Archangel's Enigma

Epilogue

Raphael ended his conversation with Alexander and turned off the communications screen. The Ancient had done one of Raphael’s Seven a great favor, and though Alexander had said there was no debt, Raphael had reached out to thank him regardless.

“Why make the call?” Elena asked. “Wouldn’t it have been better to just let things lie?” she added as they walked out onto the cliffs behind their home. In front and below them, the Hudson was sluggish and dull under the cloud-laden sky, Manhattan shadowed enough by the ponderous weather that a number of the high-rises had switched on their lights, though it was only early afternoon.

“You must remember that though Alexander appears little older than me, he is hundreds of thousands of years older.”

“He’s like your mother—he expects certain courteous behavior?”

“You are becoming an ever-more-elegant and knowledgeable consort.” His tone might have been a tease, but the words were truth; Elena had been forced to absorb an incredible depth of knowledge in a highly condensed span of time. “Soon you’ll be hosting angelic balls with regularity.”

“Hey, watch the insults.” She pointed a knife at him before sliding it away. “It’s a delicate thing though, isn’t it? When you talk to Alexander, it’s not like when you talk to Elijah or even Titus.”

Raphael watched the distinctive figures of Legion fighters fly in and out of their home in the distance. “Come. We’ll talk as we fly. You have to be at the Guild soon.”

Spreading her wings, Elena took off in a low sweep over the Hudson before using the air currents to rise up. Raphael didn’t need to do the same, but he did so they could fly wing to wing toward the city. Titus helped train me when I was a stripling, he said after they were both in position, but once I ascended, he accepted that I was an archangel and his equal on the Cadre.

Alexander, on the other hand, has always had trouble with the fact that I became an archangel at only a thousand years of age. It made Raphael the youngest angel to have ever become an archangel. As a result, I can never allow him to treat me as a youth. He could laugh with Titus and call him “old man” while the other archangel called him “pup,” but such games would never happen with Alexander.

Right. Elena’s braid slipped over her shoulder as she swept left with the wind, her joy in flight apparent. He’s like a father who can’t accept that his child has grown up.

A good analogy. Almost to Manhattan, he said, Look.

Elena’s response was free of the worry that had twisted through it in the days immediately after Illium’s fall. Bluebell and Sparkle are having a competition again.

Not far from the Tower, the two angels were racing in a straight vertical line into the clouds. As Raphael watched, Aodhan eked out a lead, Illium overtook him, only to be overtaken himself . . . and then everything went to hell.

Illium slammed into the stratosphere as the world suddenly shattered into a blue-gold rain. Hitting Elena beside him, it glimmered and stuck, streaking her skin and hair.

Raphael, what’s happening?

He’s ascending. Raphael’s heart thundered. Land. Now. With that curt instruction he knew his intelligent consort wouldn’t fight, not with the air currents already turbulent around them; he rose into the sky after Illium.

It wasn’t done to interfere with an angel’s ascension, but the boy was too young, hundreds of years too young. Right then, Raphael couldn’t help but think of Illium as the boy he’d first met, the one who had followed him all over the Refuge telling him stories of his adventures. The small blue-winged boy who, with his quieter friend, Aodhan, had pulled more tricks than most other children combined.

At not much past five hundred, Illium’s body simply wasn’t physically strong enough to handle the power that lived in an archangel’s veins every moment of every day. A thousand had been a stretch—Raphael had barely survived the transition, been able to feel his skin about to break when he landed following his ascension. It had taken every ounce of his will to hold himself together instead of flying apart.

Today, using that same violent power to cut through the unstable air currents that had sent other angels dropping onto the closest landing surfaces, he arrowed directly toward Illium. The younger male was glowing golden, so much power pouring out of him that it threatened to ignite and annihilate him. His body was bent backward, his wings hanging down limply though his hands were fisted, his jaw gritted.

Raphael didn’t hesitate.

Punching through the golden blaze of power, he grabbed Illium with a grip on his upper arms. “Illium!”

The blue-winged angel’s eyes met his, pure terror in golden depths full of a hot red fire. As if his blood was boiling inside him. “Sire.” The sound was strained. “I can’t—”

His head snapped back, light pouring out of his eyes, his mouth, his skin.

