – at least, I assume they're maids. Perhaps out of indifference, perhaps out of benevolence, the angels seem to not fret over the professionalism of their human employees, merely asking them to dress neatly and to clean neatly. And this grouping of friends is dressed very casually indeed, laughing and chatting amongst themselves.
"Who is she, you think?" whispers one of the girls.
"Well, obviously, she ain't an angel," guesses the guy, shrugging his shoulders as he clops up the stairs. "Think she could be a demon?"
"A demon?!" shrieks the other woman, rolling her eyes. "What sort of demon would she be, then?"
"I dunno." The dude shrugs, his words being the last ones I care to hear before they drift out of my hearing. "For all we know, demons are the good guys. I mean, angels sure as hell ain't what they're made out to be, ain't they? Not all of em, least."
Demons are the good guys.
Recalling the icy swipe of Lucius's tongue inside my mouth, I shiver, dreading a day when demons can be considered the glorified heroes of any battlefield, no matter how bloody, and against any foe, no matter how vile. Sighing to myself, I peer down the long cascade of stairs still awaiting my descent, grateful that, though there's many floors left, most of them are behind me.
"Hello, Penryn," purrs Baelan, jarring me from my train of thought as he rises from below, weaving through the crisscrossing stairs. Gliding upwards like a bat, he hovers before me for a few magnificent moments like a dark angel before dropping to the ground like a stone. His moment of shadowed beauty lost, Bay bashfully closes his wings, as if embarrassed with his lack of elegant landing sequences.
"Hey, Bay," I greet, heart soaring at the chance to escape trotting down more steps. "What are you up to?"
"Hugo wanted me to get out of his hair." Helplessly, Bay shrugs. "I'm just looking for someone to talk to. Where are you going? Where's Raphael?"
"Chatting with Ariel." Copying his gesture, I roll my shoulders, remembering how they'd strategized over war maneuvers and politics and the value of an entire Nephilim army, and, no matter how interested I tried to make myself appear, I kept falling asleep until tromping down hundreds of stairs without my angelic escort was the only way I could possibly keep my eyes open. "I'm headed down for the dining hall, though. Can you give me a lift, or are you going up?"
"I'm not going anywhere," Bay reassures, smiling – had it not been for the uncertain sway in the taciturn angel's eyes, I would've considered ending the conversation there and hopping into his arms.
"What's the matter?" I inquire, cocking my head at the awkward way he shifts his weight. "Is something wrong?"
"Bezaliel's untimely death is public, and has made the front pages." Bay shakes his head slowly. "You appeared the same time one of the beloved Watchers met the bitter end – I'm not saying," he adds with a hasty cadence, "that I deem you guilty for what befell upon him, not at all, but others may. If I were you…" He hesitates.
"Yes?" I prompt.
"If I were you, I'd wait until Sariel was fit enough to accompany, or until Thea returns from her mad search for the killer." Bay shakes his head firmly. "Being closely knit and highly social, she-angels tend to be judgmental of strangers – best for their first glimpse of you to be beside your family and a fundamental part of the inner workings instead of a sketchy loner, the daughter of a madwoman." His eyes widen sheepishly. "Ah, apologies."
"You're speaking the truth, my friend," I chuckle gravely. "So… should I not eat, then? What do you think?"
"I think I'll go downstairs and get us both some food." Bay's eyes light up. "I'll say I'm getting food for Hugo and I, which wouldn't be much of an oddity, and then I'd run back here and snag you and we could just find some nook somewhere. I don't know much about you."
"What if Hugo actually wants breakfast?" I question, feeling slightly guilty to be taking the boy's share.
"Then he can get it himself," Bay dismisses, rolling his eyes. "I'm not his housekeeper. Stay here and I'll… do that. What floor is this?"
"Um, I think it's –"
Without another word from me, Bay seems to discover the answer to his own question as he scans the walls, and simply unfolds his wings and leaves, ducking downwards with a considerably greater amount of grace than he had arrived with.
