Chapter Forty Six

It's not Raffe – who's slept the night on the bloodstained couch – that pulls Paige and I from our slumber, but rather, a more haggard figure with purple smudges beneath his metallic eyes.

I would be a liar if I say that, as I first begrudgingly peel my eyelids apart to glimpse the tall man poking at me, I thought it was anyone other than Bryon – I hadn't slept well last night, as Hugo had predicted another murder to happen in the later hours of the darkness, my only comfort being that Bryon was on his way. Though it isn't Bryon there before me, I can't complain – Sariel is probably just as able to fend off any Tyab'la as his son.

"Morning!" he grunts, his tone one of surprised cheer despite his depressed expression. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauties! You need a ride down to the cafeteria, don't you? The bastard has already trickled off."

Shifting my sleep-stilled muscles, I groan in annoyance. "Did he? That's just great. You know where he went?"

Sariel shrugs. "Somewhere would be my best guess. Probably somewhere within the aerie, if you dare to get that specific. He left his sword with you, though." My grandfather nods towards the bed post. "One good move, at least. He still doesn't have my approval."

"It must've taken a lot from him, though." Smiling, I reach around Paige and grab Pooky Bear's hilt, drawing her partly from her scabbard. A tingle of rage passes through me, welcomed after so long an absence. "I wonder where he went. Oh, well, I'll figure it out later."

Sariel watches my monster yawn, his lips twitching into a smirk, as if I remind him of someone. "We should get going. The number of seats was already pretty miscalculated for the she-angels in the cafeteria; now, with Watchers, everything's been thrown into a game of musical chairs."

"Okay." I poke Paige's shoulder. "Time to wake up, baby. We can't leave you here by yourself."

She grunts sleepily. "What happened last night, grandpa?" she wonders tiredly. "Did our demon act out? Hugo said he would…"

"Lucius?" Sariel releases a short bark of laughter. "That one? Of course he threw fits, like a hormonal teenager. He'll really do anything to embarrass his father. Last night's bouts were a bit more moody than usual, however, like he had somewhere else to be."

"Oh, yeah?" I squirm down the ladder. "What did that bastard do?"

"Well, for dessert, they were all passing around dishes and making ice cream sundaes." Sariel smiles warmly. "This may be shocking to you, but that was Audiat's suggestion for dessert. So, as they were passing around the M&M's, Lucius evidently turned half the bowl's contents into Skittles, but only half."

"He did not," I whisper in delighted awe.

"He did," Sariel chuckles, shaking his head. "And so he passed the bowl onto his father, the infamous chocoholic. Satan took a big handful and crammed it down his gullet. As you can imagine, he was pissed off."

I laugh freely, unafraid of the shadows with the big teddy bear of a grandfather before me. "This is going to sound weird, but that's one of the most evil things Lucius has done, at least that I've heard of – how did his dad react?"

"Stood up, yelling boisterously, bowl of assorted candies in his two hands," Sariel recalls, chuckling, as he picks Paige off the top bunk and gently sets her on his shoulders. "He took the bowl and poured it all over Lucius. Except when each of the little things hit his white skin and suit, it left a splash of color behind, like a paintball had exploded. Initially, Lucius looked pretty ticked, but he controlled himself and stood calmly, arms outstretched."

"Like Jesus?" Paige adds, spreading her arms like a bird's wings.

"Exactly like that," approves Sariel, smiling up at her. "So, standing there, looking out at everybody with this serene expression, he just whispers, 'I am the rainbow' all melodramatically and vanishes in a puff of golden powder. He later rose from the chocolate fountain still with his entire Jesus façade, splattering chocolate all over his father. I hate him, but he is quite entertaining when embarrassing his father comes into play, and that, even I can't debate. Hey, you, don't giggle yourself to death."

Grinning, Sariel reaches up to tickle my sister, causing her to laugh harder.

"What did I tell you?" he cries as Paige doubles over.

"You made me laugh!" Paige accuses through cackles.

"Now, when did I do that?" Sariel wonders, tickling her again furtively and causing her to collapse with giggles. "Stop that, this instant! No more smiling! You'd better not laugh! Are you laughing? Are you laughing at me?"