Refusing to see the jagged cracks appearing in Illium’s flesh as raw power forced its way out of a body not built to hold it, Raphael “caught” that power with his own. He was running on blind instinct, had no reason to believe it would work. Though there were rumors and suspicions that Lijuan had gained the ability to siphon power from other archangels, from what Raphael had seen in the battle above New York, all she might be able to do was to feed on the Cadre much the same as she did with anyone else.

No archangel could capture another archangel’s true power.

Only . . .

Illium’s power surged up his arms and into his bloodstream. He directed the excess into the sky, where it turned into shattered lightning. When the lightning tried to pour back into Illium, he held it back with a shield of blue licked with iridescent wildfire, and he continued to capture the new energy pouring out of Illium.

The power he’d dispersed pushed against his shield, but it was new, fragile. Sending his own energy out into it, he made it break apart. Again and again and again. The rain continued to be glittering blue gold around him, but Illium’s breath began to come a little easier.

The golden light still pulsed below the surface of his skin, but it was no longer surging out through the fractures that didn’t bleed but glowed. Raphael didn’t know what would happen if he captured all the power, whether it would kill Illium or destroy his chance at ascension. He stopped.

“Can you fly down?” They were high enough up and had been encased in so much blinding light that no one could’ve seen what Raphael had done, but if Illium was to join the Cadre, he could not appear weak, least of all now.

His face drawn and eyes glowing a vivid gold, Illium gripped Raphael’s arm hard as he spread out his wings. “Yes.” Another strained word. “Not far.”

“Follow me. Head to Aodhan.” The Tower balcony on which he’d seen the other angel land was the closest viable point.

Then he dropped through the now dead-quiet air, having judged that Illium didn’t have fine muscle control over his wings. The new energy inside the younger angel’s body was overpowering him. He kept in mental touch with the other male throughout, making sure to land first so he could break Illium’s fall if he crashed. But the blue-winged angel managed to land on his feet . . . barely.

Aodhan, his face stark, went to reach out, stopped.

Illium’s eyes reflected a hundred different emotions as he stared at Raphael. “Sire.” His voice was so full of power it was barely understandable. “I’m not ready.” Blood bubbled out of his mouth, was washed away by a heavy rain no longer stained blue gold.

The power, Raphael realized, was crushing Illium’s internal organs. Left alone, it would kill him in a matter of minutes. Grabbing the side of the younger male’s neck, Raphael looked into his eyes and drew a touch more of the power into himself. He didn’t want to steal what was Illium’s birthright, but he would not let one of his Seven die.

“Focus on controlling it,” he said just as Elena landed on the edge of the balcony. “Hold the power in a tight grip.”

Illium clenched his jaw, stared into Raphael’s eyes, but the blood kept bubbling out.

Aodhan was suddenly there, his arm wrapped around Illium’s waist from behind as he held up his friend. “Focus,” he ordered. “You focus!”

Not far from Raphael, Elena was on her cell phone. “Lady Caliane,” she bit into the receiver. “No, I can’t wait! Get her!”

Mere heartbeats later, Elena said, “Lady, I’m sorry to be so rude, but Illium has ascended and it’s killing him.”

Running over with that abrupt greeting, she put the phone next to Raphael’s ear. “Mother,” he said. “I can leach off his power, but I don’t know what it’ll do to him.” As far as Raphael knew, no ascension had ever been halted or reversed, but compared to his mother, he’d lived but a firefly moment in time.

“The boy is bound to you?” Caliane said sharply. “By blood?”

“Yes.” The bond had been made when Illium became one of his Seven. It was partly why all of his Seven could initialize mind-to-mind contact with him regardless of age and whether they were angel or vampire.

“Absorb the energy, all of it. Now, before it’s too late.”

Not arguing when Illium was choking on his own blood in front of him, Raphael opened up his senses and did what he’d done instinctively in the sky. Power slammed into him, golden and filled with a joie de vivre that was pure Illium. Yet it melded with Raphael’s so flawlessly it was almost as if it had been meant for him.

It was strong . . . but young. Even so, the golden light bonded with Raphael’s cells in a way that said it was making him stronger on a permanent level. As if another brace had been added to the foundation of his power.

Not just an increase in strength. Evolution that took seconds rather than eons.

Gasping in air, Illium swayed but Aodhan kept him upright as Raphael continued to do the impossible and absorb the power of another archangel. Only Illium wasn’t Cadre. When two members of the Cadre stood next to one another, there was a faint repulsion effect, as if they were not meant to be so close. It was mild enough to ignore for short periods, but it was always present.

Raphael felt nothing akin to that with Illium.

“Yes,” he heard Elena say behind him just as he drained the last drop of the new energy from Illium. “I think it worked.” A pause. “Yes, I will.” Hanging up, she said, “Let’s get him inside.”

Between Raphael and Aodhan, they managed to get Illium into the office off the balcony—which happened to be Honor’s—and shut the door. Elena pushed the button that opaqued the windows and it was only then that Illium collapsed into the nearest chair, his wings spread out on either side. “What happened?” he said, his entire body shaking.

When Aodhan crouched in front of him and pushed back Illium’s dripping hair, the blue-winged angel shuddered and leaned into the caress. It took time for him to stop trembling, and when he did, it was to raise his head to meet Raphael’s gaze. “Sire, I am no archangel.”

“No,” Raphael agreed. “You might be one day, but your body and mind can’t handle the power at this age.” And with it living in Raphael now, Illium showed no signs of an ascension.

Having found a bottle of cold water, Elena gave it to her beloved Bluebell and, perching on the arm of his chair, gently patted his back, her fingertips brushing Illium’s wings.

“Did my mother say anything else?” Raphael asked her.

The gray of Elena’s eyes was dark, the ring of silver vivid. “She wants you to call.”

Not waiting in case Illium began to glow with power again, Raphael used his consort’s phone to make the call, putting it on speaker so all of them could hear what Caliane had to say. He expected to get the technician who monitored the communications system he’d had Illium organize for Amanat, but it was Caliane’s face that filled the tiny screen.

“Son,” she said, her expression drawn. “Is your city still standing?”

“Yes.” Her worried question made him understand the staggering truth: if he hadn’t been there to stop Illium’s premature ascension, the young angel’s death would’ve resulted in a catastrophic shock wave. “Have you seen this before, Mother?”

“Yes, in a Cascade at the very dawn of my existence. Before I was an archangel.”

Raphael couldn’t imagine that time—his mother had been a power his entire lifetime. “What happened?”

“An angel who was the commander of an archangel, ascended without warning. He was only seven hundred and his body could not hold the power.” Sorrow in her at the loss of that long-ago angel. “He died in a thunderous fury and he took over twenty thousand people with him.”

Blowing out a harsh breath, Illium rose to his feet. He was shaky but managed to make his way to Raphael’s side to face Caliane. “Lady,” he said, giving a deep bow. “You saved my life. I thank you.”

Caliane inclined her head as Raphael grabbed Illium before he would’ve toppled backward as he straightened from the bow. “Sit, child,” Raphael’s mother ordered. “You are damaged.”

Illium didn’t argue.

“Damaged?” Elena’s tone was sharp. “Is it something we need to worry about?”

“No. He should recover now that the power is out of him.” Caliane leaned back in her seat, her hair pulled back in a braid and her body clad in old combat leathers much like Elena. “Though the angel in my youth died, there were rumors of another young angel who ascended too early but who survived because he had a bond of blood—and of trust—with his archangel. He was weak after the power transfer, but made a complete recovery.”

She looked at Raphael. “The archangel, however, gained in strength.”

Raphael felt his blood cool. “I don’t intend to steal what is rightfully Illium’s.” He’d done what he had only to save Illium’s life.

“You may have it, sire. I insist.”

Ignoring Illium’s slurred words, Raphael held his mother’s gaze. “I can’t forcefully stop his ascension if this is what he’s meant to become.”

“The sudden ascensions of the too young occur only during a Cascade,” Caliane pointed out. “On all three occasions that I know of, the angel in question was either an archangel’s second or otherwise in his innermost circle.”

“You think the power transfer is the point.” Coming over so she could look at the screen, Elena stood with her body and her wings touching Raphael’s in a quiet, potent intimacy. “But what if Raphael hadn’t been here?”

“The Cascade is never predictable, Consort,” Caliane said, a sense of crushing age in her voice. “There’s no way to foretell if such an incident will reoccur, or if it was the only time and the boy is no longer in any danger.” Her eyes held Raphael’s. “All I can tell you is that if you don’t take the power, he’ll die and he’ll take tens of thousands with him. There is no other possible outcome.”

“The fact you can even absorb the power,” Elena said slowly, “that’s got to mean something, right?”

Caliane raised an eyebrow. “A salient point. A true ascension does not permit any interference, not even by the strongest Ancient.”

They spoke further, but Caliane knew little else. Signing off, Raphael turned to find that Illium had struggled to his feet again. His face was stripped of all shields, suddenly unbearably young. “I’m not ready,” he said again, his voice shaken. “I’m not ready to leave your Seven.”

Grabbing him by the side of his neck as he had earlier, Raphael hauled him into his arms. “I’m not ready for you to go.” His eyes met Elena’s over Illium’s head as the blue-winged angel held on tight. My mother is right. Now is not his time. Illium would become a power one day, but he had to grow into that strength, not have it forced into him by the violence of the Cascade.

Beside Elena stood a white-faced Aodhan. He’ll need you now more than ever, Aodhan, Raphael said. Keep him in the present, not in a future that may or may not happen.

Eyes of fractured blue and crystalline green, the shards bursting outward from jet-black pupils met Raphael’s. Yes, sire.

Releasing Illium only after the younger angel had stopped trembling, Raphael looked into eyes that were back to their usual bright gold, devoid of the dark red flame. “Go to your suite. Rest. We’ll speak more when you wake—but know one thing. If this happens again, I’ll be there.”

“Lady Caliane said it’s unpredictable.”

“If the power transfer is the point as it seems to be,” Raphael pointed out, “it’ll occur while I’m nearby.”

Illium’s shuddering relief was suddenly overwhelmed by an emotion that drew his skin tight over his cheekbones. “My mother—”

“I’ve already told Dmitri to make sure the Hummingbird knows you’re safe and that what happened today was a simple experiment to do with your abilities and mine, gone a little awry.” Illium’s mother was still in Raphael’s territory, but she’d gone to visit with Jason and Mahiya today. “Jason will confirm and keep her away from any recordings that may have been captured.”

The blue-winged angel’s eyes shone wet. “Thank you, sire. She . . .”

“I will watch over her, Illium.” Raphael would never be ungentle with the Hummingbird. “Now go.”

Waiting until the younger angel left the room, Aodhan acting as his support, Raphael turned to Elena. “So long as Illium is safe, the Hummingbird will accept a vague explanation, but we need to find a way to explain this to the wider immortal world as something other than an ascension.” Should any of the Cadre believe Illium a weak archangel, he’d become a target.

“I have an idea.” Dmitri ran into the office. “I’ve been working on it since the instant I saw you fly toward Illium.” Raphael’s second thrust a hand through his hair, his black T-shirt stretching over his chest. “All anyone really saw was Illium and you speed up into the sky. The images taken via telescopes and satellites just show a blinding haze of light.” He put several printed images on Honor’s desk.

Each showed a glow painful enough to cause flickering afterimages on the retinas. No way to tell who was inside the light.

“I’ll allow it to leak that you and Illium were testing a power transfer like Lijuan can do with her troops.” Dmitri’s tone was clear, his features grim. “I’ll also let it drop that it went wrong and Illium lost the power in an uncontrolled surge that caused the rain and lightning. No one’s going to forget the sheer fury of the incident—failed experiment or not, you’re clearly no easy target.” A short pause before his lips curved in a grim smile. “The belief that you’ve been running dangerous experiments with him will also answer the lingering questions about his earlier fall.”

“Do it.” Raphael had appreciated Dmitri’s tactical mind many times over the centuries, but never more than today. “No one wants to accept that an angel barely over five hundred years old could ascend. All we have to do is provide an alternative explanation.”

Elena picked up one of the photographs after Dmitri left. “Raphael, is it my imagination or are you stronger?”

Of course, his consort would feel the change. They were too intimately entwined for it to be otherwise. “What I drew from Illium didn’t leach off. It’s become woven into my body, an auxiliary generator of a kind.”

Dropping the photograph, Elena faced him, her boots touching his. “If Caliane’s power transfer theory is right, then Illium became more temporarily because you need more power than you can generate on your own.” She spread one hand protectively over his heart, brushing the thumb of her other over his right temple, over the Legion mark. “Something bad is coming. Worse than before.”

Enclosing her in his wings and his arms, Raphael didn’t say anything. They both knew she was right.

Eleven archangels.

A dangerous near ascension that could’ve annihilated an entire city.

Two Ancients walking the earth.

An archangel who could give a twisted form of life.

The Cascade was gathering momentum.

Beijing was already gone. New York and Elijah’s territory had barely survived. No one could predict how much of the world would be left standing when the Cascade ended.

“Together, hbeebti.”

“Always, Archangel.”