Leaning on the rail and watching him spiral downwards, I ponder over the strange, standoffish Fallen angel. Apparently, he hasn't always been this way – memories of the old Bay, a wicked torturer with the sole job of making the lives of everyone around him miserable, cause me to shiver. Perhaps it's the reminiscences of his own bloody past that create his carefully constructed barriers.
After all, it can't be easy for the Fallen to get along with others – the last time he saw most of the she-angels, I'd say he was still in that frightening stage in his life. The fact that he's male in a group of tight females must be intimidating, as must the lingering knowledge that he's the only Fallen angel at the aerie. My heart plucks with pity for him.
It isn't like he's a timorous creature in nature – the first time I'd met him, he faced Hugo's panic, Scruffy's wound, and the oncoming horde of thousands of cherubs without second-guessing himself once. His presence is pleasant and veracious, though at times awkward. Socialization may not be his forte, but he is truly a good person, I decide, beneath all that mysterious aloofness – perhaps what makes the sociable yet morally challenged Hugo quite so attracted to Bay.
"They have pancakes," booms Bay's voice from below, startling me – I hadn't expected him to return quite yet. Again, he stumbles gawkily in his landing, but, if he blushes, his reddish skin prohibits any visible sign of it on his face.
"You were back quick," I note, raising an eyebrow. "What, are you some sort of Speedy Gonzales among bird people?"
"Bat people," Bay corrects, "and not really. You're only on floor fifteen; anyone would've been quick." Holding two doggy bags in one hand, he wraps an arm around me, the band of steel very gentle as it secures me against him. Had he not been so blatantly gay for Hugo, I might've been slightly embarrassed by that.
"Are you comfortable?" he asks, smiling benevolently at me. "Are you prepared?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, Bay." I glance towards the pancakes clutched in his other hand. "Just keep a tight hold on those, okay? I don't want breakfast to land on the head of some poor sucker."
Nodding in consensus, Bay extends his leathery black wings with a whooshing noise, his dark gaze studying the stairs above us and the path he'll have to cleave. Jogging slightly to the railing, Bay launches off of the staircase, establishing the tight hold I initiate around his torso. We fall for mere seconds before Bay catches air beneath his wings and flaps upwards, sending us up on a swift coil towards the sky.
As Bay displays his great grace and steadiness in air, twirling upwards more than flying like a ballerina in the air, I wonder if flying is like driving a car for angels – everyone can do it, but some people are better at it than others. It certainly explains how, although he's bad at landing, Bay swoops and ducks, veering out the way of descending angels with much more elegance than Raffe's ever shown in the air. Not that he's not an efficient flier – Raffe's just not a beautiful one.
To my surprise, Bay drops off at simply an intersection of the zigzagging staircases instead of some corridor or nook or cranny – no hallways lead somewhere remotely adequate for a picnic breakfast, no hallways lead anywhere at all. Still landing with his stumbling dance, Bay sets me down, however, as if we've arrived.
Confused, I glance around, wondering if we're going up to the thirty fifth floor or back down to the thirty third. Seeing my expression, Bay smiles.
"I haven't just dropped us off in the middle of nowhere." Setting the doggy bags down beside me, Bay approaches a blank wall and knocks around at the corner. "The she-angels were hasty have this place built, and brash in their math. Twasn't till after they'd built the frame of the skyscraper that Metatron double-checked her work and realized that their nice round number of fifty floors was one story too many."
I glance at the brass engraved plate screwed onto the stairway, reading the numbers of thirty five and thirty three. "Where's floor thirty-four?"
"It was boarded up and forgotten." Bay smiles as he peels open a few planks of wood, causing the wall to swing open like a door and the wallpaper to crease at the hinges. "There aren't any floorplans or anything on floor thirty four. Just three long, wood-paneled hallways. It's a perfect place to simply think without the rush and confusion of a hellish life."
