Leviathan

CHAPTER THREE

Trudging through the wood, in search of his prey, Mufgar, chieftain of the Deheboryn Orisha, knew that his decision the previous night had been the right one.

With his primitive elemental magicks, Mufgar had coerced the dirt, rock, and stone of the tunnel system in which they traveled to alter its labyrinthian course and open a passageway to the surface. “We will never catch a scent down here,” he had said to his party as the dirt face of a nearby wall became like a thing of liquid, swirling and falling away to reveal a newly fashioned tunnel that ascended to the surface. “It is on the land above where our destiny awaits us.”

Mufgar had thanked the elements for their assistance, leaving an offering of dried fruit before beginning his ascension into the new morning sun. It had been eight hours since he and his tribe had emerged from below, eight hours since any had spoken a word to him.

He sensed their anger, their fear, and their disappointment over the judgment he had passed upon them. He was truly sorry that they questioned his decision, but he knew they would not abandon their duty to their masters. They would hunt the Nephilim as the Powers had ordered, capture him, and earn their freedom. That is how it will be, he thought, remembering the strange vision he’d had while sleeping. A vision of success.

Mufgar raised his hand to stop their progress through the dense wood. He listened carefully to sounds around him, the chirping of various birds, the rustling of the wind through trees heavy with leaves—and something else.

“Is it the Nephilim, Mufgar?” Tehom hissed at his side, raising his spear and looking nervously about the forest.

“No,” the Orisha Chieftain said. He listened again to the sounds way off in the distance, the sounds of machines. What are they called? He searched his brain for the strange-sounding word. Automobiles, he remembered with great satisfaction. “Not the Nephilim,” he whispered, “but vehicles that will bring him to us.”

Mufgar pointed through the woods to somewhere off in the distance. “I saw it in a vision of my own,” he said, deciding to share his experience with his subjects, to give them faith in his leadership. He turned and glared at Shokad. “As I slept, I, too, had a vision. A vision that the Nephilim would come to us—”

The shaman quickly looked away with a scowl upon his ancient features.

“—and he would fall against our might.” Mufgar raised his spear in an attempt to rally his hunters. “And for our bravery, Lord Verchiel bestowed upon us our freedom, and we found the location of the blessed Safe Place.”

The Orishas all bowed their malformed heads, blessing themselves furiously.

It had been the strangest dream, as clear as the day they hunted in now. It was all there for him, all the answers he had sought. The doubts he had been experiencing since the last council all dispelled like smoke in the wind. A holy vision had been bestowed upon him, maybe from the spirits of the great creators themselves, a vision that told him they would be victorious. He could ask for nothing better.

Mufgar turned to the shaman, who lagged behind. The old Orisha squatted down and took a handful of bones and smooth, shiny rocks from a purse at his side.

“You do not trust your chieftain’s sleeping visions, Shokad?” he asked the shaman.

The old creature said nothing as he tossed the bones and stones onto the ground before him. His wings unfurled and fluttered nervously as he began to read the results of his throw.

“Hmmmm,” he grumbled, rubbing his chin as he discerned the signs.

“What do they say, Shokad?” Mufgar asked. “Do the bones and stones speak of victory and freedom?”

The old Orisha was silent as he gathered up his tools of divination and returned them to his purse.

“Speak, shaman,” Mufgar ordered. “Your chief commands you to reveal what you have seen.”

“The bones and stones speak of death,” Shokad said gravely.

Zawar and Tehom gasped beside him. “Death?” Tehom asked in a voice filled with dread.

“Death … but for whom?” Zawar wanted to know.

Shokad shook his head, the bones in his hair rattling as they struck one another. “They were not specific, but I can imagine no less for those who would go up against the might of the Nephilim.” He glared at Mufgar, challenging his word as chief.

“But what of those who abandon the wishes of their masters?” Mufgar asked in return. “What is the fate of those who defy the Powers? Is the edict of that not death as well?”

