Gabriel turned his head to look at the angel. His animal eyes seemed darker somehow, intense with worry. “I don’t care about redemption,” the Labrador said with a tremble in his voice. “He was mine first; Aaron belongs to me.”
The primitive bond between humans and their domesticated animals was something that Camael had always struggled to understand. How had Aaron defined it for him during one of their seemingly endless drives? Unconditional love, he believed was how the boy had phrased it. The master was the animal’s whole world, and it would love its master no matter what. That was the strength of the bond. The angel found the level of loyalty quite amazing.
“Aaron does not belong to you alone, Gabriel,” Camael explained. “There are those around us now who have waited for his arrival for thousands of years. Would you deny them his touch?”
The dog bowed his head, golden brown ears pressed flat against his skull. “No,” Gabriel growled, “but who will take care of me if something happens to him?”
Camael had no idea how to respond. It was a variation of a question he had been wondering himself. If Aaron was indeed the Chosen, what fate would the fallen meet if Verchiel should succeed in his mad plans to see the Nephilim destroyed?
The two sat quietly on the bench, the weight of their questions heavy upon their thoughts, the answers as elusive as the future.
Lorelei stepped out the back door of the house she shared with Lehash, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, searching for her father. She thought the constable had come outside, but he was nowhere to be seen. Since the strangers’ arrival, Lehash had become distant, uncommunicative, immersed in his work of keeping the citizens of Aerie safe, and she was becoming concerned.
Over the sound of the gas-powered generator that provided their electricity, she heard the reports of his guns, like small claps of thunder, rolling up from somewhere beyond the thick brush that surrounded the backyard. She started toward the sound, dipping her head beneath young saplings, careful not to spill the coffee as she maneuvered through the woods. Stepping into a man-made clearing, probably meant for development in years past, Lorelei stared at her father’s back as he fired at targets set up along the far side of the wide open space. The weapons discharged with a booming report, and several targets disintegrated in plumes of heavenly fire.
“Good shootin’, Tex,” she joked, letting him know that he was no longer alone.
Lehash slowly turned and regarded her with dark and somber eyes, smoking pistols of gold in each hand. It was a look common to the head constable of Aerie, a look that she herself was often accused of wearing. The angel Lehash took everything quite seriously.
“Practicing?” she asked, moving closer and holding out the steaming mug of coffee.
He pointed a pistol over his shoulder and fired. Lorelei jumped as an old teddy bear tied to a tree exploded in a cloud of burning stuffing.
“Well, it does make perfect,” he said, the slightest hint of a Texas twang in his voice. It never ceased to amuse her how he insisted on hanging on to the mannerisms and style of the old West. He’d explained that it had been his favorite time period during his countless years on Earth, and she guessed it was better than if he’d fallen in love with the Bronze age.
The golden pistols shimmered and disappeared into the ether with a flash of flame, and Lehash took the mug from her.
“And here I thought you were already perfect,” she said, placing her hands inside the front pockets of her jeans. “Guess you really do learn something new every day.”
He sipped at the coffee carefully, ignoring her good-natured barb. Something was bothering him, and now was as good a time as any to find out what.
“What’s the matter, Lehash?” she asked. “Something’s got your dander up even more than usual.”
The angel looked up into the early morning, powder blue sky, as if searching for something. “Belphegor’s been talking ‘bout how he thinks trouble’s coming.” He took another swig of coffee and glanced back to her. “I believe it’s already here.”
She was confused at first, but then realized the meaning of his words. “You can’t blame Aaron and Camael anymore. The deaths of other fallen have continued around the world since they’ve been here. And besides, reports that have trickled in say that the killer wears armor—blood-red armor.” Lorelei felt a chill creep down her spine and shivered.
“And our troubles are just beginning,” Lehash said, finishing the last of his drink. “Kind of like the early tremors I felt that morning in San Francisco in 1906—and we know how that one turned out.”
Lorelei sighed, her father often used historical catastrophes to make his points; the Hindenburg and Titanic disasters were quite popular with him, as were the Boxer Rebellion and World War II.
“Did you ever stop to think that their coming might be the beginning of something good?” she asked. “Y’know there’s talk among the citizens that…” Lorelei stopped, suddenly not sure if she should continue.
“Talk about what?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, its tone already telling her that he wasn’t going to care for what she had to say.
“That Aaron … that he might really be the One.”
Lehash scowled and handed her back the empty mug. The golden pistols formed in his hands again, and he turned away to resume his target practice.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “What could possibly be wrong if that were true?”
Lehash did not answer her in words. Instead he began to fire his weapons repeatedly, with barely a moment between each of the thunderous blasts. The remaining targets disintegrated, as did the trees and branches that they had been positioned upon.
Then, as quickly as he had begun to fire, he stopped, whirling around to face her. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, Lore. I’ve been living for a very long time now, and the thought of some messiah suddenly making everything all better…” He shook his head.
Lorelei moved toward him, words of disbelief spilling from her lips. “Are you saying you don’t believe in the prophecy?” she asked incredulously. “The whole reason that Aerie even exists, and you don’t believe in it?”
He lowered the smoldering weapons, and held her in his steely gaze. “Aerie and its people are about the only things I do believe in these days.”
Lorelei was speechless. She had only learned of the prophecy on her arrival in Ravenschild, but the promise of something other than the harsh world that she’d grown up in had given her the strength to continue.
“I fought during the Great War, Lorelei,” he tried to explain. “And not on the winning side. I can’t believe that God—even one merciful and just—could ever begin to forgive us for the wrong we’ve done.”
She didn’t want to hear this; she didn’t want the hope that she kept protected deep inside her to be diminished in any way.
“The prophecy says—”
“Fairy stories,” he retorted. The guns had again disappeared, and he grasped her shoulders in a powerful grip. “What you’ve got to realize—what we’ve all got to realize—is the only thing we have to look forward to is a world of hurt, and not all the prophecies and teenage messiahs in the world are gonna keep it away.”
“But what if you’re wrong?” she asked, pulling away. “What if Aaron is the harbinger of better times?”
Lehash scowled. “If you believe that, then I have some serious doubts as to whether you really are my daughter.”