"How do you know about this place?" I wonder, slipping after him behind the wall. "How many other people know about this place?"
"I honestly have no idea." Bay takes my hand and helps guide me through the mess of pipes and scratchy pink insulation. "I found it last night after hearing Belle's squeals of pain coming from inside a wall. There's a bit of a glass mess in one of the hallways, and a few dead hellions, but I'll clean it up."
"How did you know about all that stuff about the thirty fourth floor, then?" I inquire, watching as he slips out of the fluff and into a large, open space at the end of the hall.
Guiding me between the last set of pipes, Bay shows me the great, long hallway. Unfinished splintering wood sheathes the floor and one wall, the only source of light being the floor-to-ceiling window that facing the outer walls of the Triangle. Wide and bare, the hallway is rather calming with its desolate surroundings and simple elegance.
"Believe it or not," Bay chuckles, slinging the pancakes over his shoulder, "I do speak to people. You're not my only acquaintance. Angels are especially chatty when they have secrets, you know."
"Where did Belle break through the glass?" I wonder, scanning the long hallway for any sign of a break in the tinted windows. "Is it not on this wing?"
"No, it's not, but it's quite drafty in that corridor, very unpleasant. Where do you want to sit?"
Bay and I end up spearing our pancakes with plastic forks in the approximate center of the hallway, gazing out towards the farmlands, watching the little specks of people moving through the stalks of wheat and corn. The sky is grim and grey, the clouds blanketing the sky, as if reflecting the dismal mood hanging over the horizon. Though we initially eat in utter silence, Bay seems to grow uncomfortable with the lack of speech, as if he believes that I am not able to handle the quiet, or perhaps that it's only quiet because of some fault on his part.
"What are you thinking?" Bay inquires, staring down at me whilst shoving an entire pancake into his mouth. Though his tone and expression illustrate an aura of absolute graveness, it's of utmost difficulty to keep a serious façade as he chews on his pancake, plastic utensil stabbing another slab.
"About the view from here." I smile out at the field. "Nothing, really. It's nice to not have to think every once in a while."
"I concur." Bay massages his pancake into a little plastic cup of syrup. "And with all we've seen, it can be helpful to stop reliving memories and readministering past tortures. Emptiness can be blissful. I understand why some bargain away their emotions entirely."
"Mmm. I suppose, but it's also our emotions that make us who we are." I glance sideways at him. "Bay, is it alright if I ask how you and Hugo… met? Got together? That sort of thing?"
"It's not confidential, if that's what you're wondering." Glancing wistfully at a syrup-steeped pancake, he leaves it to rest on his paper plate, assumedly for when he finishes speaking. "Up in heaven a long time ago, people started hearing rumors about a human hero named Hugo, one capable of killing angels and selling their belongings away. I was sent down here to slaughter the great and powerful Hugo. I did not expect lanky, silver-tongued 'Alvis' was actually my fabled killer, especially as 'Alvis' showed me around and extended his hospitality to me with a sense of quirky goofiness. I was completely unaware he was sending me on wild goose chases for much longer than I care to admit."
"Was Bryon aware of the wild chasing of this goose?" I wonder, curious about my uncle's reaction to Hugo's pet angel.
Bryon shakes his head slowly. "No, no, not until I fell."
I shift my weight, crossing my legs in front of me. "Can I ask why you fell, or is that too private?"
"To some Fallen, it might be private, but I honestly could care less." Bay takes a thoughtful chomp from his pancake. "Heaven grew impatient, eager for this Hugo to fall. Unbeknownst to me, they sent down another sniffer, this one much better at doing its duty. It tracked Hugo down and confronted me about him. We argued and I claimed that my loony little Alvis couldn't be Hugo the powerful. I'd grown quite close to Hugo back in the day, something that I eventually learned to call love, so of course I defended his life as best I could. Our arguments grew so wild that Hugo walked in on me, eyes alit with curiosity, and was jumped by the other angel. The angel broke one of Hugo's ribs. Enraged, I pinned him down and pummeled him. That was the day my first feather fell."