The shaman scowled. “Possibly,” he answered, “but it does not change the fact that death is our companion. We must choose our path wisely, or we may never have the opportunity to seek out the paradise that has long eluded us.”

Zawar and Tehom glanced at each other, the conflicting messages of chief and shaman bringing the curse of dissension to their ranks.

“Great Mufgar,” Zawar whispered as he looked about the woods, searching for any telltale signs of imminent death, “how do we choose?” Mufgar looked back toward the sounds of the road in the distance. “There is only one choice,” he said, moving away from them toward the road. “The hunt—and from that shall spring our freedom.” He didn’t even turn to see if they were following. Mufgar did not need to, for he knew that they were behind him. He had seen it in his dream.

Aaron kept his speed at forty-five and continued down the winding, back road. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as the excitement continued to build within him. They were getting closer to their destination, he could feel it thrumming in his body. “Is it just me, or do you feel this too?” he asked.

Camael grunted, staring at the twisting road before them.

“What?” Aaron said. “Do you see something?” The angel remained silent, squinting as if trying to see more clearly ahead. Aaron couldn’t take it anymore. The sensation he felt was akin to a guy with an orange flag at the finishing line. He was close—to what, he wasn’t exactly sure, but his body was telling him that this is where they were supposed to be. “What do you see, for Christ’s sake!” he yelled.

Camael slowly turned his attention from the windshield to the boy. His gaze was steely, cold.

“Sorry,” Aaron said, attempting to squelch the feeling of unbridled excitement that coursed through his body. “It’s just that I think we’ve found where they’ve taken Stevie—I’m excited. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

The angel turned back to the road before them and pointed. “In the distance, not too far from here, I see a town.”

Aaron waited a minute, but Camael offered no more. “That’s it?” he asked impatiently. “That’s all you see, a town?”

Gabriel, who had been in a deep, snoring sleep in the backseat, began to stir. In the rearview mirror, Aaron could see the Lab sit up, languidly licking his chops as he surveyed his surroundings.

“Where’s the town?” the dog asked. “All I see is woods.”

“Camael sees it in the distance,” Aaron answered. “I’ve got a feeling that it might be where Verchiel has taken Stevie.”

“There is something about this town,” Camael said slowly, his eyes closed in concentration, his hand slowly stroking his silver goatee. “But I cannot discern what it is. It perplexes me.”

Aaron reached over to the glove compartment and popped it open. The angel recoiled, but Aaron paid him little mind as he rummaged through the compartment while trying to keep his eyes on the road and the car in its lane. “What’s it called? Maybe I can find it on the map,” he said, slamming the glove compartment closed and shaking the map out in his lap.

“It is called Blithe,” Camael said. “I believe the settlement would be considered quite old, by human standards.”

“Is it even on here?” Aaron asked, dividing his attention between the map and the road. “I want to see how much farther we have to go—”

“Let’s stop now,” Gabriel suddenly said from the back.

“Let’s see how far away Blithe is first,” Aaron said as he glanced at the dog in the rearview mirror.

Gabriel seemed genuinely uncomfortable, climbing to all fours and pacing around the seat. “I don’t think I can wait,” he said, a touch of panic in his voice.

Aaron was about to reply when the smell wafted up from the back. “Oh, my God,” he said, and frantically rolled down his window.

“What are you doing?” Camael asked with his usual touch of petulance as the wind from the open window whipped at his hair. And then Aaron watched as the angel’s expression turned from one of annoyance to one of absolute repulsion. “What is that smell?” he asked with a furious snarl.

With one hand over his nose and mouth, Aaron motioned over his shoulder to the sole inhabitant of the backseat.

The angel turned to face the dog. “What have you done?”

Gabriel simply stared out the back window.

“He’s got gas,” Aaron explained, his voice muffled by the hand still over his face. “It happens when he eats stuff he’s not supposed to.”

“It’s vile,” Camael said, glaring at the dog. “Something should be done so that it never happens again.”

