Chapter 5

-o0o-

What you did to me made me
See myself something different

"Oh Well," – Fiona Apple

Padding naked through his house, Gabriel wonders what impact his death may have had on the wards on his home. It's a different kind of magic than what's on his body, rendering the place both unplottable and unreachable. Or it had…. The hum beneath his skin grows as he reaches his front door and notes that, at least, the "no trespassing" wards still seem to be functioning, otherwise his visitor could have just come right in.

Opening the door, he's confronted with the last person he expected to see.

"Resurrected again?" Kali stands on his door step, draped in a red and gold dress that makes her dark skin glow. Her hair flows loose around her face. Her eyes give away nothing.

"With no thanks to you. Unlike when you killed me, this time I actually did die."

"And where do you think She got your blood?"

"Which," Gabriel bites out the words, "She wouldn't have needed if the Pagan Unified Front hadn't decided to kamikaze my brother."

Kali blinks. "May I come in?"

"Are you carrying any sharp objects?"

She holds her hands out, fingers splayed. Gabriel stands aside, nudging the wards to open and flow around Kali. She steps into the room with a shiver and shuts the door, looking at him expectantly. He considers her for a moment, then turns and retreats to his bedroom, lighting the room with a wave of his hand as he moves into his closet.

"Still living like a mortal," Kali says, sitting delicately on the edge of the bed.

He leans against the closet door, having slipped into jeans and a button-down shirt. "Are you here just to comment on my life choices? Because there are certainly more deserving ones to dissect than my living arrangements."

"All too true," she says, smoothing the blankets with her palm, nudging a pillow into place. The picture is one of a strange sort of domesticity. Strange because that has never been part of their life together. Their past is swathed in shades of death and destruction.

Gabriel remembers the first time he saw her, at one of the roadside shrines her followers had constructed, in the middle of a moonless night, slick with blood that made her thin tunic cling to her long-limbed body. At her feet, a man Gabriel had seen beating a young girl earlier in the evening. His chest was cracked open, the cage of his ribs bowing out, stark white and black. From it, Kali removed his heart, raised it to her lips and smiled at Gabriel as he hung back in the darkness.

In hindsight, the image of her with a heart in her hands should've been his first clue to how things would end between them.

"Why are you here?" he asks, suddenly feeling tired all over again. A few hours recharge is normally enough. But then, he's never been resurrected before.

"Curiosity. You've been given a second chance. I wondered what you'd do with it." She stares at him. Into him. Apart from the Loki-disguise, she could always read him too easily and now his identity and his secrets are laid bare. Her mouth twitches and she makes a soft sound of recognition. "You always were a fool for a pretty pair of eyes, weren't you?"

Gabriel shoves his feet into boots. "I'm not doing this for him."

Kali makes a disbelieving sound. "And what is it…that you're doing?"

"Right now? I'm going to go check on Fox."

"And then?"

Gabriel laces his boots with a snap of his fingers. "…I'll wing it."

"I'm pretty sure," she says, rising from the bed, "that's what got you killed last time."

"I'm pretty sure I had help."

"I won't apologize."

He scoffs. "I wouldn't expect you to."

She draws close, heading tilting, as if she's memorizing his face. "I will say goodbye. This time."

"That…might be a good idea. The fate of the world is in hunters' hands."

Kali clasps his face in her palms, thumbs stroking the soft hair at his temples. The warmth of her lips is a surprise, but she's gone before he can collect himself enough to respond. The taste of her and the texture of his real name—not that of the pagan god he'd pretended to be—linger against his mouth.

Alone, in the stillness of his bedroom, he stares at the towel he dropped on the floor earlier, his soft bed, the sky spread across his ceiling in its endless cascade of night into day. Part of him really wants to curl up under that sky, with a few choice playmates—maybe even some old flings—and ring in the end of the world good and proper.

Instead, he ensures his wards have settled back in place and, with a thought, slips in between time and space, taking to the sky.

-o0o-

Gabriel's landing is smoother than he expected. He stays fully upright this time but manages to be off his target, across the street, in the middle of a flower bed. A cluster of blue irises lie crushed under his feet, their sweet smell assaulting his nose, making him want to sneeze. With a sigh, he steps gingerly around the blooms that aren't crushed and crosses the street of the Television-trope human neighborhood, full of well-manicured lawns, mid-priced automobiles with decals of stick-figure families on their rear windows, and houses just different enough to not be labeled cookie-cutter. A suburban nightmare. When he'd first come to the Leave it to Beaver-esque digs, years before, while answering a summoning spell, he thought he'd stumbled into the wrong neighborhood. That was before he'd looked closer at the quaint little bungalow to which his attention had been called.

At first glance, the house appears no different from the others on the street, unless you knew how to let your eyes unfocus just so, revealing the fine sigils carved into the frame of the oak door, the basil planted on either side of the front step, the protection charms—sold as little baubles in home décor shops and useless unless you knew to bathe them in essence of acacia before laying them in the sun—hanging in the windows and, to Gabriel's eyes, shining like mini supernovas. The protection charms are new. Gabriel approves. They can't bar him entrance, nor could they stop other demi-gods or high powered nasties, but for most things, they'd at least provide some warning.

He knocks on the door, takes another moment to look around the quiet street, breathing in the scent of basil, the sweetness of lavender on the wind, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin, hearing the tinkling of nearby wind chimes. In the blink of an eye, it all disappears, replaced by a landscape that's tattered and torn, a vision of what might come. Trees have taken over the once pristine yards, their massive root systems erupting through driveways and roads; the sky hangs low and grey, shimmering at the edges, red and gold, like it's on fire. And the people who survive? Most are mindless and violent, roaming in packs while those who aren't slip through the world like wraiths, possessed by that indomitable will to survive until even that, at last, fades away and the earth is left scorched and barren.

"Loki?" Zoe King stares, holds the door half open, head cocked to one side, eyes keen. "See something interesting?"

Much like her house, at first glance Zoe King is average in every way; average height, plain brown hair worn long, dark eyes. But there's a particular cleverness to her face, a mischievousness in her smile, that Gabriel had liked instantly, though it had taken some time to appear on their first meeting, as she'd been extraordinarily unimpressed with his entrance to her home, all flash and spectacle that worked on most humans who summoned him. She wasn't interested in, as she said, "a display of phenomenal cosmic powers." She wanted results. If he could deliver, then she'd be impressed.

Over the last month, she'd been getting a sudden influx of dogs coming to her clinic with injuries, some fatal. The police had dismissed her concerns. What else to do but take her concerns to someone who would listen?

The ring hadn't been very large…or well run. A handful of yokels who'd gotten it in their heads that it'd be more fun to gamble on dog fights than to keep investing in scratch and win tickets. They didn't find being turned into dogs as much fun. (As much as Gabriel would like to take credit for that idea. Zoe herself had suggested—not knowing what was possible—the ring leaders get a taste of their own medicine). They liked the three-headed dog Gabriel had set on them inside their own plywood ring even less. At the end of it all, Zoe had shaken his hand, like they'd just completed a business deal. And then she threw in a little something furry to sweeten the pot.

Gabriel ignores her question. "Did he miss me?"

Zoe follows his lead. "You're late."

"Unavoidably detained."

She gives him a once over, head to toe and back again. Her gaze lingers on his chest for a moment, as if she can see through the button-down shirt, the healed skin, before meeting his eyes. "Got a chunk taken out of you, huh? In more ways than one?"

Always too perceptive, these witches.

"Can I come in or are guests relegated to your doorstep these days?"

"He missed you," Zoe finally says, stepping aside and pulling the door wider. From somewhere in the house, Gabriel hears the scrabbling of nails, an excited bark.

Gabriel shuts the door and followers her down a long hall that ends in a sunroomm, its door blocked by an extra tall doggy gate. Bouncing behind the gate, with almost enough clearance to clear it, is Fox.

As he draws close, Zoe opens the gate and the Jack Russel wiggles his hind quarters, not unlike a cat, and launches himself at Gabriel. For a moment, Gabriel loses himself in the simple doggy affection of squirming muscles, smooth fur, and a wet tongue that seems determined to lick the skin off his face.

Zoe disappears. By the time she comes back with a pot of tea, two mugs, and a package of cookies under one arm, Fox has heralded Gabriel with his many adventures chasing squirrels, and the occasional field mouse, through Zoe's backyard; his trip to the office for a bath and to have his nails clipped; and visits to the dog park, complete with a lot of tail chasing (his own and other dogs). He's now settled on the couch, with his head on Gabriel's thigh.

"He's really enjoyed his time with you." Gabriel takes the offered cup.

"He tell you that?" Zoe pours a tea that smells like a blend of lavender and honeysuckle.

"I speak dog."

There's a pregnant pause and she narrows her eyes at him. "That's too easy. I'm not touching it."

And Gabriel laughs. It feels good to release the weight that's been sitting cold and heavy in that hollow space between his ribs and his belly. If he were human, his eyes would be watering by now and he takes a breath to steady himself.

"You're different," Zoe says, sitting in the armchair next to the couch, mug of tea under her nose. The look she gives him is sharp as a scythe, examining. And, for just a moment, Gabriel wonders what she sees. He's never met a human—witch or otherwise—who could read him like Zoe… Zoe, who had inexplicably summoned him again after the dog fighting business was concluded, only to invite him to a Saturday dinner. Just her and him and Fox, an unexpected and haphazard family to replace the one he'd lost. She wasn't aware of who or what he really was, but every now and then he wondered how far she was from discovering it. And now he wondered if the world would be around long enough for her to get there.

"I'm not sure…" she says, interrupting his thoughts. She leans across the couch arm, reaching for him, lays warm fingers against his collar bone.

"Got a few new wounds," he says. "I'd show you the scars, but, you know…"

"No," she says, settling back into her chair, frowning. "These are old wounds. Re-opened. Family?"

Gabriel blinks.

"Ah," Zoe says and has the grace to look abashed. "I know you don't like to talk about that." She takes a sip of tea. "But there's something else too," she presses on, abashment ignored, as Gabriel's come to expect. "It's like…you found a piece of yourself."

Gabriel cocks his head and Zoe changes the subject. They talk of other things. Things of no large consequence. Fox. The litter of kittens the mascot at her office had birthed a few weeks before. The new wards she'd set up. The last date she'd been on. She pours them more tea and he bites into a lemon cookie and a wave of pain washes over him as the flavor of lemon floods his tongue, an acrid accompaniment to the sour-sweet. Sam, somewhere, is having a hell of a time, wrestling with self-loathing, with anger, simultaneously muted and enhanced by what Gabriel knows to be the warm lull of alcohol. Scotch, if he's not mistaken. And he's feeding Gabriel those emotions in heaping spoonfuls until Gabriel gathers himself and clamps down on their link, pinching it like a garden hose. With Kali's visit he'd forgotten to close the link…. Maybe that was a good thing, to be reminded of just how strong a connection with a human in his charge could be, the mélange of emotion that could be transferred.

He shoves the rest of the cookie in his mouth and swallows, turning back to Zoe, missing what she'd said.

"Still can't tell me why you had to disappear for almost two weeks?"

"Would you believe 'to stop the end of the world'?"

She sits up straighter in her chair and Gabriel hears her breath hitch. Reaching for the remote, she turns on the little television in the corner of the room, mutes it and flips through local news channels showing stories of forest fires in Colorado, a massive storm off the coast of California, locusts destroying crops on a farm in Kansas. She sits back in her chair again, remote on the arm rest and says: "One of those kittens I told you about? It was born with two heads. The grocery store here had a shortage of milk because the last batch soured between farm and factory. So…I think the answer to that is yes."

"Well," Gabriel says, eating another cookie. "Don't go getting too excited. Things didn't go to plan and the Apocalypse is still a go."

A glance at the television and then back to him and Zoe says, "No shit."

"Stars aligning," Gabriel continues, hefting himself off the couch to look out over the expanse of Zoe's backyard, the garden frothy with green leaves, large shade trees. "Strings being pulled left and right, and the only thing between this world and destruction is a couple of self-sacrificing—" he stops. It's like you found a piece of yourself. There's still enough of me in you to find you when I need to. The shimmer of stars…the phosphorous flicker in the deep. A piece of himself.

"Have I," Gabriel says, turning to her and feeling the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth, "ever told you that you give me the greatest ideas?"

Shrugging delicately, she says "yes," and then looks closer at him, eyes narrowed. "And maybe that should scare me…"

He huffs a laugh, but his mind is already far away, rifling through old memories, conversations, and he needs to double check some things before he can put his thoughts into action.

"Would you keep Fox for a few more days?"

"That depends. Are you coming back for him?"

"If I don't," he says, somber again, "someone will. I promise."

She studies him, apparently can't find an issue, or at least not enough of one to make a fuss about it. "Okay. You want to give me a time table? Or at least tell me where you're going?"

"I need to see a man about a book."

-o0o-

In hindsight, the trip across the pond was probably not the best idea, given his current low power state. At the halfway point, he has to hitch a ride with an airliner, positioning himself in the top center of the craft. As much as he might like to, now wasn't the time to play "there's something on the wing" with the passengers. After the short break (okay, maybe it was a little longer than he'd like to admit), it's easy enough to make the final flight to Soho.

The bookshop is dark when he arrives, the shades pulled, the door locked. He lets himself in anyway. Inside is dim, dusty and full of the scent of old crackling paper, the faintly sour odor of leather bindings. He makes it a point to close the door loudly behind him, just to hear the muted grumbling and muffled cursing about people showing up in the dead of night to buy books.

The grumbling figure, clad in a burgundy smoking jacket, useless glasses perched on his nose, shuffles in from a back room, wafting with him the delicate flower scent of tea, the sharper smell of whiskey. When he sees Gabriel, he blinks once, twice, opens and closes his mouth and finally says, "Well, I didn't expect to be seeing you again."

"Bad penny." Gabriel grins. "And the bad penny needs a book."

The only other angel Gabriel has seen look this constipated over a relatively simple request is Castiel. The family resemblance is striking.

"Come in, then."

"That's my Azi," Gabriel says, clapping him on the shoulder before heading straight for the kitchenette. Last time he was here, he'd discovered a really great stock of Ardbeg Airigh Nam Beist.

"Don't call me that," his brother says, locking the door and following him into the gloom.

Sometime later, Azi has gone from looking constipated to looking both constipated and pissed off as Gabriel's detailed the whole end-of-the-world plan and the Heavenly puppetry that has been helping it come to pass. He finishes the whiskey in his glass, rises, and disappears into the shadows of his shop, coming back quickly with a small, ancient book under his arm that he hands off to Gabriel.

"It's all in there. What you're thinking." He pauses. "I assume you know what you're doing."

"Well…" Gabriel says.

Azi takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose and takes the book back. "We'll go over it. Maybe you should make notes," he says, fishing a spiral notepad out from beneath a tea cup.

"Is this your way of making sure I know what I'm doing or of keeping me from taking the book?"

"Yes," Azi says, turning the book's pages with the deftness of a surgeon.

Huffing softly, Gabriel sips his hot chocolate, generously imbued with scotch, and reaches for a piece of the angel food cake Azi has sitting on the counter. It's one of the sweets his brother always keeps around, at first because the name amused him and then because he, like Gabriel, had grown to love the taste. The fluffy cake sticks to Gabriel's fingertips, melts in his mouth and he closes his eyes, savors.

There's a little twinge to the muted connection with Sam and Gabriel wonders, for a moment, why it always seems to come when he's indulging his sweet tooth, before he carefully expands the link and finds Sam grieving. It's a different flavor than his despair and anger, sweet and salty. He's surrounded by heat and water and a miasma of sadness that has Gabriel reaching through the link to offer what bit of comfort he can.

He hadn't entirely intended to transform the soap into comfort food, but the feeling of Sam's laughter, choked yet effervescent, across the link makes the end result worthwhile.