"Did they send anyone else after Hugo?"
"No, I made sure of it."
I stare at him, waiting for elaboration.
"Before all my feathers could fall, I brought back the angel's head after burning it beyond recognition, claiming it was the human hero's, and then I presented the angel's sword, asking if they'd sent another angel to slaughter, which they all hastily denied. I returned back to Earth to 'gather up my things' and I never came home. I doubt they even noticed I was missing."
"And so you and Hugo have been with each other ever since?" I guess, smiling.
"Well…" Bay hesitates. "We weren't together, not at first. Just as he'd grown smitten with me in our time together, so had I, but I refused to allow myself to be lead astray by him, even when my last feather fell to reveal these things." Bay flexes his black wings in explanation. "Scoured the Earth in search of a way to regain glory, I did. Sought help in the Nephilim King, even, in my desperation. But with everything he knows, not even Bryon could fathom a way to return all my feathers to their rightful place."
"Are you at peace with your wings now?" I stare at them, marveling upon how different they are from Raffe's old ones, despite the fact that they're both bat wings. "I mean, you sure can fly well in them."
"Good question." Bay closes them up against his back. "I prefer feathers, but these serve well enough. I don't adore them like I did my other wings, but at the same time, I don't despise them, either. It's just… limbs. Besides, should we ever find a way to give me my feathers back, Hugo has every single one tucked away in a trunk somewhere."
"Really?" I scrunch up my brow. "He has all your feathers? Like, he has all the little downy ones and everything?"
"He made sure of it." Bay nods, looking pleased. "Has them all counted, too – goes to his secret bunker, wherever it is, and counts them once a year. One time, he freaked out because he'd lost one, then he realized that it'd gotten tangled in his hair jangle things. I think he still carries it with him, but I could be wrong."
I smile at Bay. "You two are seriously really cute together. I hope everything ends up okay for you guys."
"I do, too." Bay gives me a wise look from his shadowed face, seeming concerned. "But enough about me and that attention hog. How are you doing?"
Taking a minute to mull over an answer to his question, I gaze out over the fields, watching the little ants of people scurry about in what looks like giant games of tag or hide-and-go-seek. "I – I don't know, Bay. I really don't."
"How do you feel?" Bay tilts his head to one side, wiping away a bit of syrup that'd gotten stuck on his chin. "How do you feel at this very moment?"
"Right now?" I laugh hollowly. "Confused, mostly. I'm not sure what I can do. According to Lucius and Hugo, there's a monster on the loose. Bryon is who knows where, off to fight some big pony that has kicked his ass before, Audiat is probably up against Uriel and all his goons, Raffe is – honestly, I don't even know, but he's probably freaking out on the inside. Even freaking Belle is hurt. And, on top of it all, outside this little radar of perfect, the world is dying. I don't – I don't know what I can do. I guess I'm feeling kind of callow, kind of helpless."
"What would help you feel less helpless?" Bay questions, watching me through his eyelashes.
"Oh, uh –" I blink a few times thoughtfully. "I… haven't really considered that."
"Consider it now," Bay instructs gently.
And so I do.
"I'd like to know what's going on, and find a way to make everything better," I decide.
"What's stopping you from heading down to the library and rustling through books?" Bay tilts his head to the other side like a curious puppy. "I am not very intelligent. I'm not smart at all, in fact. But even I can find what I'm looking for in Metatron's archives when I spend the time to look through it all. If it is your naiveté in this world that irritates you, do something to change it, and you place yourself up with the best minds of the time."
Audiat had brought the pair of high heels with the loudest click for a good reason – hopefully, if a god does shed his light over this cruel world, the slow, confident tapping will mask the staccato pounding of her heart as it jitters inside of her chest.