Aaron gazed into the rearview mirror. “What did you eat at that rest stop, Gabe?” he scolded, already knowing full well that the dog would have eaten anything.

Gabriel did not respond. Aaron didn’t really expect him to. He pulled the car to the side of the road.

“What now?” Camael asked.

“There’s only one way to deal with this problem,” he said as he parked the car and got out. He opened the back door to let his friend out. “Maybe one of these days you’ll learn not to eat everything in sight,” he scolded the dog.

Gabriel jumped to the ground. “I didn’t eat everything—they still had plenty when I left.”

“Wait a minute,” Aaron said, watching as the dog strolled away, snout firmly planted to the forest floor. “Who still had plenty? Did somebody give you food?”

“I have to do my business,” Gabriel said, eluding his master’s question and moving deeper into woods.

“What’s the matter with right here?” Aaron asked, exasperated. “Gabriel, we have to get going.”

“I can’t go if you’re watching me,” he heard the dog say before disappearing around a cluster of birch trees.

“When did you become so freakin’ modest?” Aaron muttered beneath his breath. “Probably happened when I brought you back from the dead.” He walked to the front of the car where Camael stood looking up the road. “So what do you think?” he asked the angel. “What are we going to find in Blithe?”

Camael shook his head slowly. “I honestly do not know.”

Aaron crossed his arms and gazed at the road ahead. “The way I’m feeling right now, I’d have to say it’s definitely something interesting.”

“I will certainly agree with that,” Camael said. He tilted back his head and sniffed at the air.

Aaron watched him grow suddenly tense and look about them cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you not smell it?” he asked.

Aaron sniffed the air. He could smell nothing except the spring forest in full bloom. “I can’t smell anything but the woods…” he began, and then he caught a whiff of it. It was a musky scent, an animal smell, but one he did not recognize. “What is it?”

Camael held out his hand, and Aaron watched as a spark of orange flame appeared and grew into a sword of fire.

“Orishas,” the angel growled.

Aaron was about to ask what an Orisha was, when Gabriel’s barks of fear ripped through the quiet stillness of the woods beyond, like a staccato burst of gunfire. “Gabriel,” he cried, a fire sword of his own sparking to life in his hand.

Aaron charged into the woods, his blade decimating saplings and low-hanging branches in his path. Camael was at his side when the two stopped abruptly at the edge of a clearing.

“What the hell are those things?” Aaron whispered in fearful wonder.

There were four in all; ugly creatures no more than three feet tall, with skin the color of tarnished copper. They appeared primitive, dressed in strips of leather and fur, their long, stringy hair adorned with bones. One wore a fancy headdress made from what looked like animal pelts. From their backs sprang small, black-feathered wings that fluttered noisily, like flapping window shades. They had thrown a makeshift net over Gabriel, and were attempting to subdue the struggling dog.

“Those are Orishas,” Camael answered. “Crude attempts by my fallen brethren to create life.”

“Not very successful, I’d gather?”

“Miserable failures that would have been eradicated long ago if it weren’t for the Powers. They use the Orishas as slaves, as hunter trackers.”

“So they’re not that dangerous—right?” Aaron asked as he watched the Orishas forced back by Gabriel’s wild thrashing.

“On the contrary.” Camael said. “They have proven quite ferocious in battle, despite their diminutive size.”

Gabriel’s blocky head emerged from beneath the netting, and he snapped at his attackers. “Aaron, I could use some help!” he hollered, catching sight of his friend.

The Orishas turned and began to stalk toward Aaron and Camael, snarling menacingly. Three snatched up crude spears from the forest floor, and the one with the headdress removed a dagger from a sheath on its bony leg.

Aaron tensed, holding his flaming weapon before him. “What do we do?” he asked the angel standing calmly beside him.

“The Powers have probably put a bounty on our heads,” Camael said casually as if talking about the weather. “The Orishas will try to capture us, and if that is not possible, they will surely attempt to kill us.”

