The Wrong Enemy Page 15

  As soon as humans had begun making music, Rachmiel had tried to learn the language, the way notes could embody emotions. Angelic music created what it represented, but human notes imitated instead of incarnated, and for that reason, human music pulsed with struggle.

  Elizabeth closed the book and reached for a Chopin piece she’d learned last year for a recital. Chopin had always excited Rachmiel, and his excitement had increased exponentially when Elizabeth had come along and heard the same things he had in the music. Rachmiel had shadowed the man during his lifetime, trying to discover where the mystery came from, and after the man’s death he’d asked him, only to find that sometimes the questions are more powerful than their answers.

  Elizabeth hadn’t yet heard the great questions, still young enough to see in life only answers, but she didn’t need to know them in order to play the notes as written. In the future, Rachmiel hoped, she’d begin emoting through the music as the questions became clearer. Her occasional mistakes made the piece dearer to him, and he watched as she opened her soul to embrace the piano. She turned pages without realizing as she played, concentrating hard enough that she stopped thinking about the music as something separate from herself.

  Rachmiel brimmed over with love for Elizabeth, only for her, always for her. He embraced her, then slipped inside her so his form moved in tandem with hers, as though her hands were gloves over his to move his fingers, and then he too could play Chopin. Pictures sprang to his mind through the girl, and the love of God burst like fireworks in his heart. Innocence played the questions free will had raised, that compassion alone was unable to answer.

  Rachmiel knew why the author of Genesis had said the sons of God had fallen in love with the daughters of men. It wasn’t physical but rather the attraction of an untarnished spirit accepting God and the world as it was, making no demands on either. What the union of a guardian angel and his charge would produce were courage, sensibility, devotion...a saint. Anything else would be redundant.

  When Elizabeth stopped playing, he separated from her, heart pounding.

  Elizabeth poked around some of her piano exercises for a few minutes, then put them away and turned on the television, deadening any contact Rachmiel had with her soul. Disappointed, he sat beside her staring at the moving pictures, but he found them stale, so he closed his eyes and prayed.

  Then God played music in his soul. Not Chopin.

  Sixteen

  That evening Casifer sent a message to Rachmiel inviting him to visit Sebastian again. Voriah offered to call Rachmiel the instant Tabris awoke, and Rachmiel double-checked those Guarded spheres. When Elizabeth had gone to bed, Tabris had shifted in his sleep, touching his head to hers and laying a wing over her. He’d jostled the spheres, and they’d rung in Rachmiel’s mind.

  He blessed Elizabeth, and after another look at Tabris, flashed to Limbo.

  Sebastian greeted Rachmiel with a hug—the spiritual kind. Rachmiel congratulated him, but he hardly needed to: the boy gave him a self-congratulatory high-five.

  “I practiced all day!” He laughed, then paused. “I think Casifer’s all hugged-out. He said he’d ask for a few dozen friends to stop by so I could squeeze them.”

  Rachmiel made a serious face. “Is that why you called me?”

  Sebastian mimicked the expression. “I think his ribs hurt, and I might have poked him in the eye.”

  They both laughed, and Casifer rolled his eyes. Rachmiel felt the boy’s warmth suffusing him: Sebastian looked so much like Tabris had that night on the roof. And then Rachmiel thought of Elizabeth, widowed, and Tabris lying face-down on her bed.

  Sebastian hesitated. “Did I upset you? I didn’t really poke him in the eye. Was that lying?”

  “No, you’re fine.” Rachmiel forced down the wistfulness. “You remind me so much of your guardian.”

  Sebastian’s face tightened.

  Casifer said, “Are you all right?”

  Rachmiel shook his head. “I probably won’t stay the whole night this time. If Elizabeth wakes up,” or Tabris, for that matter, “I’ll just take off.”

  Sebastian grinned. “That’s so sweet. You’d be in such a rush you wouldn’t even say goodbye?”

  Rachmiel said, “Probably not—” and then he smirked. “You guys are making fun of me.”

  Solemn, Sebastian nodded.

  “You can think it’s cute if you want.” Rachmiel shrugged. “So does he.”

  Casifer said, “I make sure I’m right here whenever Sebastian wakes up.”

  Rachmiel drew back. “He needs to sleep?”

  “For now, but not on a regular basis.”

  Sebastian made his eyes round and his face seem younger. “It wouldn’t be Heaven if it had bedtime.”

  Casifer said, “Staying up all night is something of a thrill. But he’s still growing.”

  “I sleep less often the longer I’m here.” Sebastian giggled. “I guess in Heaven, you don’t need to sleep at all.”

  Rachmiel flinched, thinking of Tabris out cold on Elizabeth’s bed.

  Casifer’s heart jumped, and he projected a question. It was more than a little unfair to do this, knowing Sebastian couldn’t understand projections, but Rachmiel compacted the whole of today’s incident into one pellet of information and sent it to Casifer.

  Casifer sent back a response: anger. Anger that Tabris had hurt Elizabeth, that he’d hurt Sebastian, and that he couldn’t be bothered to come to see the boy when given the chance. That this child was a treasure and Tabris was treating him like worse than an annoyance. Then one final opinion flung with the force of a dart: that because Tabris hadn’t wanted to see the result of what he’d done to Sebastian, now he had to see the result of what he’d done to Elizabeth.

  Rachmiel tried to backpedal, but Casifer let Rachmiel know he considered it part of his job to protect Sebastian from Tabris.

  Sebastian’s eyes darkened, so much like Tabris. “Is it about my guardian?”

  Casifer said, “Elizabeth fell off her bike today, and afterward, your guardian was very upset.”

  Smooth. Rachmiel wouldn’t have thought of editing the incident that way, yet Casifer had done it despite his outrage. “He’s asleep right now.”

  Sebastian said, “If you’re that worried, maybe you should return.”

  Rachmiel looked at the ground. “I’d like to stay here, and the other angels in the house will call me if he or she wakes up. I’m sorry I’m so distracted.”

  Casifer said to Sebastian, “When angels sleep, it’s for recovery. It’s a last-ditch means of saving yourself from an emotional breakdown.”

  Sebastian’s eyes flared. “Are you kidding? How bad was the bike accident?”

  “Elizabeth is okay. He—” Rachmiel sighed. “It reminded him of you.”

  Sebastian was breathing fast. “Did he hurt her?”

  “No, not at all.” Rachmiel began wishing he hadn’t even come, but Casifer rested a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder and nodded to him. Maybe he could take a page from Casifer’s book. “Tabris didn’t even touch her.”

  “Oh, okay.” Sebastian kicked at the ground. “Why would he be upset about it, then? I mean, if she’s not hurt and he didn’t do anything.” His eyes darkened. “Or is he just upset that he missed his chance?”

  Casifer fired a reprimand at Sebastian, and Rachmiel exclaimed, “No!”

  Sebastian hunched his shoulders and put his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  So young, so brittle. Rachmiel said, “I forgive you.”

  “It’s not charitable to assume the worst of him.” Casifer pulled Sebastian closer. “Elizabeth’s fall might have been God’s way of bringing Tabris to think more about what he did to you.”

  Sebastian pursed his lips. “But you said he’ll feel better when he wakes up.”

  Rachmiel shook his head. “Sleeping just postpones the problem. Angels don’t dream, so we wake up in the same condition we went to sleep in, only strong enough to deal with the pr
oblem. You could sleep and feel better, but if an angel falls asleep sad, he wakes up sad.”

  Sebastian’s mouth tightened. “How will my guardian wake up?”

  “Probably sad,” Rachmiel said. “But sometimes, now especially, I feel I don’t know him well enough at all.”

  Tabris awoke instantly, his sword in his hand and ears straining after the sound he’d just heard. Out. He needed to get out. He needed to get Elizabeth out of here.

  Tabris, came the hiss again.

  He couldn’t find the source. “Show yourself, Irony!”

  Wake up Elizabeth. Get her away from the danger. Something wanted her dead.

  Tabris tried to reach out with his mind to find Rachmiel or Miriael, but the room was Guarded—Guarded to keep him inside, and for a moment he panicked that he was under house arrest. But no, that Guard was evil. And keeping him here. Trapped. He needed to get out.

  The voice came from everywhere. “I have a new name now. You can call me—”

  “I’ll call you damned!” he shouted, slashing his sword around the room. “Leave!”

  “Please.” The voice shifted around the room: at one moment the walls or the carpet could be speaking, and again Tabris pushed against the Guard, but he couldn’t get out. “Come with me,” said the ceiling. But then the bookcase added, “What use is this little anchor? She has another angel to take care of her, one capable of loving her. Come with me.”

  Go with him. Get out of here. Get out. Just go with him and he could leave...

  “No.” Tabris sent his awareness through the room, but the presence was too dissociated. “I belong here.”

  “You belonged with Sebastian,” said the desk, but the carpet responded, “even though Sebastian hates you.”

  “I belong here now.”

  “Sebastian wants you in Hell. I was at the trial.”

  “I was there too.” Tabris focused on the corners, the shadows, but in the preternatural dark he couldn’t nail down the demon’s hiding place. “He made no such request.”

  “It was internal.”

  Tabris said, “Then there’s no way you’d know.”

  “The boy told me himself when I visited.”

  Tabris screamed, flinging himself into a corner and slicing with his sword until the tip met with resistance, and he dragged the demon into the open.

  “You leave him alone!” Tabris grabbed the demon by the neck. “Just leave both of them alone! He’s not yours!”

  “Soon she won’t be, either! Rachmiel’s with Sebastian right now, gathering evidence, looking for patterns—”

  “Shut up!”

  The demon’s eyes glittered. “They talked about you for hours. Why do you think Rachmiel said nothing about his visit?”

  “I didn’t ask.” Tabris still clutched the demon by the throat, but his hold slackened.

  “Exactly what he wanted. Could that angel really keep a secret if he didn’t want?” The demon gasped, and Tabris loosened a bit more. “He’s afraid you’ll blow the game once you discover how much Sebastian hates you. Your Tyrant wanted to arrange a sticky-sweet forgiveness scene, but Sebastian’s mad, and he made Rachmiel mad too. Sebastian demands every day that you be retried. That’s why your bond to Elizabeth is looser. When they sever the bond, Rachmiel doesn’t want there to be a shock to the girl.”

  Tabris forced his voice low. “You’re lying.”

  “I’ll go on. Raguel came here after you knocked Elizabeth off her bicycle.”

  “That was your doing.” But even as he spoke, Tabris extended his mind and detected traces of Raguel’s signature in the room. Not very long ago.

  The demon opened his hands. “All Rachmiel told him was how she got hurt because of you, and he insisted it’s stupid to keep you with a brat so close in age to Sebastian because eventually you’ll punish her with one hug too many. Raguel’s waiting for you to mess up just once more, and then he’s going to reassign you to shoveling brimstone into the fiery furnaces.”

  Tabris rolled his eyes. He hoped it looked disinterested.

  “You’re not listening to me! I’m warning you because I’m the only one you have left.” The demon became plaintive. “I can’t stand to see you dog-piled. They’re humiliating you. When it all goes down, you’re going to look like creation’s biggest idiot because you trusted them when it was obvious they wanted you gone.”

  “You’re lying. You’re only friends with yourself, and I have God.” Tabris released the demon and folded his arms. “No one can take away that consolation.”

  The demon looked him in the eye, then smothered a laugh. “That’s rich. You don’t believe it any more than I do. If you did, you’d send me away. When two liars know they’re lying to each other, it’s an awful lot like truth, and I’ll play that game if it’s easier for you to talk that way. But you’re covering all the bases, and God doesn’t share. I would know.” The demon stepped closer. “He’ll settle for nothing less than all of you. Rachmiel’s a lot happier not having to think, but you—you’d never be happy that way. It would be untrue to your name—Free Will.”

  Tabris tried to steady himself.

  “I’m not lying,” the demon said. “Rachmiel was furious. Sebastian can’t forgive you. Raguel investigated this afternoon. And Rachmiel is trying to get you transferred because he can’t guard you and Elizabeth.”

  Tabris glanced at the girl. Elizabeth had grown restive, and Tabris said, “Go back to sleep, little lady. It’s midnight.”

  “You know enough of what I’m saying is true that you can trust me for the rest. Come with me. I was Unbridled,” the demon said. “Now my name is Windswept. You can truly be Free Will, but you have to come with me.”

  Tabris trembled. “No.”

  “But, Free Will—”

  “I’m exercising it now. A refusal is a choice, and I chose once. Irrevocably. You’re not God to me. You’re not omnipotent or all-knowing, and you didn’t create me.”

  The demon shook his head. “If the only reason you’re staying with God is for what He gives you, then give up. He’s insatiable, and He’s not going to let you keep refusing to pray. He’ll want you to be with Him for who He is, not just what He does.”

  Tabris leaned closer. “The way He loves me?”

  The demon snorted. “He claims He loves the essence of His slaves and not what they do, but I know better. I was condemned for what I did.” The demon looked up. “And what about what you did? You murdered a child.”

  “But you wanted separation. I wanted—”

  The room went silent. Tabris looked back at Elizabeth.

  The demon sounded puzzled. “What did you want?”

  Tabris’s eyes narrowed.

  “Did you get it?” The demon chuckled. “I doubt you did. But I think I have it for you. You just need to grasp it in your blood-covered hands, and I’ll give you everything.”

  “Out.” Tabris pointed his sword at the demon. “Go. Now.”

  Before he was finished, Tabris’s voice echoed in the spiritual emptiness of a room minus one demon, and the Guard came down.

  Out. He could get out now, but instead he listened.

  Still. The house felt so incredibly still, and Tabris probed to detect which angels were where—and Rachmiel wasn’t anywhere. No one was watching Elizabeth.

  That’s odd— Tabris thought before he realized it wasn’t odd: it was exactly what the demon said. Rachmiel wouldn’t leave Elizabeth lightly. He’d have Guarded the room if he needed to, or had another angel checking in on her. Instead, he’d left her alone with an unconscious angel—and for what?

  He huddled at the head of her bed, wings wrapped around himself, and wondered how people did this. There wasn’t an angelic precedent, but many humans returned to their churches after long absences. They’d fumble, wondering which shoulder you touch first in the Sign of the Cross, how to navigate the hymnal, and then realizing when they looked around that no one cared if they were clumsy, least of all God. They’d come home, and no
one would mind the muddy shoes on the porch steps.

  Please help me, Tabris thought, knowing he didn’t deserve help. Alert to all the locks on his heart, he wondered if they really locked out God, and if not, why they’d gotten there in the first place. But one at a time, he’d find each lock a little too scary to turn the key, the phantom behind the door something he’d rather not risk. Not now when he was already shaken.

  And finally he stopped trying because if he wasn’t willing to unlock the door, no one was going to get inside anyhow, and maybe the demon had a point. God wasn’t going to let this stalemate stand forever.

  The instant he slackened his concentration, Jesus appeared—and caught Tabris before he could prostrate himself. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he said.

  Tabris pulled back and dropped to his knees, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling up his wings. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready.”

  Shivering, Tabris tried to get under control, and he couldn’t look up.

  A touch on his head, and he went still. Jesus said, “You’re not ready, but I am.”

  Please don’t force me. Tabris couldn’t form the words. He closed his eyes, and then the touch vanished. He looked up, again alone.

  Briefly. Only seconds later, Josai’el appeared in the room, startled. “You’re awake?”

  Apparently so. Tabris flashed to Elizabeth, who slept deeply, and when he looked back, Miriael was there, then Voriah, and in a moment the rest of the household. Minus Rachmiel, whom he felt Voriah calling at a long distance. Not on Earth.

  “You’re shaken,” Josai’el said. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course he’s shaken,” Miriael said. “There was a demon in here. Can’t you feel it?”

  Mithra said, “I can feel the presence of the Lord too.”

  Josai’el said, “What happened?”

  Tabris looked at her, lost for what to say. The demon’s Guard was down, but he still felt trapped, and he thought longingly of the pond. Or further, since he no longer had a tether. But Elizabeth, how much longer might he be with her...leaving when they might take him anyhow felt wrong. He could imagine them Guarding the house at his back. And then—nothing.