The Wrong Enemy Read online

  In short, it made no sense. Maybe Rachmiel shouldn’t have insisted on them being a team. Well, not now, anyway. If he ranked over Tabris, and Tabris had to carry out his orders, then he could have ordered Tabris to talk. You are under orders to tell me the entire story of how Sebastian died.

  No. He’d have gotten the information, maybe. But he’d have lost far more than he gained. Tabris having his heart at Rachmiel’s mercy would forever preclude trust and guarantee resentment.

  All of which left him with the same set of questions and no way of getting answers.

  Tabris looked at him. “What?”

  Rachmiel frowned.

  “You want to ask something.”

  Rachmiel nodded. “But I don’t want to make you angry.”

  “Try me.”

  “What happened with Sebastian?”

  Tabris went back to work on the ice dams. “What would knowing that do for you?”

  Rachmiel struggled momentarily because I’ll know how to protect Elizabeth from you didn’t sound very trusting on the heels of having said he wanted Tabris coequal to him. He opted for the more tangential, “I thought if I knew, I could help you.” Also true. It benefited both of them if Tabris didn’t harm her.

  “I don’t want you to be self-conscious on account of me. This was your job first. You deserve to be comfortable.”

  “I’m comfortable with you. Most of the time.” When Tabris turned, eyebrows raised, Rachmiel said, “Some of the time.”

  “You keep second-guessing yourself.” Tabris shook his head. “You’re fine.”

  Tabris focused again on the ice in the gutter, and Rachmiel looked into the sky, sorting the stars until he found the one he searched for. “Oh, there it is!” He waved while projecting long-distance. “A friend of mine guards it, and it makes her happy when I remember her.”

  Tabris laughed, and Rachmiel’s head lifted. Had he heard Tabris laugh before?

  The fingers of the wind lifted stray flakes of snow and blew them through the angelic pair. Tabris flexed his wings into the chill, inhaling sharply, then laughed again, a much richer sound than before.

  Rachmiel realized right then that Tabris hadn’t answered his question about Sebastian. Which in and of itself was a kind of answer.

  Tabris was still smiling. “Have I told you how much I love the cold?”

  Rachmiel projected that he’d guessed. “Where were you before?”

  “A suburb of Los Angeles. Disgusting weather, always sixty-eight and sunny. Smog that could make an angel retch, although the people breathed it just fine. I wanted to comb out Sebastian’s lungs every night.” He shook his head. “Ten million people lived there, and I never understood how they could stand it. No space. No snow. No seasons to speak of.”

  “Some people would say that’s the weather in Paradise.”

  “To me, it said ten million people must believe in Paradise because if they didn’t, why spend their lives there?” Tabris shuddered. “Why wouldn’t they be climbing mountains?”

  “Were you in LA the whole time?”

  “Thirteen years.” Tabris sighed. “One New Year’s Day the radio announcer said they’d exceeded federal smog regulations only one hundred seventy-one days the previous year. And it was an improvement.”

  Rachmiel flinched.

  Tabris spread his wings and lay back in the snow, surrounded by the froth without marking its substance.

  Rachmiel gathered himself, and although he radiated nervousness, he said, “So, about Sebastian. How did—”

  “Snapped his neck.”

  Rachmiel withdrew into verbal and emotional silence. Tabris had closed his eyes, and beneath the snow, his hands were fists.

  Rachmiel had more questions, so many more. But he’d never get a why now, and even the how was so sparing in information. But to push—Tabris might answer, but at the cost of any rapport.

  Tabris finally said, “Rock, do me a favor. If they tell you I didn’t love the kid, please—remember that I did. It wasn’t what they think. You don’t have to defend me to them. In fact, don’t say anything at all. Just you remember it.”

  Tabris arched his neck and looked behind him at the moon. Tension rolled off him, and Rachmiel knew he’d been right to hold back. They had time. They had plenty of time.

  Extending a wing toward Tabris, Rachmiel touched him and projected nothing more than his presence. “I never doubted it.”