The primitive creatures were closer, and Aaron could hear them growling, a high-pitched sound like an air conditioner in need of repair—only much more horrible. “What do we do?” he repeated frantically.

“I thought it obvious, boy,” the angel said as enormous wings of white languidly unfurled from his back. “We kill them.”

“Something told me you were going to say that,” Aaron said, just as the Orishas shrieked a cry of war and launched themselves at their chosen prey.

The power that resided within Aaron wanted out in the worst way. He could feel it pacing about inside, like a bored jungle cat in its cage at the zoo. It had started when Camael first mentioned the Orishas. Like asking Gabriel if he wanted to go for a ride, the power of the Nephilim had perked right up, pushing at the restraints he had imposed upon it.

The Orishas were taking flight, their small, ebony wings flapping with blurring speed, and the angelic power struggled harder to be free, but Aaron wouldn’t allow it. In fact, just the thought of undergoing the transformation, as he had that horrible night in Lynn, made him tremble with fear. “You’re lucky I’m even using one of these damned swords,” he muttered to himself as he raised his burning weapon and swatted the first of his attackers from the air.

The creature shrieked in agony as it plummeted to the ground, one of its wings aflame. It began digging up clumps of cool dirt and rubbing it on its smoldering feathers as Aaron turned his attention to Camael.

Another Orisha was moving with blinding speed toward the angel—spear aimed at his face.

At the last second, the creature suddenly changed direction and thrust its shaft down into Camael’s chest. With a great bellow of pain, the angel raised his sword and sliced the warrior creature in two.

“Aaron, look out!” Gabriel called from behind him.

Aaron quickly turned, just in time to block the attack of another of the horrible beasts. It was the one with the elaborate headdress.

“You will fall before our might,” the chieftain shrieked in its savage tongue. “I have foreseen it.”

Aaron swung his mighty sword, and the Orisha fluttered backward as the burning blade nearly severed his overly large head from its diminutive body. The power within Aaron was wild now, straining for release. The chief again pressed the attack, and this time his knife found its mark, sinking into the soft flesh of Aaron’s shoulder. He cried out in pain as the creature hovered just out of reach.

“Aaron, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Gabriel,” he said as he watched the dog try to pin the fighting Orisha with the burned wing to the forest floor. “Just pay attention. These things are dangerous.”

The wound pulsed painfully, and a strange, burning sensation began to spread down his arm, making it difficult to hold his weapon. Poison? he wondered. He turned to Camael just in time to watch the angel warrior fall to his knees.

“Did I mention that the Orishas dip their blades in a narcotic that immobilizes their prey?” Camael asked, his speech slightly slurred.

“You don’t say,” Aaron replied with sarcasm, as the sword fell from his numbed hand, imploding to nothing before it could hit the forest floor.

No longer concerned with them, now that the drug was coursing through their veins, the surviving Orishas turned their attention to Gabriel. Aaron watched helplessly as his friend lost his grip on the creature with the burned wing and it scuttled over to join its comrades.

“Get out of there, Gabriel!”

The chief had retrieved the net, and the three warriors slowly advanced on the snarling dog.

“You should know by now that I won’t leave you,” the Lab growled, standing his ground.

“Loyal to a fault,” Camael said as he swayed upon his knees and fell to his side, the Orishas’ poison taking hold.

The Orishas threw themselves at Gabriel. Two grabbed hold of the snarling dog while the chieftain tossed the net over his head. Quickly, they staked the net to the ground, trapping the Labrador.

“We will eat hardy tonight, my brothers,” the chief said excitedly as he leaned in to sniff at the still snarling animal. “A meal befitting warriors—warriors who are about to receive their freedom and safe passage to paradise.”

The Orishas began to cheer, their poison-dipped weapons raised to the heavens in a dance of victory.

“They’re going to eat Gabriel?” Aaron asked with horror. His entire body had gone numb, and he slumped to the ground near Camael.

“It appears that way,” the angel managed. “And then they will bring us to Verchiel at first light.”