Her face is a mask of cool control and her wings are held still and confident against her back, yet inside, her belly is hot with nerves, squirming as if filled with coiling snakes. Though Uriel decision to put her before the entire aerie had been exciting when the news had first been delivered, after further thought, Audiat now sees that perhaps it hadn't been as much of a gift as she'd first thought – the more abundant the angels, the more dangerous it is for anyone to dare confront them or their beloved.
Finishing off his introductory speech with a winsome grin, Uriel raises a hand towards Audiat. "Please welcome dear Audiat, female from the she-aerie, come to share grave news with us!"
Audiat refuses to allow the petty introduction to waver her veneer of calm, smiling beatifically towards him, despite the once charming grin played across his face turned into a wolf's foul sneer. Words like "female" instead of "sister" rub her the wrong way, make her want to slowly claw Uriel's eyes out beneath her impenetrable composure.
As the archangel slinks to the back of the stage to observe in the shadows, Audiat wheels to face the angelic horde, her hand tightening around the remote control to the PowerPoint slideshow Uriel had graciously provided her. And, in this moment, turning to the hundreds of critical he-angels simply dying for a chance to throw her to the hellhounds, Audiat pulls her serenity unto herself, swallows down her bundle of nerves, and stomachs the tremor of fear. She has the floor. The only reason she'll lose it is if she screws up or if she performs her job perfectly and makes Uriel nervous.
"Greetings, fast, feathered, and furious!" Audiat calls, smiling out over at the crowd yet maintaining the icy distance in her eyes, a frosty glaze she'd learned from her mentor so long ago. "Time is of the essence, as I understand it, so I'll do my best to make this quick; it has come to my attention that a rumor has spread like wildfire throughout this and many other aeries regarding Raphael."
A murmur ruptures the otherwise respectful silence, snippets of gossiping conversations heard above the buzz, but Audiat waits without comment.
"Now, I think that, throughout these years" – Audiat shrugs – "you've gotten to know my feelings towards that brute. I don't like him and he doesn't like me, we both accept that and get on with our lives." Audiat doesn't wait for the buzz of conversation to come to a cease before continuing. "However, seeing his current unjust and biased unpopularity, I have decided to give the benefit of the doubt to that archangel. First and foremost, I assume you all know what a Nephilim is?"
Audiat clicks a button in her hand and the PowerPoint blazes to life behind her, opening on the page of the sea water as black as obsidian, spraying grey mist at the stormy sky. Her finger rests on the button, awaiting the moment she can push it again and initiate the video's start up, showing these fools the awesome might of her husband.
"Yes, yes, those mythical beasts wandering the hills." Audiat imitates ghostly noises, waving her wings about in poorly feigned fright. Her expression stiffening as her wings clip back by her sides, Audiat tilts her head to one side. "As much as I wish our problems were pint-sized, in reality, they're so much worse."
The button taps, and the roar of Bryon echoes through the room, silencing the excited whispers. In brilliant seven hundred pixel quality, he rises from the depths like a terrible sea creature, the waves billowing around his neck and the lightning crashing around his horns like a crown forged from the heavens themselves. Gasps echo around as, when Bryon shakes out his mane and roars a challenge to the sky, exposing his great red maw, the camera zooms out, at last showing them the scale Bryon has to the soaring cliffs of Maine and the Horse of the Apocalypse perched on the edge.
Inky water laps at his scales as Bryon slowly emerges from the depths of the water, his bronze eyes blinking rapidly, the slitted pupils seemingly searching the shore aimlessly with their difficult-to-follow gaze. It only adds to the appearance of a monster in the brilliant footage Hugo had provided her with. Swiftly, Audiat taps the button again, pausing it just as Bryon whips his tail from the water, catching the massive waves it creates in the frozen screen.
"You know," Audiat decides sarcastically, scrunching her brow and pursing her lips, "I think I'd notice if one of those were creeping around in the middle of night snatching up children. Raffe was very, very disappointed to learn that you thought his job was taking down little demons when in fact –" Audiat resists smiling to herself at the perfect timing of her pause as she starts the video again, not even requiring to turn as Bryon's roar bellows over her shoulder again.