I grin at the silly pair, wondering how the most colossal and the most fragile in this family can get along in such harmony. Not only does Sariel treat Paige no different than he had when she'd been stitched up and bloody, as if nothing had changed, but I can see the signs of his mourning slipping away, as if Sariel's letting go of the death of his comrade, albeit slowly.

They continue with their antics for a while more as I get dressed in the bathroom, and Paige evidently discovers that, being perched on his shoulders, she's got easy access to his sensitive neck, an access she exploits in her quest. Sariel looks crestfallen as I break the news to him that Paige also needs to get dressed, and waits patiently until she emerges in a too-large T-shirt and a pair of cutoff jeans.

"I look like a zombie," Paige remarks glumly, staring at herself swamped in too-large clothing.

I have to admit, I hadn't anticipated her being too small for Audiat's little clothing.

"Maybe we can pick something up downstairs," I encourage, cuffing her on the shoulder. "Besides, it doesn't look that bad. When do you ever see me wearing anything aside from a big hoodie and jeans? Look, I'm even wearing it right now."

And indeed I am – it feels right, being back inside my customary attire. I'd borrowed the boot cut jeans from the surprisingly friendly Maion and haggled an oversized hoodie off of Hugo, the price being a toothbrush stolen from Audiat's grand bathroom. Because of their wings, angels apparently have bizarre bras, so since I can't use any of Audiat's extras or anyone else's, at least the hoodie hides anything that should remain between me and myself.

Luckily, Paige doesn't dwell long on her unfortunate outfit long once she's perched on Sariel's shoulders again. Their tickle war is a bit frightening as Sariel descends through the center of the triangle, swirling past hundreds of other angels eager for breakfast, but it's still adorable to see.

Another thing I notice as Sariel drops down on the balcony leading to the cafeteria is how popular he is amongst the she-angels – apparently, risking everything in the name of love wins you a place in the heart of all the female angels, and with Sariel's loveable personality, it's difficult to see why they wouldn't treat him as if he belonged in their inner workings of society. Not that I'm expecting a free lunch because of that popularity, but it should be easier to blend in with the crowd with him as a grandfather looking over my shoulder.

Make friends. Isn't that what Audiat had said? I glance around nervously at the tightly knit cliques of she-angels descending around me in trios, daunted by their united strength.

I hate people. Isn't that what Hugo had said?

I spot the teenage boy as we sidle into a relatively normal-looking, high-ceilinged workplace cafeteria. He skulks in the corner, looking as if he'd received even less sleep than I. Initially, I wonder what he could possibly be doing, isolated from any of the social workings he reluctantly craves, but then Bay approaches with platters piled high with pancakes and I understand.

Following behind Bay is Scruffy. A surge of warmth and guilt floods my heart at the sight of him hobbling enthusiastically towards his master, restricted by the ivory binds of bandages and a splint. I grin halfheartedly at the wolf, watching as he laps behind Bay's ear and smiles at every she-angel to pass.

Walking past Sariel and Paige, unfaltering as the shadows of angels flit over my head like passing gulls, I stride through the lunchroom towards them. Scruffy raises his head almost the moment my foot first hits the floor, turning towards me with two bright, curious eyes, his black nose twitching like a mouse's. Ears swiveled towards me, he breaks out in a massive grin, and yips in excitement. His bandaged tail whips dangerously back and forth as he wheels towards me, whacking Bay on the back in the process.

The clunk of his wooden splint taps across the floor in a clunky beat with the excited pattering of his paws. That bandaged tail is like a club to anyone it comes across.

With an oof, I'm knocked to the floor with two great paws planted on my shoulders, and a massive, slavering tongue cutting off my means for oxygen. My body shakes with laughter, only causing Scruffy to be more exuberant in his greeting, his body trembling with delight above me as I only laugh louder and louder. Any attempts to bat him aside are only met with a more ferocious tongue.

"Ivan!" I hear Hugo shouting in the background with exasperation. "Ivan, stop that! No! Bad Ivan! Goddammit, you silly mutt, you're going to tear your stitches out! Ivan, no! No!"

"Scruffy, sit?" Bay asks politely.

Gasping for breath, I revel as Scruffy's tongue at last leaves me be, only to oof again as Scruffy sits on my legs. I tentatively open my eyes just in time for a big drop of dog drool to hit my cheek. Sitting on my knees and crouched over me eagerly, Scruffy's slavering muzzle hangs just a foot away, his eyes wide and searching for a release from his rigid position.