“What are we going to do?” Aaron asked while keeping his eyes on the jubilant Orishas, who seemed to be getting quite a kick out of tormenting poor Gabriel.

“It is up to you,” Camael calmly replied.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Aaron angrily barked.

“You have the power. All you need to do is use it.”

As if on cue, Aaron felt the presence surge within him once again. “I don’t know what you mean,” he lied, using all his might to hold it at bay.

“Don’t play games with me, Aaron,” the angel snapped. “I can sense how it struggles to exert itself. Set it free.”

“I… I can’t do that,” Aaron replied, gripped by fear. “I don’t know if I can control it.”

“I thought we were beyond this.” The angel sounded exasperated. “The power is part of you—it is what you are now.”

Deep down, Aaron knew the angel was right—but it didn’t make it any less scary. The force was wild, its potential for destruction great. He remembered how he had felt the night Verchiel killed his foster parents. Such strength, such power, it had been exhilarating—at first.

Am I strong enough? he wondered. Or will it drive me crazy as it has others before me?

“I… I can’t,” he stammered. It was becoming more difficult to speak.

“You must,” Camael declared. “If you do not, Gabriel will die and we will share a fate at the hands of Verchiel.”

Aaron was silent. He watched the Orisha chief step away from the celebration and remove two sets of restraints from a satchel hidden in the thick underbrush. “When the Orishas’ poison wears off, you will go nowhere,” the ugly little creature cackled as he moved toward Aaron.

“Do something!” Camael bellowed.

For a moment, Aaron thought about letting the power loose, feeling the electric surge of his true supernatural nature course through his body. He remembered the excruciating pain as his newly developed wings tore through the flesh of his back, unfurling to their full and glorious span. He winced, recalling the severe, burning sensation as ancient angelic symbols appeared upon his skin—signaling his transformation into something far more than human.

He thought about it, but he did nothing—and the Orisha’s restraints snapped coldly closed around his wrists.

Camael sighed. He’d had such great hopes for the boy, but now he was beginning to have doubts.

“And now you, great angel,” the Orisha chieftain said happily as he headed for Camael with the second set of manacles.

“And now me,” Camael growled, and began to climb to his feet.

“More poison! More poison!” the leader screamed in panic, pulling his knife from the sheath around his leg. The other two warriors made a frantic dive for their weapons.

Camael was both bored and immensely annoyed. The angel knew that Aaron had been holding back, fearful of his newly emerged nature, and he had seen this as the perfect opportunity for the boy to tame the power, to wrestle it beneath his control. But as he gazed at the youth, lying upon the ground, having succumbed to the effects of the Orishas’ poison—he realized how wrong he was. He wasn’t ready at all, and Camael began to fear for the fulfillment of the angelic prophecy.

The old shaman was fluttering in the air before Camael, muttering, arms spread wide. The ground beneath the angel’s feet began to churn, and he felt himself pulled into the earth as suddenly as liquid. The other two Orishas charged, their weapons glinting with paralyzing poison. This will not do at all, the angel thought as a new sword of fire ignited in his hand. Camael swung the fiery blade driving back the warriors and with one great flap of his mighty wings, he lifted himself from the ground’s sucking embrace.

With a howl of fury, the chieftain launched himself toward Camael, moving with supernatural speed. But Camael was faster, swinging his sword of fire and cleaving the leader in two.

“Your dream was just that,” he said as the two pieces of the once living thing fell away in flames. “A dream.”

Without his leader, the Orisha with the burned wings seemed to lose his urge to fight. The fluttering beast drew back his arm, threw his spear, and turned to run. Camael slapped the projectile away, then pointed the tip of his sword at the fleeing primitive. A tongue of flame snaked from the end of the burning blade, and in an instant the Orisha warrior was engulfed in heavenly fire. The creature squealed: words of prayer to some long-dead fallen angel that was its creator upon its lips as it was incinerated.

