Chapter Sixty Two
"I don't like this, Emilio."
"That makes two of us." He pauses in his egg-making, glancing over his shoulder and out the window, as if checking to make sure that we're still alone. "But your uncle's point makes a lot of sense. What better time to assassinate his niece than when he's out of the immediate area? Just relax, we're safe here."
"Well, now, Ogden and his goons are what, fifty yards away?" I gnash my teeth, curling up tighter into the fluffy blanket, peering suspiciously at the chipped wooden door. "Not to mention the Devil!"
"You have an amazing lack of faith in me." He dishes out a few of his scrambled eggs onto my chipped plate, and the delectable scent wafts over to me. "I'm not going to let you get killed. Besides, no one knows to look for you here – the doors are all locked, my mother is in the kitchens. There's nothing to be afraid of."
"I know that," I grumble, sinking deeper into the blanket until all I see is a sliver between the fabric's folds. "But am I the only one not okay with any of this? It's a bad idea. He's just tempting fate."
Emilio collapses beside me on the couch, causing some of my blanket to topple. He holds out my plate of scrambled eggs, waiting patiently for me to take it, and rolls his eyes slowly. "You've got to trust your uncle, Penryn. He knows what he's doing. Besides, it's not like you'd have been much safer back at the aerie – Hugo, Bay, and I were all instructed to be here, patrolling the area if you weren't going to come along, one of us with you if you were. You'd have been all alone back at the aerie."
"I can take care of myself." Moodily, I take the plate and shove a mouthful of scrambled eggs into my mouth – it isn't until the taste hits my tongue that I remember just how good well-cooked breakfast is. My eyes widen, and my grumpiness nearly falls aside. "Damn, this is good!"
"Thank you." He delicately spears quivering egg from his own plate. "I try."
"Can you make me breakfast every day?" Humming, I wolf down another piece, slowly chewing it and closing my eyes. "Emilio, in another life, you're going to be a chef."
"Well, considering the only thing I can make is scrambled eggs, I wouldn't be a very good one." He smiles, elbowing me through the blanket. "All I can see of you right now is your head and your hands. You're like a hermit crab."
"I can't help it!" I shrink further down into the blanket. "If I didn't, I would freeze my fingers off!"
Emilio's brow scrunches. His expression one of worry, he presses the back of his hand to my forehead, and his skin feels cool against mine. After a moment, he sighs, placing his dish onto a crappy coffee table and pushing himself up from the couch.
"Fever?" I ask.
"Small one." He rifles through the one cabinet in the tiny room. "My mother is saving a can of chicken noodle soup somewhere, she'd give it up to you in a heartbeat, anyway."
Guilt pangs in my chest. "I'm not going to eat her soup."
"You are, and you're going to like it." Emilio triumphantly holds the soup can to the sky. "Keep eating those eggs, protein is good for you. And stay under the blanket! Don't leave so much as a toe hanging out!"
Grumbling, I gather the blanket around me, burying myself the fluffiness of the fabric. "Jeez, since when did you become your mother?"
"Since when did you become your whiny boyfriend?"
"Emilio, please…" I falter, staring awkwardly out the window. "Please don't call him my boyfriend."
He glances up from the soup can he's trying to open with one of his massive swords, which I think is a little overkill. "Oh? Then what is he?"
"He's…" I shift uncomfortably. "Make me soup."
Chuckling, he returns to his work, popping open the top of the can. "Yes, ma'am."
Bryon's fake smile only grows achier and achier with each passing moment. The arguments between Lucius and his father have reached a new ferocity – it's beyond simple pranks, beyond mild annoyances. Spitting insults are hurled across the table in their native language, and, although Bryon doesn't understand much of the demonic tongue, he winces at what little comes across.
Ogden sits awkwardly besides him, the juxtaposition gathering an uncomfortable air between the two heads of the Nephilim. The only glances the older man has cast have been furtive, guilty – so strange when compared to the sad, accepting gazes Bryon offers in return.
On Bryon's other side is Obadiah – the leader, though he boasts a great sense of control over his mind and fears, seems to be alarmed by the bickering. Undoubtedly, somewhere along the way, he'd learned that the two demons are the incarnation of evil and the incarnation of madness. In an already nerve-wracking situation, it's easy for Bryon to see how even such a calm man could begin to cave into primal terror.
"Enough." Out of his comrade's discomfort, Bryon slams a fist down upon the table. "You two, stop, this instant." Bryon bares his teeth at the boy, growling, capturing his attention. "Lucius! I said stop!"
Rumbling a final poisoned jibe, Lucius leans back in his chair, reluctantly returning his gaze to Bryon. A tingle of satisfaction goes down Bryon's spine upon the realization that the boy now truly respects him as a man, and not as livestock.
"Look," Bryon sighs, glancing once towards the impassive Seraph leader, "we're all here to unite or to decide that we all really flipping hate each other, like we have at every other meeting. I, for one, would like this company to get along for once. It's not just our petty feelings to be halved if we fail this time. Our people and Obadiah's are in need of our assistance. Hold yourselves together."
I – I agree with Bryon. Ogden's cheeks flare red. We need to focus, for the humans.
"Funny, I was under the impression that you too hated each other." With his thick growl of a voice, Lucifer pokes up trouble nearly as well as his son. "After all, isn't Ogden a traitor to the crown and Bryon a traitor to his people?"
Moving quickly to diffuse the situation, Bryon cocks his head to one side, speaking in a cool monotone. "Just because two people are on different sides of a war does not instigate hatred. I cannot speak for you, Ogden, but I do not hate a soul in this room."
"I do," Lucius sighs grievingly.
"Quiet, boy," Lucifer snarls. "No one cares."
"Gentlemen, please." Steeling himself visibly, Obi attempts to gain the attention of the titans. "No need to be animals about this."
"That's rather strange to hear from a monkey," King Makiel trills in his high-pitched Seraphic voice.
"Makiel, that was uncalled for!" Bryon chides, disgusted by prejudice amongst the Seraphim, of all people.
Makiel turns his glowing green gaze upon the Dragon King, standing up and looming overhead with his six wings unfurling hostilely. "Oh, trust me, reptile, it could've been much worse."
"Sit down," Lucius orders in a vindictive tone of voice. "Didn't you hear a word of what he said?"
"You keep your mouth shut!" Lucifer howls.
Sighing heavily, Bryon buries his face in his palms, a low groan building in the pit of his throat. He kneads at his forehead, futilely attempting to be rid of his throbbing headache. Arguments echo over the table, the only silence to be found beside him in the form of Ogden.
Which, considering the hell in his life can be lead back to the older Nephilim, is amusingly ironic.
"Okay, so this is happening." Audiat nervously jitters around with a feather that'd molted a minute ago. She exhales sharply, trying to get her spirits high. "Rebelling against superiority for a guy. Ha! I'm so cliché. But it's not just for him, is it? Hugo, Penryn, Baelan... Is it bad that I'm so nervous? Shouldn't I feel more rebellious?"
"Nerves are part of it," Daisy comforts, cupping her cheek, "but you really shouldn't worry so much. Rumor has it that Lucifer is going to stop by during their little debate today – Ariel'll be too distracted to worry about 'chu."
"Okay." Audiat beams up at her, walking in place a little to warm her numb toes. "Okay. Wolf me, I'm going in."
Gently, Daisy guides Thea's old mount, a feisty, silver-eyed wolf by the name of Cara, to Audiat's side. The animal grumbles and growls, focusing one metallic eye upon her as it sidles reluctantly into place, pulled along by a cruel mouth-harness. Trying to appear calm and dominant as one should around these creatures, especially this particular one, Audiat marches stiffly forward and grabs the reins.
She's faintly aware of Daisy watching her, and of the other woman's amusement, but she decides to dismiss it – it's not the first time she's been treated as an entertainment for others. Not for Bryon, though. Bryon always takes her seriously, even if he smiles at her or chuckles. He knows what sure means, always.
A warm blush enters Audiat's cheeks as she thinks of the man. Her memories of him, strong, youthful, and bold, hardly seem to belong to the man she'd seen lying in bed, his face, though still beautiful, marked with lines of age. The laughter in his tone had been impossible to imagine as he'd choked out her name, broken and searching. Though she hates it, doubt still worms around viciously in her stomach – is he really the man she left behind?
A faint memory of Bryon's gentle smile, seen through a dream provided by the Black Wolf, flashes through her memory. Of course he's the same. He's Bryon. The good man.
Shaking off her doubts with a twist of her head, she smiles frailly towards Daisy, trying to convey her nervousness through that glance, before tugging herself up on the wolf's back. It skitters and prances beneath her. She climbs her way to the top of the wolf despite, clawing at its shoulders and taking fists of fur. Swaying in the saddle, she turns down towards Daisy, who's trying not to break into laughter, and waves.
"Bye, Daisy." Audiat giggles nervously. "Let's hope that I don't fall off."
"You be careful, Audiat." Daisy backs away, her amusement becoming suspicion. "Just because you can cross Lucius's invisible line doesn't mean you'll be met with open arms. If anything pops up, just retreat a bit, and wait for him to come to you. I guarantee it'll happen."
"But that's not what I want it to be like!" Audiat insists. "I don't want him to walk up to me – I want to walk up to him, to show him that I remember what he looks like!"
"Alright, alright." Crossing her arms over her chest, she waves Audiat forward. "Off you go, then. And good luck to you!"
"You, too!" Audiat takes a deep breath, and gently kicks at Cara's side, goading her into a slow trot. "Tell Ariel I'm sorry!"
Daisy's agreement is lost in the pounding of Cara's paws. Audiat casts her head back, staring up at the evening sky – not yet sunset, but ringed with the first dusky clinging to the sides of the mountain, making the shadows rosy and smudging the descending sun with shades of purple and pink. The air is crisp, cold, against her lungs. She shuts her eyes for a moment, allowing her mind to be soothed by the sun as it slowly droops back against the earth, falling into slumber.
Opening her eyes, Audiat drives her heels into the wolf's side. She urges it onwards with a word, and, like a strea of twilight, they race together over the golden plains and towards the human camp.
Baelan is fairly aware of the child approaching. But, out of a loss of what to do, he attempts to ignore her, even veering from his set path. However, the child, a brunette, pudgy-faced little girl, remains steady on her path. She does not have the face of a quitter. Baelan's stomach trembles.
"Can I help you?" he questions at last, turning patiently to the little child, if only to scare her off his tail.
Paling, she scampers back. "N-no sir," she says with a loud, squawking voice. "My brother just dared me to get close to you. He says I'm too chicken."
"Well." Smiling at the child with a sudden surge of warmth, Baelan reaches in his back pocket for a Smartie roll he'd received from the youngest Young. "It shall be you and not your brother who'll be rewarded, then. Go on, it's not poisoned or anything."
She takes it suspiciously, eyeing the candy with a combination of lust and caution. "How can I trust you? Why do you look so weird?"
Baelan chuckles, sinking into a kneel before the child. "What's your name, sweetie?"
"Mary-Grace with a dash. You?"
"Well then, Mary-Grace with a dash, my name is Bay." He tilts his head to one side, smiling. "The other angels didn't like me very much. I was too nice for them. So they threw me out. See, they don't like nice people very much. That's why they go after your people."
She giggles, popping in a Smartie and speaking around it – at that, Baelan's smile quavers as he recalls that he was going to give the candy to Hugo during his proposal, but he quickly ignores the thought.
"They don't like nice people?" Mary-Grace asks, bouncing up and down. "They would like my brother, then!"
Baelan tosses his head back with laughter.
"I think," he laughs, grinning down at little Mary-Grace, "that your brother was afraid of me when he sent you over to test the waters. I think you're braver than him."
"That's not true!" pipes up a little voice from atop the hill. Galloping from the shadows of the small, shabby tenements, a boy looking about ten years of age wades through the knee-length grass to Bay's side.
"Oh, isn't it now?" he says, smiling at the newcomer. "I take it your Mary-Grace's brother…?"
"Michael."
Baelan's eyebrows rise.
"And I'm not scared of you!"
"Well, it seems not," Baelan agrees, trying his very hardest to keep his tone from being condescending. "That's of course why you sent your younger sister in first towards a potentially dangerous unidentified person with little to no regard of her safety."
The child wilts a little at that. "Oh, yeah, sorry… but you're not, right? Not bad? You're cool? Hey, can I have a Smartie?"
Baelan shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest, ignoring the stab of guilt in his heart – how could he have been so silly, giving a Smartie to one sibling without thinking of the other? "I'm sorry, I only had the one. I'm sure you sister will share."
"No!" Mary-Grace kicks at Michael's shin. "These are all mine! MINE!"
"You don't have to shout!" the boy shrieks back, clapping his hands over his ears. "You're gonna break our eardrums!"
To this, of course, the little girl balls her fists around the Smartie roll, stamps at the ground, and releases an earsplitting scream. Baelan winces away from the noise, gritting his teeth, grunting and pulling at his earlobe. The boy apparently feels challenged by her scream, and the sound doubles in volume as he yells back at her.
Another person begins to stare. Baelan notices uncomfortably that he's attracting quite an audience. Anxiously, he flails his hands about, wondering how to stop the children – clap a hand over their mouths? Hold them by the shoulders? Shush them?
Exhaling stressfully, Baelan rakes his hands through his hair, looking around for a mother or some other familial saving grace.
Over the rooftops and their loose shingles, like the tail of a flag quivering in the wind, he glimpses two shadowy black wings.
Resting a hand on either of their shoulders, Baelan gently shoves the children down into the grass, hearing the whistle of wind beneath leathery wings. "Hide. Quickly."
As if they, too, feel the weight of danger in the air, they don't protest – Michael goes so far as to wrap his arms around Mary-Grace, gazing fearfully up at the sky. Baelan, crouching, watches in silence as the shadows dance over the rooftop, the two demons flying high above in utter silence. People fall silent as they pass. Perhaps the genius of the human brain allows them to see that danger is eminent, and that the creatures drifting high above are never to be bothered, like mice in the shadow of a lion.
Even as the shadows drift onwards, soaring elegantly across the planes of golden wheat, Baelan keeps quiet. The children shift awkwardly and peer through the grass, but they don't move. Eerie quiet swallows the sky.
"What was that?" Mary-Grace asks quietly. She stares up at Baelan with large, frightened eyes, like a little mouse after seeing the shadow of a passing eagle.
Baelan watches as the two dark blots dive down into the hole of the Triangle, descending like birds of prey. He doesn't rip his gaze from them, even after they disappear. A hand settles comfortingly upon the back of the little girl.
"That, Mary-Grace," he murmurs, "is the very pinnacle of not-nice."
Michael tugs on Baelan's sleeve. "What's pinnacle mean?"
"It means that the calm before the storm is coming to an end." Baelan stares down at the children, demanding their gazes. "Listen to me. There's inevitably something coming, and I don't know what. For now, keep your heads out of sight. Find a place to hole up. Tell friends and family to do the same."
"What's going on?" Mary-Grace wails, waving her hands around. She still has her Smartie, balled up in her fist.
Baelan smiles brittly. "Get safe, children. Tell everyone to do the same."
"Michael, this is madness!" Uriel growls, shaking his head. "We can't – we can't socialize with the likes of them!"
Calmly, the archangel turns an eye upon his friend, smiling with uncanny tranquility. "Then what else are we supposed to do, Uriel? Tell me. We cannot approach the rodents living outside our doorstep without dire consequence. The ones that cause us to refrain from victory can be negotiated with. I see no problem in this."
"Right," Raphael agrees, his scowl deepening, "other than the fact that the she-angels have formed treaties with those humans. They've got a deal, Michael. Who cares if the monkeys have extra layers of protection? If we lay a finger on any of them, there'll be hell to pay."
"I second that," Ariel asserts, narrowing her eyes. She waltzes closer to the heart of the conversation, her scarred arms crossed over her chest. Eyes tinted darker than the pits of hell glare darkly around at all who dare to meet her gaze.
"And I'd like to backtrack a bit," Lucifer huffs. "Why can't y'all just raze that town? Please, do it now, before anyone can escape."
"First off, 'y'all', seriously?" Raffe raises an eyebrow, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Secondly, if any of us cross an invisible line surrounding that little monkey village, we grow tails and drop our wings. Did you not know that?"
Lucifer stares dumbly at Raffe, his pure white lids fluttering over the pitless black of his eyes in surprise. Slowly, his pale lip curls with anger.
From behind Lucifer, his son laughs nervously, playing with a deck of cards. "Hey, Daddy Dearest, I found that Father's Day card from a few years back… how about we have a nice, bonding chat, eh?"
Lucius always seems to be stirring up trouble, doesn't he?
POLL: Give me a little bit of feedback about Michael's character, please!
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh