The Wrong Enemy Read online

  Rachmiel said, “She’s fine.” The room felt like a dark gymnasium with a high ceiling and empty bleachers. He realized the sense emanated from Tabris only when the two-toned angel looked at him with gleaming eyes.

  Rachmiel said, “You’re hurt.” Then, “What happened?”

  He moved close to Tabris, who for once didn’t back away. But with the struts around his heart vibrating, Rachmiel forced himself to hold back. He could force Tabris to open up. He hungered for it. But do that and he’d lose everything.

  Tabris looked only at Elizabeth. “I went to New York for some flying. It shouldn’t have been a big deal.”

  He caught an image from Tabris: that demon with eyes bright as amber, and a gut-wrenching feeling Tabris managed to squelch before it resolved. Rachmiel acted as if he hadn’t sensed it. “Except you got attacked there at the same time we did?”

  “I don’t know if it was simultaneous.” Tabris swallowed hard. “Maybe you guys only got hit when I didn’t— I don’t know.”

  Rachmiel could sense every part of Tabris about to collapse, and to be honest, it frightened him. Frightened him more than standing over Elizabeth supporting the Guard over her room against the demonic attack. He didn’t know what Tabris was capable of when fully in control; the idea of Tabris out of control—

  He raised his wings. “You’re not doing well. Let’s call Raguel.”

  Tabris’s eyes flashed. “And get rid of me for good?”

  “I’m not getting rid of you, and it wouldn’t be for good. You need help.” Rachmiel opened his hands. Tabris was sitting right on top of Elizabeth; his knees were through her shoulders and his fists lay on his lap, directly over her neck.

  Tabris glared at him. “Quit lying to me.”

  Ice cold, Rachmiel whispered, “What?”

  “I said to quit lying.” Tabris flared his wings. “I know you’re working to get me removed. I may be quiet, but I’m not stupid, and you’re a horrible liar.”

  The emotions pummeled Rachmiel from within and without: Tabris’s anger, his own terror for Elizabeth, and shock at the accusation. “I never worked to get you removed. I’ve never lied to you.”

  Tabris said, “You’ve gone to Raguel twice that I know of.”

  Rachmiel struggled against amplifying Tabris’s anger because then he’d return the charges with rage of his own. “You’re losing me. When?”

  There was no way to get him away from Elizabeth without making him angrier, and calling for help would trigger the explosion he needed to avoid. Of this much Rachmiel was certain. The only way to protect her was to get him calmer.

  Tabris said, “You asked me to go into the basement to watch Andrew. Instead, Mithra took your place with Elizabeth and you went to Raguel.”

  Wracking his memory for any situation that might resemble that, Rachmiel remembered the night Tabris had driven him away from the pond. The fury. The coldness. Had it instead been betrayal? “I didn’t go to Raguel. One of my friends needed help. Mithra had just returned, and I asked if he could watch Elizabeth while I took care of it. I’d be gone five minutes. It didn’t seem worth the effort to shuffle you and Mithra back.”

  Tabris said, “And after Elizabeth fell off her bike, I felt his presence in the room.”

  “He came to me,” Rachmiel said. “I didn’t call him. I told him I would handle it.”

  “You had the tether removed so it wouldn’t shock Elizabeth when they ripped me away.”

  Rachmiel kept his voice steady. “You needed the range and you’ve proven your devotion, and that was God’s decision, not mine.”

  “You told Raguel I desert Elizabeth far too easily.”

  Rachmiel opened his hands. “If I wanted you gone, why would that be a problem?”

  Tabris’s eyes narrowed. “You’re colluding with Sebastian to get more evidence.”

  “Sebastian saw Elizabeth once, while she was asleep. What evidence could he have that wasn’t brought out at your trial?”

  Above Elizabeth, Tabris still stared through Rachmiel. Logic wasn’t going to win this one. Suddenly Tabris’s words, You’d do anything for her, encompassed a whole lot more territory than Rachmiel had ever anticipated. And with Tabris still angry, and her right beneath him, it made no sense to delay using the biggest weapon he had.

  Rachmiel raised his hand toward Heaven. “I swear by Him who lives forever and ever, who created Heaven and Earth, I am not trying to have you removed. I did none of those things.”

  The same way a little liquid will spread out through a liquid of a different color, the emotions dispersed through Tabris: anger like red, and then through that a trickle of clear. Tendrils of confusion, a surge of denial, then more questions, then another surge of anger. As Rachmiel waited, he felt the confusion winning over the anger. He kept his silence. Let Tabris settle it out.

  That demon. That demon, feeding him lies. And Tabris, listening for no reason Rachmiel could comprehend, but listening nonetheless.

  If emotions had color, then humiliation burned brilliant yellow, and Rachmiel felt it searing around the edges of the emotional waters.

  Rachmiel swallowed. “You’re fighting the wrong enemy.”

  Tabris rocked back to sit against the wall. Away from Elizabeth. Rachmiel shot close to her, near her head, heart pounding with relief.

  Tabris whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  Rachmiel raised his wings. “I know I’ve gotten angry at you. That’s my fault, and I’m sorry. But I never did anything to have you removed. If I didn’t think she was safe with you, would I leave her with you while I went to do something that would make you angry?”

  Tabris hugged his knees to his chest, dropped his head and brought up his wings around himself. The picture of that demon again came to Rachmiel’s mind, and Tabris said, “Enough of what he told me was true—I believed the other parts.”

  He jerked up, a streak of light splitting his multicolored emotions. “Then Sebastian—? He doesn’t really hate me?”

  Rachmiel flinched. “Well—”

  Tabris’s head dropped again. “Blast.”

  “He’s talking about maybe forgiving you. We prayed with him during the last visit.” Rachmiel touched Tabris’s wing. “He needs time.”

  He settled himself beside Tabris and enfolded him in his wings, casting a Guard around the room. “Easy,” Rachmiel whispered. “Let it out. The demon was trying to get you away from us. But we’re a team.”

  Tabris shivered. “He said he loved me.”

  Rachmiel snorted. “Well how could that be possible?”

  Tabris recoiled, and the loneliness seeped from him like juice from a broken fruit. “Yeah.” He felt smaller. “I guess it couldn’t be.”

  He went limp under Rachmiel’s touch, and Rachmiel projected reassurance as best he could. “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

  “What good would it have done?” Despair’s straw-like color tinted the emotional waters. “I’d still be the same.”

  Rachmiel said, “You’ve lost me.” And in the next moment he caught his breath. “You’re not unlovable! That’s not what I meant. I meant demons can’t love—”

  Despair gushed from Tabris, and Rachmiel felt the overwhelmingness of his situation: what he’d broken, his inability to make it whole, the conviction that angels don’t get second chances, and that one wide-open question—whether he’d broken the final link that mattered.

  Rachmiel grabbed him by the shoulders. “God loves you. Don’t question that.”

  “No one else does.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Name one,” Tabris shot back.

  Rachmiel quivered.

  “Let’s see.” Tabris glowered into the dark. “Any guardian of a person who knew Sebastian is furious because of the unnecessary grief I subjected his charge to. Raguel looks at me as another burden to lug around, but he put his name on the line for me so I had better come through for him. Sariel dutifully visited the wretched soul, got her service points, and w
ent home again. Sebastian hates me, and rightly so.”

  And the obvious name left off that list: Rachmiel’s own, even though God had told him that before it was over, he’d need to love Tabris.

  Rachmiel offered, “Miriael?” It sounded weak.

  Tabris shuddered. “Have you ever thought maybe Miriael spars with me as a shot across the bow? A warning that if I harm Kyle, he’ll personally see me in Hell?”

  Rachmiel gasped. “Are you kidding?”

  “I realized tonight he’s the only one in the household who’s never asked me to stand in for him.” Tabris sighed. “The guardians are far angrier than the ones who never guarded. Non-guardians imagine it must be an awful job. The ones who’ve guarded a person don’t understand how I could have done it.” Tabris put down his head. “For that matter, neither do I.”

  Rachmiel fingered his hair. “Why did you?”

  Tabris shook his head.

  Rachmiel projected an apology. “Sebastian will want to know.”

  “Reason number one I’m not going to visit him.”

  That made a lot of sense, actually. Rachmiel said, “But if you visit him, he might find it easier to forgive you.”

  “I don’t deserve his forgiveness, and I’m not going to see him until God forces me.”

  “Who deserves forgiveness?” Rachmiel sighed. “It’s mercy because it’s undeserved. If we deserved what we got, it would be justice.”

  Tabris shook his head. “I cannot comprehend that.”

  “Only because it’s you.” Rachmiel chuckled. “I can see it.” He hugged Tabris, then pulled back. “Are you okay with me now? Or were there other things that demon told you, like that I planned to write and illustrate my own line of greeting cards?”

  As Tabris raised his head with a smile, Rachmiel’s breath caught. “You’d be good at that.”

  Rachmiel raised his eyebrows. “I should hope so! Script font and fourteen words to say / I hope you have a special day.”

  They both laughed, and then Tabris made an image in the air of a half-open rose bud in watercolor, dewdrops on the petals, inscribed with Insert Sentiment Here. Rachmiel said, “We need a logo,” and Tabris replied, “We need a life.”

  They laughed until Elizabeth stirred, and Rachmiel bent over her. “Go back to sleep. We’re just being silly.”

  “It’s not like we have your soul in our hands or anything,” Tabris added.

  Rachmiel looked up. “Hey, you said before that God told you to come back. You were praying?”

  Tabris frowned. “I’m not sure. I mean, I was talking to God. And He was talking back to me. But it wasn’t real prayer.”

  “It’s a start, right?”

  Tabris huffed. “It might be a finish, too. I’m afraid to find out.”

  At that moment, unseen power took form in the room. Rachmiel and Tabris both dropped to their knees.

  “Relax,” said Jesus. He gestured that Rachmiel stand. Tabris stayed with his arms crossed over his chest and his head down. “I’m going to take you up on your offer.”

  Tabris’s head jerked up. “What offer?”

  “That you wouldn’t go to Sebastian until I ordered you. You’re now under orders to visit him tomorrow night.”

  Rachmiel felt Tabris’s soul groping for his, and he met the grasp, sending power back through him. Was this a solo trip?

  Jesus turned to him. “Yes, you can accompany him, and Casifer will be there too.” He turned back to Tabris. “You should try to pray before you go.”

  Rachmiel said, “Does Sebastian know?”

  “I’m telling him,” said Jesus, and vanished.

  Tabris closed his eyes.

  Minutes ticked by. Tabris didn’t move.

  Rachmiel touched Tabris’s wingtip with his own. “So, eighteen hours.” He sat beside him. “Do you want to pray now?”

  “You pray,” said Tabris. “I need to think.”

  Twenty

  Last night, Tabris had needed him. Rachmiel wanted to grab random angels and tell them this, jump in place and laugh out loud. But today, Tabris needed him quiet. Needed him not to go exulting that he’d seen a little into the mazy interior of Tabris’s soul.

  All the same, they got looks. Rachmiel noted the puzzlement from the guardians of Elizabeth’s classmates when Tabris and he bantered with one another. Although tense and with an eye for the clock, Tabris initiated conversation. He’d make ironic remarks in a low voice, and Rachmiel would laugh, and the angels would look.

  Not everything had changed. During the course of the day, Rachmiel learned about many, many reasons to delay praying. While he didn’t want to nag, he also didn’t want to ignore a divine recommendation. “You should pray,” while not a command, also felt stronger than a suggestion.

  He did seize every opportunity that came up. One of Kyle’s classmates had broken his leg on a camping trip, so in the car on the way home, Rachmiel suggested they pray for him. One by one, all the family angels did. All but Tabris, who Rachmiel could feel was saying the words but keeping his heart shut.

  Rachmiel even touched their wings together, but Tabris resisted. Instead, Rachmiel opened his heart to God, and God gave him strength.

  Rachmiel gave God the image of what he feared most: of Sebastian coming toward Tabris, needy for any sign that his guardian cared about him, and meeting only the cold eyes of a former-guardian. Rachmiel showed God his alternate thoughts: that the love was there, only buried beneath sheets of denial and pain. Love replaced by shame.

  God suffused Rachmiel’s soul, and when the car stopped, the prayer ended.

  Hours later, as Elizabeth propped herself on her pillows to read before bed, Tabris settled on the floor. “So: game-time. What do you know about me?”

  Rachmiel’s attention peaked. “You mean about you and Sebastian?”

  Tabris nodded. “You deserve not to be surprised by whatever comes up, but there’s no need to duplicate information.”

  Rachmiel sat forward. “For starters, Sariel says you were an amazing guardian.”

  Tabris exclaimed, “She said that?”

  Rachmiel nodded. “She said you protected him from all physical harm and kept him free of serious sin until he was twelve.”

  “Go figure.” Tabris’s eyes narrowed. “What was that sin?”

  Rachmiel shrugged. “Not that it’s any of my business, but I don’t think it was something so bad you killed him in retaliation.”

  His wings flared. “What?”

  Rachmiel pulled back. “Some angels speculated that Sebastian committed a crime deserving of death.”

  “What on earth could a kid do that would deserve that?” Tabris’s eyes were huge. “Who could even imagine such a thing? Of course it wasn’t retaliation!”

  Rachmiel raised his hands. “I didn’t believe it was. His heart and soul didn’t seem that hardened.”

  Tabris huffed. “Not hardly. He stole an MP3 player from his best friend. He was over the kid’s house, and he pocketed it. Later, the kid asked if he’d seen it, and Sebastian said no.” Tabris frowned. “His friend didn’t have much money, so losing that was huge. It wasn’t like he could just replace it, and Sebastian didn’t seem to care that he might lose a friend.”

  Rachmiel winced. “And you got him to turn back to God after a few days.”

  Tabris sighed. “He didn’t own up to what he’d done, but he put it in the bottom of the kid’s backpack as if it had been there all along. I made him confess it to God.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know what more I could do.”

  Rachmiel said, “At which point, your fellow guardians told you that there was nothing you could have done to prevent it because Sebastian had free will, but you felt guilty anyhow.”

  Tabris traced a finger over the carpet. “I failed the kid. An angel as powerful as I am shouldn’t have let my own kid steal an expensive piece of equipment from his friend. I lost some of my sight into his soul when that happened—it’ll happen with Elizabeth too at some point—and t
hat was awful.”

  Rachmiel leaned forward. “But it wasn’t about you letting him. It doesn’t reflect on Katra’il or Mithra when Martin or Andrew does something awful.”

  “They’re not as high-ranking in their choir, though.” Tabris bit his lip. “Lesser angels were doing a better job than I was, and I needed to get my act together in a hurry or the kid was going to end up in Hell. So one day Sebastian proved he had free will, and three days later, I did the same.”

  “How did it happen?”

  Tabris looked down, fists clenched. “You tell me.”

  “On his bicycle. You told me that. Sebastian hit a rock and flipped over, and you didn’t break his fall.”

  Tabris kept staring at the carpet. “Don’t sugar-coat it. I killed him. He biked over the railroad tracks and his front tire got turned into the groove of the track, but his back tire didn’t. Two tires going in two different directions, so he flipped. He went over the handlebars—” Rachmiel could see it like a movie advancing frame by frame. “—and I curled over him with my hands on his shoulders to protect his spine, and then, just as he hit the ground—I broke his neck.” Again that snap in Rachmiel’s mind, a sensation he’d never quite exorcised after the first time he’d felt it. “Not negligent homicide. Murder one. And I stopped. I thought—Lord. I couldn’t think anything else. I threw myself on top of him and stayed there until two Archangels chained me, and another lifted Sebastian’s soul away from his body to bring it to judgment.” Tabris had gone pale. “You know the rest.”

  Rachmiel said, “Had you planned it?”

  “No.” Tabris shut his eyes. “That’s how Raguel asked for mercy. He said I hadn’t meant it. I did mean it, just not for too long before it happened and not for too long afterward. I regretted it before the bicycle hit the ground, but by then I couldn’t take it back. I couldn’t resurrect him. I couldn’t reverse time.”

  Rachmiel had gone cold. “You didn’t run?”

  “Where could I have gone?” Tabris choked out a laugh. It hurt to hear. “I belonged with him.”

  Rachmiel looked at Elizabeth. “I think I would have.”