There is one more, Camael thought as he returned to the ground, wings folding upon his back. Sword ready, his birdlike eyes scanned the trees and underbrush for signs of the older Orisha, but the creature was nowhere to be found.

Aaron moaned in the grip of the poison-induced fever, and Camael turned his attention to the Nephilim. His sword dissipated as he moved toward the youth and squatted beside him. He touched the locking mechanism on Aaron’s manacles and watched as the restraints fell smoldering to the ground. “Get up, boy,” he said sternly.

Aaron’s eyes fluttered open. “Camael?” he whispered. “How …?”

“I purged the poison from my system,” he said, grabbing the teen by the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. “It’s something you could have done as well, if you’d bothered.”

He swayed drunkenly. “Why … why did you wait so long?”

Camael strode toward Gabriel still trapped beneath the net. “I was waiting for you to act,” the angel answered as he pulled the stakes from the ground.

Gabriel surged up and shook himself free of the net. “Thank you, Camael.” He sniffed at one of the still burning corpses of the Orisha warriors.

“So this … this was some kind of test?” Aaron asked, stumbling toward them on legs still numb with toxin.

Gabriel nuzzled his friend’s hand. “Are you all right? I was very worried about you.”

Aaron absently patted the dog’s head as he waited for Camael’s answer.

“You handled yourself quite bravely against the Powers—but now comes the difficult part,” the angel said. “I wanted to see what you would do.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be ready to deal with Verchiel when the time comes.”

Camael scowled and motioned to the Orisha bodies littering the ground. “These are merely pests in the grand scheme of things, bothersome insects that should have been swatted away easily.”

“I’m still new to this,” Aaron defended himself. “I have a hard time killing. There’s a lot I need to learn before—”

“You do not have time,” Camael interrupted. “Verchiel is like a wounded animal now—he will do everything and anything in his power to see you destroyed.”

“What’s this?” the angel heard Gabriel mutter. He glanced over to see the Lab sniffing at a patch of overturned dirt, his pink nose pressed to the ground, his furry brow wrinkled in concentration.

“I’ll be ready,” Aaron said bravely, distracting Camael from the dog’s curiosity. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I hope you are right, Aaron Corbet,” Camael said with caution. “For there is far more at stake here than just your life.”

He was about to suggest that they continue on to Blithe when the Orisha shaman exploded from the earth in front of the dog, eyes bulging with madness, jagged teeth bared in a grin of savagery.

“You will not keep me from the Safe Place!” it screamed as it lunged at the startled animal.

The shaman grabbed hold of Gabriel’s flank and bit down into the fur-covered flesh of his thigh. The dog yelped in agony, snapping at the creature as it scurried off into the protection of the forest, wiping the dog’s blood from its mouth.

Camael and Aaron ran to their injured comrade.

“He bit me, Aaron,” Gabriel whined pathetically. “That wasn’t very nice. I didn’t even bite him first.”

“He’s got a pretty good bite here,” Aaron said as he examined the bloody puncture wounds near the dog’s hip. “What am I going to do?” Aaron asked, looking to Camael for help.

“That’s an excellent question,” the angel answered, folding his arms across his broad chest. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing’s happening,” Aaron said as he laid his hands on the dog’s bleeding leg.

“Perhaps you’re not trying hard enough,” Camael responded in that condescending tone of voice that made Aaron want to tell him to stick it up his angelic butt.

He was still angry with the angel for putting their lives at risk just to test him—although part of him did understand why Camael had done it. After all, there was quite a bit riding on this whole angelic prophecy thing. If he was in fact the one the prophecy spoke of, and they were both pretty sure that he was, then he had a major responsibility to fulfill for the fallen angels living upon the planet.

“Yeah,” Gabriel added, interrupting his thoughts. “Try harder.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Aaron said, pressing his hands against the bite. If only he could remember what he did that awful morning in Lynn when Gabriel had been hit by the car. After all, if he could return him from the brink of death then, he could certainly heal a simple bite now.

“It hurts, Aaron.”

“I know, pal. I’m going to fix you up, just as soon as…”

Camael bent closer. “Let go your humanity and embrace the angelic,” he boomed. “To fear it is to fear yourself.”

Aaron was reminded of similar words spoken by Zeke that fateful Saturday—had it really only been two weeks ago? So much had changed in such a short time. He closed his eyes and willed the power forward.

He could sense it there, somewhere in the pitch black behind his eyes. He beckoned to it, but it ignored his call, perhaps perturbed at him for not allowing it to manifest during the battle with the Orishas. He concentrated all the more, his body trembling with exertion.

“That’s it, rein it in,” he heard Camael say quietly from beside him. “Take control and make it your own.”

Aaron commanded the power to come forward, and it slowly turned its attention to him. He pushed again with his mind, and suddenly, with the speed of thought, it moved, shifting its form—mammal, insect, reptile, all shapes of life, the menagerie of God. The force surged through him, and Aaron gasped with the rush of it. His eyes flew open, and he gazed up into the late afternoon sky, at the clouds above and the universe beyond his own. “It’s here,” he whispered, feeling his body throb with the ancient power.

“Excellent,” Camael hissed in his ear. “Now wrestle it, take control—show it you are master.”

And Aaron did as he was told. The power fought him, trying to overwhelm him with the sheer force of its might, but Aaron held on, corralling it, moving its strength to where it was needed. He felt the power flood into his upper body, moving down the length of his arms and into his hands.

“I … I feel something happening, Aaron,” Gabriel said, fear in his guttural voice.

“It’s going to be all right,” Aaron soothed as he felt the raw energy flow from the tips of his fingers into the dog’s injured leg. He willed the power to heal his best friend, and he stared at the gaping wound, waiting for it to close—but nothing happened. Again, he willed it, and the power danced about the injury—but it did nothing.

Aaron pulled away, exhausted, hands tingling painfully. “I don’t understand,” he said in a breathless whisper. He looked up at Camael looming above him. “I did what you said—I took control and I commanded it to heal Gabriel’s wound—but it didn’t do a thing.”

Camael stared thoughtfully at the Lab, absently reaching up to run his fingers through his goatee. “Interesting,” he observed. “Perhaps your animal has become more complex than even you understand.”

Aaron shook his head, confused. “I don’t…”

“When the animal was healed before—”

“This animal has a name,” Gabriel interrupted with annoyance.

“It’s okay, boy,” Aaron said, patting the dog’s head, comforting him.

“As I was saying,” Camael said, glaring at the dog, “when the animal was healed before, the power you wielded was raw, in its purest form—its most potent state. You commanded it to repair Gabriel, and it did just that—only I think it may have altered him as well.”

“I don’t feel altered,” the dog said. “My leg just hurts.”

“Are you saying that Gabriel is too complicated a life-form for me to fix now?”

The angel nodded.

“But how could I have done that?” Aaron asked as he gently stroked his dog’s side.

“You didn’t,” Camael corrected. “You just gave the command, and the presence within you took it from there.”

If he hadn’t been afraid of the power that lived within him before, he certainly would be now, but that didn’t change the fact that Gabriel was still hurt. “Gabriel needs medical attention,” Aaron said, staring down at his best friend. “He may be a complex life-form, but he still needs to have that bite cleaned up.”

“Then I suggest we continue on with our journey,” the angel said, “and hopefully we’ll be able to find medical help for him in Blithe.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Aaron said after a moment’s thought. He reached out and hefted the eighty-pound canine over his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said sarcastically to the angel, grunting with exertion, “I got him.”

“Yes, you do,” Camael said as he strode into the woods toward the direction of the car.

“Sometimes he bugs the crap out of me,” Aaron muttered, following the angel, careful not to stumble with his burden.

“That’s just how they are,” Gabriel said matter-of-factly.

“How who are?”

“Angels.”

“What, you’re an expert on angels now?”

“Well, I am a complex being,” the dog replied haughtily.