  They stayed quiet for a long time. The moon changed position. Rachmiel’s friend waved back to him. Headlights passed on the state route. And after a long time, Tabris turned toward Rachmiel with an asymmetric smile. “Thank you.”

  Nine

  W

  hile Tabris watched Rachmiel awaken Elizabeth the next morning, the guardian of the woman up the road called for help. Josai’el sent a question through the household: who wanted to take it?

  Mithra started to volunteer, but Rachmiel called out, “I’ll go. You stay with Andrew.”

  Josai’el appeared in Elizabeth’s room, and Tabris thought she looked worried. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. It shouldn’t take two angels to get Elizabeth to eat breakfast.” Rachmiel shrugged. “Andrew’s going to be heading to work in fifteen minutes anyhow.” He bent low over Elizabeth, whispering, “Wake up, Sleepyhead. God loves you like crazy.” He blessed her and then disappeared.

  Josai’el returned to Bridget, and Tabris found himself alone with Elizabeth.

  This was...odd. Odd because while no one had said so explicitly, they’d all pretended the house had “an extra guardian” and not that Elizabeth had two. When someone needed to pitch in elsewhere, the “someone” would go and the remaining guardians would scramble to cover the unguarded person, ignoring the obvious: that if one of Elizabeth’s pair went, nobody needed to scramble at all.

  No one in the household had said, “Obviously any guardian angel would rather struggle alone than have Tabris pitch in.” And they’d been even more polite about not saying “Rachmiel would rather die than leave Elizabeth alone with him.”

  Hence Josai’el’s concerned question. And Rachmiel’s volunteering: because if he spoke with actions, he didn’t need to say, “Okay, guys, panic’s over. I guess we can trust him. Somewhat.”

  Tabris sighed: the politics of interaction. He’d never have dissected things like this last year. He was still considering this development when Unbridled appeared.

  The demon said, “You need to know my name is no longer Unbridled. It’s Irony.”

  “Thanks for the update.” Tabris positioned himself between Elizabeth and the demon. “Keep your distance.”

  Irony stood on the window sill, and Tabris put a picture into Elizabeth’s mind: people looking in the windows. She glanced at the window, even though on the second floor, then moved to the far side of the room to get dressed.

  Irony tried to get a look at her. “She’s going to be a beautiful woman. You need to pay attention to the shape of her body as she develops, though. Is it true what they say about redheads?”

  “Her physical attributes concern me about as much as your opinion.”

  “You’re too harsh.” The demon crouched lower on the window, tucking his wings around him. “My opinions used to matter to you. We had the most amazing conversations.”

  Tabris divided his focus, partially on the demon but the majority of it on Elizabeth because it wouldn’t be unheard of for others to attack while he was distracted. “Keep brushing your hair. You’ve got a knot in the back.” She picked up her brush again. To Irony, he said, “But after all those conversations, the only one that mattered was when you said you hated God.”

  “I agree!” The demon leaned forward, eyes bright. “Conversations about the intricate construction of a flower petal become repulsive when it turns out you hate the designer and want to boycott everything He ever manufactured. Tyranny, though—that’s worth a conversation or two. Do you still love this misbegotten world?”

  Tabris focused o
n Elizabeth packing her school bag. “Remember your book for English this time.”

  She hesitated, then picked up her book from the desk.

  “You should give it up before He breaks your heart again with His cold eyes.”

  Irony stood up, now on the inside of the room, but Tabris turned, and he retreated to the window.

  Irony said, “Do you know where Rachmiel is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he’s not there. He’s before the Archangels asking to have you removed for Elizabeth’s sake.”

  Tabris nodded. “He goes every day.” The demon’s lies would be easier to blow off if Tabris hadn’t already imagined all these scenarios for himself: Sebastian in agony; Rachmiel begging Raguel to have him transferred. And now: Rachmiel pretending to help the old lady down the road because it made excellent cover for an appeal at the foot of God’s throne. “By now he’s decided to abandon proper channels and have a bunch of friends beat me up if I get too close to his girl.”

  “Be serious.” The demon folded his arms. “I’m the Ironic one, not you. Rachmiel says he can’t keep his eyes off your hands, and he imagines you’ll snap her spine at any moment.”

  “And it naturally follows that he would confide his deepest fears to you.” Tabris pointed to the demon. “Go.”

  Irony vanished. Tabris examined Elizabeth to make sure nothing had gotten past him, then touched her hair. Before heading down to breakfast, she inspected herself before the full-length mirror. She smiled, but Tabris couldn’t.

  Rachmiel followed Elizabeth into the school cafeteria, Tabris trailing. While the children stampeded either toward the long tables with their fixed benches or to the hot lunch line, their guardians took attendance and noted only whether Tabris was in the room. Elizabeth stood on a bench waving to Maura, the girl she’d rescued from social exile, and Maura saw her just before the lunch monitor ordered Elizabeth to sit.

  Head to head, the girls chattered while forgetting to eat their sandwiches. Maura’s guardian was trying to get her to finish her lunch even as the girl told Elizabeth all about her mother’s fight with her sister.

  Despite the attention focused on Tabris, Rachmiel detected a difference: today they were studying him, too. It took half a carton of milk and three bites of a sandwich for Rachmiel to realize word had gotten around that he trusted Tabris as a co-decision-maker, and as a result, there wasn’t the same caution. A frisson of surprise shot through Rachmiel, the idea that so many angels based their opinions on his own, and for a moment he wondered what would have happened had he taken Raguel’s authority and run with it.

  Even worse, what if he was wrong? He couldn’t see into Tabris’s heart. Quite a number of angels had worked with Tabris before and never dreamed him capable of what he’d done, and with this many children at risk—he’d better be right.

  Rachmiel spread out his attention to read the vibrations in the room, knowing Tabris kept watch over Elizabeth and now more than a little curious. The angels still reacted to the emotional void surrounding Tabris, the lack of an aura that was not only a cloud of emptiness but actually absorbed the emanations of other angels. They’d come to think of it as his trademark. But in addition to that, Rachmiel picked up an undertone: not that Tabris was sullen, but that he was focused; not that Tabris was withdrawn, but that he was vigilant.

  All because Rachmiel had trusted him. Snapping back to himself, he wondered how his one opinion could tint the minds of so many.

  He fussed a bit over Elizabeth and then glanced at Tabris, standing alone against the wall. His eyes had gone dark as he listened to the chatter, and Rachmiel wondered if Tabris could detect the difference too. Not likely: Tabris was so coiled in on himself to keep his emotions from getting out that nothing was getting inside either. Battered by noise, Rachmiel wanted to say to Tabris, You can go. Find someplace quiet, but he didn’t. Only hours after opening up a little to Rachmiel, Tabris might take that as a proclamation of distrust.

  And then there was Maura’s guardian, radiating disapproval. He’d projected that and more ever since Elizabeth had first spoken to the girl, wanting Elizabeth and Rachmiel without Tabris. The angel flared with anger when Tabris got too close.

  You’d rather she be alone? Rachmiel thought, making sure none of the emotions escaped. There’s value in solitude, but she wasn’t choosing solitude.

  Three sixth grade boys had dialed up their volume at the next table. Maura turned to watch them while she finished her sandwich, and Elizabeth dug a yellow apple out of her lunch bag.

  Tabris changed his focus, and Rachmiel felt his soul shift into high alert. Demon. And it had worked its way into the boys’ conversation.

  Without a wall between them, it would be impossible to Guard the demon away from Elizabeth, although the demon didn’t appear to be interested in the girls. Instead, he was goading one of the boys, who started bragging about some websites he’d visited when his parents weren’t home, and then describing the contents.

  Not realizing they shouldn’t be listening, Elizabeth and Maura paid attention. It wouldn’t be very long before Elizabeth would ask her mother, or maybe one of her brothers, “What’s a pole dance?” and then dwell on the answer for a while—or worse, take it inside and never ask. Maybe she’d search for it online herself. In a couple of years she’d be able to handle that information—but she was still so young.

  Rachmiel urged her to stop listening, but she was trying to figure out what they were talking about.

  Tabris said, “Elizabeth! There’s Alan!” and she looked to the other side of the cafeteria.

  “Maura,” said Rachmiel.

  The other girl was still paying attention, and it wasn’t a far cry that she’d ask Elizabeth about it.

  Tabris glared at Maura’s guardian. “Distract her! Get her to ask Elizabeth what’s wrong!”

  The other guardian resisted.

  Rachmiel amplified Tabris’s insistence, and only then did the other guardian wrench Maura’s attention to Elizabeth, who was scanning the crowd.

  Maura said, “What are you doing?”

  Elizabeth said, “I thought I saw my brother, but he’s supposed to be in the middle school.”

  They both looked, pointing and debating whether that blond kid was Alan, until the subject behind them changed, the incident forgotten.

  Tabris spun toward Maura’s guardian. “You can’t just say no.” His hands were fists. “You’ve got to give her something else to do, something good and interesting to take the place of something bad and interesting.”

  The other angel’s eyes glittered. “I know how to do my job.”

  “Then do it.” Tabris stepped toward him, lowering his voice. “You’re standing between Maura and Hell. This isn’t a spectator event.”

  Rachmiel moved in front of Tabris. “It’s over. They’re safe.”

  Tabris touched Elizabeth’s hair and turned his back on Maura’s guardian. Angels all over the cafeteria stared, and Rachmiel tried to relax his wings. At his side, Elizabeth dropped a piece of her apple, and Tabris made sure it landed in the napkin on her lap.

  Ten

  During the first week of March, Tabris read Elizabeth’s English assignment over her shoulder while she sat on the couch, mixing the written words with the pictures in her mind. She alternated reading a paragraph of short story with writing a note she planned to pass to Maura before class tomorrow morning. Jottings about how mean their teacher was and how her mother hated a song on the radio but she thought the singer was cute.

  Tabris said to Rachmiel, “Is it possible her teacher would be less ‘mean’ if Elizabeth worked a little harder on her homework?”

  “Oh, just a bit.” Rachmiel chuckled. “But that might take away time from listening to the guy on the radio.”

  Elizabeth’s father brewed a cup of coffee, and Mithra stood in the kitchen entryway dividing his attention between Andrew and the other two angels. “Maybe the way Andrew’s mother would be less ‘mean’ if he followed t
hrough on his offer to take her to the doctor rather than pawning it off on Connie?”

  Rachmiel looked up. “I’ve been praying about that. Is he still angry?”

  Mithra huffed. “Yes, and he has no right. No one forced him to make the offer, and his work could have waited.”

  “Connie was furious,” Rachmiel said.

  Mithra nodded. “And he’s mad at his mother for feeling hurt, by some logic I’m not quite getting. I’m not looking forward to whatever happens when they come home.”

  Tabris concentrated until he could feel Hadriel and Josai’el: in the car, traveling toward them. They’d arrive in about fifteen minutes.

  As Elizabeth went back to her assignment, another angel appeared and projected something privately to Mithra, who glanced at the two of them. Andrew had gotten his coffee and was heading toward the basement steps.

  Mithra said, “Would one of you mind watching Andrew for a minute? I’m needed elsewhere.”

  Rachmiel said, “Tabris, you go. I want to see how the story ends.”

  “Sure. Just don’t reveal the secret finale before I get a chance to finish it myself.”

  Tabris followed Andrew down the steps to his home office, taking a place near the narrow rectangular windows.

  He’d never expected this development, and even after five months it still felt unreal. Rachmiel leaving him with Elizabeth was one thing, but the others leaving him alone with theirs—that bespoke a trust Tabris found incomprehensible. He’d have split himself in two rather than entrust Sebastian to an angel with his track record, and yet Mithra had left his charge without more than a goodbye. See ya, Andrew. Don’t die or anything while I’m gone.

  It wasn’t just Andrew. Voriah had left him with Alan for half an hour. Josai’el entrusted him with Bridget, but not without warning him Bridget would require help with balance. Hadriel had taken off for six hours one night, asking Tabris to keep watch over Connie and maybe give her an energy boost. As if they trusted him. Which meant, inexplicably, that they did.