Horror blankets the angels' expressions. They stare in mute awe at the beast before them – can they see it? Can they see Bryon's perfection? The perfect predator? Or do they merely see an enemy rising from the gloom, same as any other, without any beauty or elegance.
"Raffe, by the way, is not a Fallen angel." One of Audiat's eyebrows perk. "He and I are both perplexed as to why you might think that. I don't know why you might've believed that our most rigorous archangel was its most sloppy. News flash, my dear friends: he's been roosting at the she-aerie."
"I saw him!" shouts one angel from the back angrily, causing a roar of ruckus and rebuttal.
"How can we trust you?!"
"He had black wings!"
"Is that even a Nephilim?!"
"You lying bitch, I saw him with my own eyes!"
"Why is the Horse there?!"
"Why would he go to the she-aerie?!"
One man accosts the platform on which she stands quite violently. Audiat watches with cold fascination as he approaches, barreling past the protective line of wingless Nephilim Emilio had smuggled in as a guarding force. Delicately dancing forward a few steps, Audiat stares down at him as he scrambles forward. She watches patiently, allowing him to hook one hand onto the stage before stabbing the tip of her heel through his hand. Howling, the angel recoils, delivered neatly to the clutches of her guardians.
Turning her back on the chaos in the crowds as the unanimous political party begins to split into two separate entities, Audiat moves calmly back to her placement on the stage, squeezing her eyes shut tightly to keep from breathing quick or speeding up, to stop herself from twirling around to the conflict. It takes infinite patience for her to move collectively as she turns back to her audience without any outward displays of nervousness.
The crowds are caught in turmoil.
Serenely, Audiat lifts her remote, holding it threateningly in one hand while smiling benignly, scaling up the volume with a dial. Her expression blanketing into one of neutrality, she clicks the button and watches as the speakers blast the remnants of the dragon's menacing roar and the Horse's answering whinny over the crowd, sending them skittering like beetles, clutching their hands over their ears. She shuts it off quickly, before anyone truly grasps what'd happened as their eardrums had exploded.
"I'm sorry." Furtively toning the volume back down to its usual measurements, Audiat cranes her neck out, frowning in the direction of the speakers. "They shouldn't have been that loud. Uriel, can you get someone on that? Thank you. Now, a lot of you have brilliant questions, and I'm going to do my best to answer them, if you'll stop bickering and let me explain. Will you let me?"
Audiat waits, feeling like an impatient mother as she stares coldly out at the scorned crowd, waiting until the angels drop each other from the headlocks and wrestling holds. A trio of angels ringing around a wine casket do not settle down, as well as an officer in the front row causing hell with his men – her guards take care of the officer, whereas a familiar flash of white wings peek from the shadows of the room to silence the angels. Most angels are compliant, slinking awkwardly back to their seats, as if unsure how to react to a female's dominance.
"Thank you." Audiat sighs with false happiness. "Now, I'm not sure what many of you were saying you saw – him outside an aerie? Demon wings? All I know is that, as of a few days ago, he had snowy wings, and this is my proof."
Audiat skips onto the next slide, a short, silent video of Raphael beating up some hellions. She begins to play it, watching with minute interest as the oaf shows his bullish strength, ripping a demon's head from its shoulders and sending them flying in opposite directions. The few of Raphael's men that aren't too drunk to see straight all yell with approval at each demon he stomps on or rips up or stabs to death. In the brief moment of her required silence, Audiat finds Josiah in the crowd, trying her best to remain indifferent to his nervous expression.