"He doesn't know the name Ivan," I hear Bay murmuring to Hugo. "Not anymore. His name is Scruffy now. Scruffy Mutt. If he knows you're talking to him, he'll obey without a second thought."

"Can you get him off?" I wheeze, still shaking with laughter.

"Oi, Scruff!"

Raw adoration sweeps past Scruffy's puppyish glee like a torrent of water through a puddle as the wolf lifts his head to face his master. The heavy bandaged tail thumps several times against my calves, undoubtedly creating bruises.

Hugo drops to a crouch. "C'mhere, boy. Stop being an ass to Penryn."

Relieved of his weight as Scruffy hurls himself at his master, pinning Hugo to the floor, I gasp for breath, still smiling, unsure if the driblets running down my face are tears of laughter or slobber. Bay helps me to my feet, extraordinarily balancing one of the plates of pancakes on his head as he does so.

"Sorry about that," Bay murmurs, smiling towards the boy and the dog writhing together on the ground. "Scruffy apparently received little love from the human camp he was being held in. The vet that was taking care of him said he was beginning to get depressed. But he's fine now that he's back by Hugo's side, and all the she-angels adore the puppy even more now that he's an adult."

"Poor guy." I rub the sleeve of my sweatshirt over my face. "When did he come in?"

"Same time that Obadiah man came into the infringing human camps." Bay shrugs. "They decided that they couldn't have demonic mongrels in the camp – God forbid the dog rat them out. So they shipped him here sometime after the banquet."

"Poor guy," I sympathize again, and, though I can't quite blame Obi for shipping a strange, semi-intelligent giant wolf out, watching Scruffy bounce with excitement as Hugo squirms from out of his reach and dashes away certainly throws a wrench into my good opinion of him. The wolf is hot on Hugo's heels despite his crippling injuries, yipping in cadence with Hugo's exhilarated laughter. "They're so cute together."

"That they are." Bay offers me a pancake. "Hugo is having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that we believe Scruffy is a reincarnation of his beloved brother. However, as you might have overheard, Scruffy doesn't know the name Ivan, which is his brother's title. Scruffy is Scruffy, regardless of the soul inside of him."

"Yeah, well." I shrug, spearing the pancake and shoveling it into my mouth. "Still coming to terms with it myself, but, honestly, I'm more surprised by Lucius. I heard a bit about what happened with that bastard last night from Sariel – you have any new spin other than the skittles and M&M's story?"

"Just that one?" Bay snorts and shakes his head from side to side, lifting his plate to allow a beautiful angel I identify Maion to swoop down and nick one as she passes. "Your grandfather left out a lot. The Prince of Hell is the only thing that makes those mildly interesting. Lucius was always doing something or another. He arrived late at the party in the belly of the roasted, apple-mouthed pig that was presented on his father's half of the table." His nose wrinkles. "I can still smell the stench of ham clinging to him."

"What do you mean?" I question, staring up at Bay worrisomely. "Do you mean he didn't exit the premises?"

"Boo," calls a lazy, ice-cold, slithering voice from across the room. Spinning around, I catch sight of Lucius raising a glass of some pale liquid towards me, his sunglasses gleaming dangerously in the flickering light shining down from above.

"Is he drinking vodka?" I wonder, glancing inquisitively towards Bay, absolutely mystified. Upon the circular table that Lucius shares with an intimidating dark shape I can only interpret to be Satan sits a glass bottle, its crisp label betraying it to be more than tipsy wine.

"Appears so." Bay's eyebrows shoot up. "Vodka and toast for breakfast. I wonder…" He trails off with a thoughtful expression consuming his face.

"So, is that the Devil?" Anxiously, I glance around the room, searching for another pair of demon wings in the sea of feathers. "The one with his back turned to Lucius? Eating on his lap?"

"Ariel granted them only one table," Bay recalls with a shrug. "I guess that, after last night, they can't stand eating in the same room, so it's just insult to injury. Can't say I blame his father – children just aren't supposed to act that way around their parents."

Lucius sticks his black tentacle of a tongue out at Bay, scowling petulantly.

"It's rude to eavesdrop!" I shout, my glare much more scalding than my actual thoughts, which range from annoyed to amused.

"It's rude to talk about people behind their backs," he calls serenely, taking another bite out of his toast.

"Touché," the Fallen angel chuckles, shaking his head in amusement, but a certain nervous touchiness in his aura reminds me that I am indeed talking to the boss of his boss down in Hell. "He wins this round. Well, it seems like Hugo disappeared." Frowning, Bay cranes his head around – following his lead, I notice that, indeed, both boy and wolf have disappeared, perhaps having blundered into the kitchens or elsewhere. "Hmm. He's a strange monkey. However, the number of seats dwindling, and Sariel can't hold yours forever. Do you see him? Search for all the loud, partying he-angels – I do believe the cause for their rowdiness is that they're celebrating Bezaliel's life."

"That's good," I sigh, smiling at Paige as, from Sariel shoulders, she clinks her class of orange juice against their wine glasses or coffee mugs. "I mean, it beats mourning forever, right? And the she-angels don't look too ticked."

"Oh, they're not ticked at all." Bay grins, offering me Hugo's plate of pancakes, an offer I accept gleefully. "Everyone knows that, as a whole, the Watchers are utterly harmless, even when drunk. The Wives took off last night, admittedly, so there's not that barrier of protection, but each and every one of the current hubbies are all very faithful. I do believe the she-angels can pick up that. Do you want coffee, or should we go sit down?"

Ignoring the way my mouth waters, I shake my head. "Negative. I've got a pot boiling up in Audiat's room. When I move in with Raffe, I'll have to steal that."

Bay smiles. "Might not go over too well with Audiat. There could be a massive battle over that coffee machine. She did fly into an area heavily populated with gangs known for taking down the occasional angel to get it. Good luck getting it from her." Bay offers me the crook of his arm.

I take it and laugh as he leads me to the table. "So, she's a coffee drinker, eh?"

"Oh, yes." Bay's smile only grows. "She's very feisty about her coffee. Hugo said that her first actual relationship fight with Bryon was about which was better, coffee or caffeinated tea – I'm not exactly certain how that could've elevated to become a spat, but they're both two odd, odd creatures with bizarre routines and expectances. Makes sense that they'd fight over something insignificant."

"I've never been much of a tea-drinker," I admit as I slip around to the other side of the table, across from Bay and next to Sariel. "Paige loves all sorts of tea, but I don't care much for it."

Bay's eyes widen as he sits, readjusting the wings on his back as he does so. "Don't let your uncle hear you say something like that. It might actually break his heart to hear that a member of his own family doesn't really like tea."

"BAELAN!" Sariel roars in recognition, his greeting igniting another roar from the rest of his warriors. Penemue, Daisy's husband and one of the few ones with coffee mugs, swivels in his chair to pound Bay welcomingly on the back. Very much in his element, Bay roars Sariel's name back, and flings a pancake towards my grandfather.

Laughing quietly and ducking as breakfast food goes flying in barrage after barrage, I silently observe the vivacious food fight that quickly tails Bay's rather banal gesture. Affable testosterone is nearly palpable in the air as the men continue their behavior, causing me to scarf down my own pancakes before they, too, end up among the ammunition. Paige follows my example, earning herself an approving nod from me.

To add to things, the sound of feet stomping on wood echoes around the cafeteria. I turn about in time to see Lucius, standing atop his table, cry, "YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD!" and kick a platter of pancakes into the Devil's terrifyingly angular face. The syrup causes a great number to remains stuck to him even as the platter rattles against the tiles, slightly marring the illusion of terror.

As Lucius flees, cackling madly with his father in hot pursuit, Hugo rockets into the cafeteria, slamming into Satan as he does so. Without even bothering to check who'd he'd sent sprawling, Hugo scrambles back to his feet and cowers behind Bay. In a pinwheel of legs, Scruffy follows, hopping over the Devil as he does so.

By this time, the she-angels are all laughing, enthralled by the multitude of events occurring in quick succession. Amongst them, Metatron rolls her eyes and returns to a novel, but the rest remain raptured. Satan rises with literal plumes of smoke billowing from his ears, and, as he bears his white-skinned face to the light fluttering around angels' wings through the balcony, I can't help but feel a twinge of fear – not for Lucius, but for anyone that puts themselves between the Devil and his prize.

As Satan unfurls an ethereal pair of inky wings that look almost fluid, like third dimensional shadows, Raffe sets down on the balcony alongside a face I recognize with a puff of relief – after not hearing anything about Ogden beyond his visit at the lodge that became the scratching post for the abruptly truculent and maybe slightly bipolar Black Wolf, thoughts of him being caught in the same massacre haunted the edges of my imagination. However, as his silvery black metal wings furl up along his arms and he greets the fuming Devil with a smile and a tip of his head, I realize that this is not the case.

First standing as still and perfect as a Greek statue, Raffe searches the cafeteria, his eyes lazily floating over the heads of the beautiful demigods until they find my gaze. He smiles at me, unfreezing from his stone coldness. Tentatively, I smile back, wondering if he merely wants his sword back, or if there's something else promoting his warmth.

"Look, Paige," I whisper, nudging her with my spoon, "it's Ogden and Raffe. Hope they're okay… I wonder why Ogden's here all of the sudden?"

I answer my own question silently – it could very well be that Bryon had passed on information of the Tyab'la to the Nephilim he trusts most.

"He was off with the Seraphim last time I checked," puffs Hugo, sliding down beside me. His hair sticks in bizarre directions, a style clearing created by the long, slobbering laps he'd received at the hands of the mutt thumping to the ground beside us. "Double-checking arrangements, organizing troop forces – the angels are out of Africa, by the way. When Audiat and her band of evil pigeons comes, they'll be on edge about that, looking for explanations Uriel will be happy to supply."

I scowl. "That bastard. I hate him. Does Audiat have a story? What's her tale?"

"That Pigeon-Bat here" – as Raffe swoops down to the seat beside Paige, Hugo leans over the table and hits him twice on the head with a plastic fork – "didn't have time to exterminate all the Nephilim what with Uriel's manhunt, and that now that the Nephilim are full grown, they're attacking with spite. For all the American aeries know, African aeries were getting it on often. They don't know enough about humans to know that women only have babies once a year, so, you know what, I guess it's totally probable for them to accept the theory that there's herds of new Nephilim running around."

Raffe cocks an eyebrow as he adjusts in his seat, glancing around at the high ceiling and the she-angels flitting back and forth. "That angel is confusing – it's like she's trying to stir up trouble against the Nephilim."

Hugo shrugs answerlessly. "I suppose she's wagering that Bryon's as good as covering his tracks as he was last time. Which, Pigeon-Bat, he is sort of the expert on – disappearing. But can he make an entire species disappear?" Sighing, Hugo shakes his head from side to side. "I'm not so sure. We can only stage you killing so many Nephilim before angels begin to wanna try themselves, and then we've got both angry angels and Nephilim seeking vengeance for their loved ones."

"It seems like it can only descend and get worse and worse, until there's an all-out war between Nephilim and angels," I agree, swirling my pancake around my syrup, drowning in the peril of the future. "What does Bryon think?"

What does Bryon ever think? Ogden shakes his head, making the slight bitterness laced through his thoughts even sharper. That was a trick question, he never tells us anything. Keeps to himself. I've gone with some pretty ridiculous plans, but this? This takes the cake. With all his coddling, he doesn't know what a Nephilim of any caliber can and will do when faced with the decision to either kill or die themselves. He forgets he himself is half angel. Half ruthless. Sometimes, I think more than half.

"Have a snickers bar." Hugo draws one from the pocket of his jacket and sends it spinning over the table towards the ancient Nephilim. "It'll make you feel better. Besides, Bryon's always been the God to that angel part, the God that real God never was to his real angels. He's not afraid to whip them into shape. You remember what happened when Emilio first earned a place under his wing."

"I don't," I insert. "What happened?"

Maion watches the Dragon King dismount from the slender beast, patting its matted fur a few times as he does so. Patiently, she waits for him to join her on a descent downstairs, reminiscences of her past interactions with the now ancient man swirl through her mind, reminding her that no hurrying or harrying will speed him any more than he will be sped.

Murmuring something in that specific language of his, a language only spoken by the other leading Nephilim, the one that surpasses the title ancient, Bryon takes the wolf's head between his hands, massaging its cheeks as it pants heavily. Icy blue eyes meet bronze, and Bryon leans his forehead against the wolf, still whispering and soothing, cupping the wolf's face as if it is a beloved child.

Chuckling to himself, as if he'd just told a joke for his ears only, Bryon closes his eyes. Following his example, the wolf folds its salt and pepper ears back, and keens longingly. If Maion hadn't known better, she'd had have called it a grieving weep. Observing the beast and the man with a polite, distant professionalism, she does not give any indication of her inner frothing confusion.

"Go get some rest," Bryon chuckles, giving the wolf a firm pat on its grey neck. "I'll call you if I need you."

The wolf snorts, shaking out its mane where Bryon had flattened it, and flexes his long, silvery feathers to the sky. It rests there, allowing the wind to sift through pelt and plumage, as still as Ariel's eerie sphinxes.

"Bryon." Maion greets him with a handshake, which he takes gladly. "It's been a long, long time. How have you done?"

"Altogether?" Bryon throws back his head in his signature warm laughter. "Alright. But recently?" Again he laughs, but there's a more prudent note in it. "Now, that, I'm receiving mixed signals on, myself. And you, Maion? How is Metatron?"

Maion's lips quaver. Without heeding to notice, she crosses her arm over her chest and grabs her own shoulder for comfort. "We're alright. Finding ways around her disability. She's just – really stressed. That rotten old she-wolf is…" She allows her words to slip away.

As Bryon studies her, Maion can envision the scene Audiat had so vividly described upon her first time stumbling around him as a beast – his shadow falling upon her, equipped to be terrible yet only beautiful, and two wide, bronze eyes studying her like searchlights in the shadows, seeing through every wall or boundary she may attempt to erect around her thoughts.

"You should try getting in touch with Hugo," Bryon advises kindly. "He's made human arms have feathers, I'm sure it would be quite simple for him to correct a pair of wings. See?"

With a beautiful flutter of his brown cloak, Bryon bares the mechanical addition resting on his bicep.

"I think her problem lies more within fear than disability." Maion shrugs. "True, her wings are small, but even if we were to fix something for her, I do not believe she would be able to make herself fly. The humiliation of that would be more terrible than the shame she already faces."

A sad smile splits Bryon's face. "Then it is good this idea was presented to you rather than her. I wonder if –" He cuts off as two dark shapes dart past, one in hot pursuit of the other, their wakes sending flat blades of wind against their cheeks. Bryon's cloak billows around his legs, seeming almost irritated with the sudden motion it'd been thrust into.

Two pairs of inky black wings shadow against the morning light as they pirouette together – one pair is crooked and bladed, belonging to a villain of the most incorrigible description, and the other pair colossal, their spectral folds surpassing thirty feet in length. The faultless, shadowed black of those wings blanket the sky, jotting out the sun, a movement accompanied by a ferocious bellow.

"Roar!" the smaller winged creature barks back. "You're going to ruin your vocal chords! Then you won't be able to sing me to sleep, Daddy Dearest!"

"Oh, dear," Bryon sighs. "That boy doesn't know what's good for him. I'll be right back, right after I finish with this, alright?"

"Oh, alright." Maion's eyes widen even further as Satan breathes a plume of sizzling red fire into the sky. "Ariel isn't going to like this."

"She most definitely isn't," Bryon agrees grimly, "and that's why it's best to finish this before it ever really begins. Pepper, you go home, I can fly by myself. You deserve the rest."

The wolf whines in protest, its mouth falling open, as if it wills to verbally argue Bryon's command.

"No, I'm fine. You go."

Maion watches the powerful Nephilim as he hops up onto the railing beside a cherub, watches as his broad shoulders square and his head tilts upwards. Over his ears, two rough horns begin to curl, thickening into wooden spires from his temples. A thundering growl begins to rumble in the pit of Bryon's throat, growing more and more animal with each passing second.

Taking a deep breath, Bryon roars. Maion inhales sharply, recalling the days long past and how she used to shiver with fear at the sound of him – days before she knew the Dragon King, before he had shown her his benevolence and nobility. The sound echoes down the triangle, causing many angels to lock their wings in air, sending them spiraling downwards for a few stories before they catch themselves.

"You're going to ruin your vocal chords, too!" the demon jeers.

Are you ready for shit to go down?

Are you?

POLL: Out of my OCs, who's your favorite?

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh