"He's a clever adversary," Michael muttered, almost disappointed.
"You were hoping things would point to Morningstar?"
He shrugged. "I know how to fight Morningstar."
"True enough." I nodded. "I still don't want to believe it's Mouse behind the LINK-angels, but I can no longer deny the possibility. Still ... Why? Why would he do it? What does he get out of it?"
We'd reached another section of tunnel illuminated by flickering Christmas lights. In the weak light, I could see Michael's tired smile. "Besides power?" He shook his head. "We should also ask ourselves why would a Muslim work to prop up a Christian belief in the Second Coming?"
"Yeah," I said, extending my arms for balance as I walked along the rail. "Letourneau has a reputation as a right-wing fanatic. I just can't see Mouse and Letourneau conspiring together."
"You've met this Letourneau guy?" Michael asked. Moving smoothly, Michael didn't seem to have the same trouble walking along the tracks as I had.
"No. Well, not in the flesh. He conducts most of his business via the LINK. Rumor has it he's holed up in Colorado on a fresh-air farm."
"He does everything via the LINK?"
"Yes, you Luddite," I said. "Most people do. Politics is especially easy to conduct virtually."
"So, Letourneau could be anybody," Michael said, as we passed a poster announcing the upcoming debate between Rabbi-Senator Grey and Letourneau. Some Gorgon or, more likely, a politically minded Malach must have posted it for the benefit of others that might pass this way. The poster showed the usual picture of Letourneau's avatar, with a red "no" symbol slashed over his face. The words said, "No more virtual vitriol. Real-time debate: 7:00 EST, August 30, 2076!"
I stopped in front of the poster. "Today," I said. "I guess people will find out what Letourneau really looks like today."
"Do you think he's been a pretender this whole time?" Michael said, as we started walking again. "Some teenage girl in her mother's basement playing pretend senator?"
"There are rules against that, but if you're a good enough hacker you can run under an assumed name ... for a while. LINK-vice usually catches up with people who do that." I shrugged.
"If they commit crimes under the assumed name," Michael said. "Right?"
"I suppose. But, if that's the case, Letourneau has been running a tight scam for a long time. He's a public figure."
"But, it's possible."
"After meeting you," I said, "I'm beginning to believe anything is possible."
Flecks of light shimmered on the planes of his face, but Michael's eyes were swallowed by darkness. Only the tips of his eyelashes shone in the dark hollows. Michael's mind seemed far away.
The Christmas lights twinkled against the ceiling like stars. I wondered what people would do to celebrate my baby's birthday. "Michael, Raphael was surprised."
"Ha?" Michael blinked away his thoughts, as if having to consciously focus on me. "By what?"
"That I was pregnant."
"Deidre!" Michael stopped walking and put his hands on his hips. "Why did you tell him that?"
I let him fall behind and kept trudging forward. "I didn't know it was supposed to be a secret. I guess I figured he would already know."
"How many times do I have to tell you it doesn't work that way?"
I stopped walking and hopped off the rail. Straddling the ties, I faced him. "Are you telling me Jesus wasn't planned?"
Michael stood motionless, like a stone. The lights danced around him, twisting his shadow against the wall. "I'm not always privy to the divine design, but this I know for certain: messiahs are an earthly concept."
"I don't believe you."
Michael nodded, a small smile playing at the comers of his mouth. "So you have some blind faith after all."
"I guess I do."
"Deidre, you've met three archangels. A Christian." He laid his hand on his chest, to indicate himself. "A Muslim, and a Jew. If one messiah was the only true messiah, how could that be?"
I remembered the funeral, and the ease with which my Christian angel had donned a yarmulke and spoken Hebrew. "Michael, you're a Jew, too."
When I looked back to Michael, my breath caught. The same gray eyes stared back at me, but Michael had transformed. Bearded, turbaned, and darker-skinned, I barely recognized him. He held a curved sword in his hands, which gleamed wickedly in the bright light.
Wings, like peacock feathers, shown an iridescent blue-green, and in each "eye" a human face was visible. With each gust of air that swelled at the tiniest flutter, I could hear the moans of a thousand souls.
The discordant voices groaned in unison and swelled. I made out the words: "I am also Muslim."
"Oh ... okay." I stumbled backwards over the rails until my shoulders pressed against the wall. I screwed my eyes shut and reminded myself of the necessity of breathing. I drew slow, ragged breaths, one at a time, and tried to banish the terrible vision from my mind.
"Deidre." The screeching souls were gone from his voice. I heard only the gentle bass I'd grown to expect from Michael's lips.
A hand on my shoulder made me jump, but I kept my eyes shut. "Was that your true face, Michael?"
"No. Wings, like messiahs, are a human invention."
Slowly, I opened my eyes. The Christmas lights had returned to their normal, dim flashing. Michael, too, had assumed a form I felt more familiar with. I brushed my knuckles along the strong planes of his cheekbones, feeling the rough warmth of his olive skin.
"Did you pick these features because you knew I'd be attracted to them ... feel safe with them?"
"You're looking for guile where there is none." The gray eyes that earlier, and in my dreams, haunted a monster's face implored me to trust them. "I hadn't met you before, Deidre. How would I know what you'd like?"
I nodded, letting my hand drop. "I ... I'm having a hard time with this, Michael. I'm finding that at the core of my being I do have a shred of faith, and that faith tells me that if God is going to take the time to send an angel, He doesn't do that without a plan ... despite what you've assured me."
"Very well." Michael nodded. "I am a defender of faith, not its destroyer."
"You sure about that, big guy?" I was tempted to remind him he wasn't doing much for my faith – a moment ago he implied that Jesus wasn't the messiah, one of the core tenets of my belief system. However, I didn't especially want to dwell on that revelation myself. I pulled a smile out of somewhere, and said, "Come on. We're wasting time."
I hobbled along on the tracks until the frustrating pace forced me up onto the rails again. Balancing on the narrow steel beam, we moved more quickly through the tunnel.
"What are you going to tell Mouse?" Michael asked. His voice steady, he anchored me in the present. "Are you sure you're not walking into a trap ... that you don't need me?"
I smiled at him even though I doubted he could see me. "Of course I need you. Who couldn't use an angel at their side? But Mouse is expecting me to be alone."
"I don't like it. I'm worried about you."
"I know. But we need proof that he is involved with the LINK-angels."
Michael grunted his assent. Discarded food containers, pop cans, and the increased profusion of Christmas lights revealed that we were moving deeper into the city. We traveled like this until we reached the Lower East Side. There we parted ways, with Michael promising to watch over me.