"Hmm, yes." Audiat glances towards the screen to avoid his gaze, nodding a few times. "That time stamp in the corner? You can't edit those out of a video." Praying that none of the less-than-tech-savvy he-angels will call her bluff, Audiat turns back to them. "This was last night, friends, and those white slivers on his back?" The video ends behind her with its brilliant closing scene, Raffe taking to the black sky with his snowy feathers. "Those are his wings, feathers and all."
Growing rather bored with the skeptical whisperings of the angels, Audiat tilts her head to one side. "Oh, yes, and then there's that other question – what the hell is Raphael doing at a female aerie? Could be that if he had been the one to walk up onto this stage instead of me – well, would he be in one piece?"
A reluctant, guilty silence hangs over the room.
"So, a short recap before I continue." Audiat closes her hands behind her back and paces back and forth, smiling breezily at the crowd. "Raphael was not fraternizing with Daughters of Men in his absence – quite the opposite, actually. I would play a clip of the Nephilim, but I haven't seen Uriel make any move to fix the volume, so I'll leave it lie. As far as I know, Raphael has not Fallen, and his sword is allied to him, not sensing an ounce of Hell's influence." She shrugs innocently. "You know, folks, he might even have returned back to your aerie by now if it hadn't had been for the Horse of the Apocalypse somebody put on his ass."
This truly causes a ripple of conversation. Angels clutch their goblets tightly, leaning forward, entranced by this sudden turn in events. The idiots clustered around the wine barrels stare at her with glazed eyes, whereas the more intelligent, less drunk angels talk amongst themselves with quiet, reserved discussion.
Having flipped back a slide, Audiat gestures towards the Horse visible in the back of the screen, beyond Bryon. "This is the Horse of Pestilence, of Conquest, of Victory. It prowls over the east seaboard, waiting for a chance to crawl up onto the beaches and claim land as its own. At the moment, this Nephilim – codenamed the Dragon for obvious reasons – is immersed in a turf war with the Horse and is the only thing stopping the Horse from seeking Raphael and ripping up our aerie in the process. That, I suppose, could be another reason he's steering clear – if Raphael can kill one of those beasties, the Horse can make short work of it."
"So what you're saying," booms a barrel-chested individual from the intelligent group, "is that Raphael has forsaken his men to track down a Nephilim, and now, he's not coming back because someone released one of the Horses on him? Didn't he slaughter all the Nephilim, sweetie pie?"
"He did," Audiat agrees, nodding solemnly, glancing towards the luscious blonde monkey lounging at the angel's side. "But, unfortunately, a whole lot of someones have been finding great difficulty keeping it in their pants." Audiat shrugs, pursing her lips. "And now, Nephilim are getting cranky with their overworked mothers, throwing fits with their deadbeat dads, and crushing aeries with a flick of a tail. Even you all have to have noticed the aeries dropping like stones for unexplainable reasons – Raffe's had his schedule full."
Audiat refuses to allow herself even the smallest signs a sly grin to break out across her face as they murmur amongst themselves. They had noticed; and, with the help of that sole protestor, she'd placed a considerable dent in Uriel's campaign, one she hadn't even considered.
"So what is your proposal in all this?" a skinny angel questions, this one considerably more intoxicated. "You want us to… what? Go swarm this beast? Take out the Horse? We can do it, we can!"
Drunken cries of agreement echo through the hall. Before the seed can plant itself in many of their brains, Audiat deprives it of its sunlight.
"No, that's an awful idea, you'd only get in Raphael's way," she chides. "He already has to maneuver around the Horse. What makes you believe that you'd be anything but hindrance to one who's been doing this for millennia?"
"We could overpower it!" cries another excitedly, blinded to the disappointed and dismissive mumbles of his fellows. "There are hundreds of us and only two of them!"
"Until a hundred of them come creeping out of the shadows to protect their leader," Audiat points out, knowing very well that, should their leader be attacked, many more than a hundred will answer Bryon's call. "If Raphael wanted backup, he would've asked for it. His strategic mind is excellent, therefore, I trust his decision to face the Nephilim on his own; it would be perilous for us to challenge a beast we know so very little about. Do you really believe we should go against the Wrath of God's advice?"
"He is a war leader," loudly acknowledges one with maroon wings, tilting his head optimistically. "Why hasn't Raphael contacted us before now? When can we count on him returning?"
"Raphael hasn't had time to drop by because, between mopping up all your messes and avoiding those out for his blood, he hasn't had much free time," Audiat informs crisply. "However, the purpose of my visit was not only to share this information with you; he's hosting a banquet at the she-aerie. I have a list of all those invited to attend, and, should your name be on that list, you will return with me to the she-aerie on the dawn of the second day from this point – the only reason he hosts it at our aerie instead of yours is out of wariness of the Horse."
Mumbling excitedly to one another, blinking blearily and baring wolfish grins, the angels pound their fists on the closest furnishings, eager to hear the list – but Audiat has no intention
"It makes you wonder, though, doesn't it?" Audiat hums, drumming her fingers over her bottom lip. "All of these demons… the ones hunting the humans? Where the hell did they come from? The only way out of Hell is through the Pit, and Lord knows that Uriel has that area covered."
Audiat pauses, gazing out at the crowd that'd gone still as statues, watching the lethargic gears slowly begin to churn in their intoxicated brains.
"Also, I wonder how the Horse got out of the Pit in the first place, and why all his brothers are chained up in Europe," Audiat wonders innocently. "You'd think that Uriel would've noticed something like that, considering it's his duty to guard the gates of hell, after all." Chuckling with a shocked sort of cadence, Audiat furrows her brow, as if thinking. "I mean, at least, I'd like to believe he would've alerted someone, told them to go track these things down, to keep the Horse from ripping up his only opponent in the political battle out of honor if nothing else. Did no one know about the Horse?"
An angry buzz travels through the regimen of Raphael, their eyes swelling wide with something they all believe to be putting together themselves – after all, she's just a pathetic female spouting the facts, they're the intelligent ones, piecing the puzzle together, realizing the sabotage attempt themselves.
"Strange, isn't it, that all these creatures are escaping his notice?" she continues. "Or maybe they're not escaping him. Maybe he's just turning a blind eye on the creatures – letting creatures wander free, letting them frame Raphael, letting them track Wrath of God down and rip him to shreds. Or, of course, maybe it's just some ridiculous coincidence, right?" Audiat cocks an eyebrow. "Just something to wonder about…"
And with that note, Audiat flicks on the video of the two beasts battling one another on the shore and turns on heel, smiling slyly to herself upon noticing that the furious bellows of Raphael's men and all the others with a speck of dignity as they spit insults at where Uriel had once been – her thin smile turning into a fierce grin, Audiat realizes that the archangel had slipped away in the heat of the moment, perhaps fearful of the aerie rising up against him.
Glancing back at the rioting crowds tearing one another apart, Audiat quietly approves of his decision.
Six heartbeats. Only six, beating inside the snow-covered fortress. Crisp prints stamped into the white illuminate two more, but far off, reveling in freedom from the binds of protecting the madwoman.
The task is simple. The task is facile.
A glance to the sky reveals that the sun reigns high.
The monster shall not come, nor God's slave.
The sun is a veil. Crumbling the flowers to ashes. Blinding the foolish. Allowing the pure to act unseen.
His growl of satisfaction pierces the all-too-quiet of the white.
The madwoman wails like a wounded animal, at last sensing the wolf's presence.
I've got nothing to put here at the moment. I'll come back and edit. Maybe something about Bay. Or maybe Hugo. Who knows? I might even edit something in about Black Wolf.
POLL: Audiat's idea is to bring the party to Raphael and the rest of the aerie – which is immaculate in theory; if other angels of importance see Raphael taking a brief break inside the aerie and have a short conversation before he takes off to defeat the Horse and the Monster, acting as a goody-goody hero. But there are definitely a lot of things that may go wrong – what are a few?
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh