Michael pushed between the pair. Saraquael had appeared, and momentarily Ophaniel fol owed. A touch found Gabriel shaking. "This is nice and

  al , but can you heal him a bit?"

  Raphael folded his arms. "Not if it's going to give him license to keep pushing himself beyond reason."

  Michael got on his knees, face-to-face with Gabriel as he picked up his head. "Are you in pain?"

  Gabriel shook his head. More like, startled.

  Ophaniel got down next to Michael. "What were you doing?"

  "We need a safeguard." Gabriel couldn't keep his voice steady. "No one else understands the mechanics of the soul, so it's up to me."

  Raphael huffed.

  Behind Michael, Saraquael said, "Raphael, please?"

  The healing glow looked almost begrudging, but instantly Gabriel's breathing eased, and he sent Raphael a thankful look. Raphael's wings relaxed

  a bit.

  Ophaniel moved closer to Gabriel, inadvertently pushing Michael out of the way. "What did you try?"

  "I toyed with the idea of a soul reserve." Gabriel rubbed his chin and frowned. "If we could store enough of ourselves in a safe location, maybe we could reconstitute that in the event that someone got captured and destroyed."

  Ophaniel tucked up his knees and mirrored Gabriel's expression. "That makes sense, but how would you do it?"

  "That was the issue." Gabriel sighed. "A Guard is disembodied wil . When we make an object, it's disembodied substance. A sigil is disembodied energy. I couldn't figure out how to combine them."

  Michael and Saraquael exchanged looks. "Cherubim," Saraquael mouthed at him. Michael smothered a laugh.

  For five minutes Gabriel and Ophaniel traded questions and answers in a firefight with words for bul ets until Raphael tried to intervene.

  Ignoring Raphael, Gabriel wiped out a handful of light-diagrams with a wave of one hand. "That's when I considered the power reserve again. Some athletes bank their own blood so they'l have an added infusion of their own hemoglobin before a competition."

  Ophaniel tilted his head. "Completely undetectable. But that helps only if there are enough parts remaining to recharge."

  "And I'm not even sure how to put them al back together," Gabriel said.

  "Guys," Raphael said.

  "The next thing I did," Gabriel said, "was I bi-located—"

  Ophaniel let out a "eureka!' gasp as he jumped to his feet. "And then you have it al in one spot!"

  "But natural y one can't head around doubled al the time." Gabriel spoke with a bright animation as if he hadn't been shaking minutes ago. "It weakens al of us. The key has to lie in diminishing one half and increasing the other—"

  "Gabriel," Raphael said.

  "—but that's when I got dizzy and couldn't continue." He looked up at Raphael. "You're about to detonate, aren't you?"

  Brushing a wing by one of Raphael's, Ophaniel imposed calm on him through their own bond.

  Michael turned aside from the laughter bubbling in Ophaniel's eyes and focused on an amused Gabriel. "Was I mistaken, or were you supposed to

  be sleeping?"

  Suddenly sober, Gabriel admitted he was.

  "And you're not."

  This too Gabriel acknowledged.

  "And one more thing," Raphael said, getting between Gabriel and Michael. "You do not—do not—run experiments on yourself. I'm not sure how you even had enough energy to bi-locate, but there's not enough of you now to go dividing yourself."

  As Gabriel was about to protest, Raphael said, "I told you I don't want to have to put you back together again, so do me a favor and stay in one piece!"

  Looking aside, Gabriel acquiesced.

  Ophaniel stil sparkled, though, and Michael wondered what he was thinking to give him that secret smile.

  Michael left Gabriel with Raphael. He brought Saraquael and Ophaniel back to the conference room.

  Saraquael looked out the window. "We're stil stuck for protection."

  "Has the enemy made any progress?"

  Saraquael emitted an uneasy aura. "I have to say, I don't like the rumors coming out of Hel right now."

  Michael frowned.

  "I have conflicting reports, al from minor demons, that Mephistopheles is on the move, but they're divided as to whether he attacked Beelzebub, whether he attacked Satan, or whether he got attacked."

  Michael opened his hands. "What's the harm? There's nothing I'd find more welcome right now than a demonic civil war."

  "He's probably got the political capital to pul it off at the moment." Saraquael shook his head with a sigh. "But I saw him consulting with Asmodeus when I found Remiel. If he's combining the army and his own people against Satan, we may be facing a very motivated, absolutely united force.

  What better way to consolidate a new ruling order than by invading Heaven and annihilating a few of your enemies?"

  Wel , that would stink. Michael turned to Ophaniel for his opinion, but the Cherub had a thousand-miles-away gaze.

  Raphael returned. "He needs a private guard. Or an anesthesiologist."

  "Is he al right?"

  "Now," Raphael said, eyes dark as the heart of a coal. "I can't convince him it's wrong to push himself like crazy. Even worse, Jesus told him he has to recover soon, so what is he doing? He's taking that as an injunction that something bad wil happen soon and that he can't afford to sleep."

  Michael folded his arms. "That doesn't sound good."

  "Not on any account, no. I forced him back to sleep. I made him promise to contact me the moment he awakens, and when he does," Raphael said, smirking, "I'm going to put him straight back to sleep."

  A windblown Zadkiel appeared. "Michael, I need your help with a situation."

  Michael noticed just before he flashed away how Ophaniel looked right at Saraquael, and how the Dominion wore an intrigued smile.

  Chapter 22

  Ophaniel's shaded face was the first thing Gabriel saw when he awakened, fol owed by the shadow of Sidriel immediately behind him.

  Raphael, he sent, I'm awake.

  Raphael would arrive in a minute.

  Gabriel projected a question.

  Ophaniel pressed into his hand a heavy object that just fit into his palm with his fingers curled.

  Gabriel puzzled. Then his eyes flew open, and he bolted upright.

  Sidriel laughed out loud, and Ophaniel beamed.

  Gabriel whispered, "Saraquael?"

  Both Cherubim nodded with enthusiasm.

  Gabriel made the room light so he could see the thing in his hand. It was round, metal ic, and far heavier than its size would lead one to believe. He rol ed it in his fingers and found it perfectly smooth.

  Saraquael appeared. "What do you think?"

  Not looking up from the sphere, Gabriel radiated curiosity.

  "We did as you said." Ophaniel wore a bright enthusiasm as he exchanged a look with Sidriel. "I had him bi-locate, then started a process of transferring everything from one to the other, but leaving samples of everything behind."

  "I couldn't do it myself," Saraquael said. "They needed to guide the process."

  Gabriel examined the bal . "It's— It feels just like you."

  "It is him." Sidriel cocked his head. "If he wanted to, he could cal it back to himself. But if instead he needed our help, we could pump energy back into it and try to recreate him."

  "Instant Dominion." Saraquael grinned. "Just add water—or something."

  Gabriel rol ed it between his palms. "There's no way to test the process."

  Saraquael shook his head. "I'm al for a good experiment, but I'd rather not try getting destroyed and re-created."

  Raphael appeared. "You know, this isn't a convention center."

  Gabriel raised the sphere. "This was what I was trying to do. Ophaniel and Sidriel finished it up."

  Raphael took it from Gabriel's hand. "Nice work. But did you guys have to wake him up to show him?"

  Sidriel squinted. "Wouldn't he want to know?"

  Ophaniel said to Gabriel, "Sidriel had to help with condensing everything, otherwise the second Saraquael just got filmier."

  Sidriel knit his brows. "I suspect that if we mold it as it col apses, we can make the token shaped like an ordinary object to further safeguard it. A bel , a fountain pen, a necklace—"

  "You'd break your neck," Raphael said, weighing it in his hand.

  "But the point would be to hide it in plain sight," Ophaniel said. "Otherwise they'd destroy the token and then hunt down the angel."

  Gabriel looked over Saraquael. "Are you at a diminished power?"

  "Not that I can tel ."

  Raphael opened his hands. "Why wait? We should get tokens made for likely targets, starting with Michael."

  Gabriel looked at Ophaniel. "Raphael first. And Israfel."

  Ophaniel met his eyes with understanding.

  Sidriel said to Saraquael, "Whom do they want to strike next?"

  "If they've got plans, they've been quiet. But it'l be the Cherubim or the Seraphim that get hit," Saraquael added. "Satan wil strike the top of the hierarchy first. He knows we'l retaliate, so he'l make it worth his while."

  Gabriel said, "I think he'l hit one of the Seven. Satan would sacrifice his own existence for a shot at Michael's."

  "Michael has too much of God's power in him," Raphael said. "Satan might as wel try unlacing God Almighty."

  Ophaniel folded his arms. "They think Gabriel's dead, and they must think you're paralyzed with grief. Plus they think Remiel is half mad."

  "That leaves three targets," Gabriel said. "Raguel, Saraquael and Uriel."

  Raphael cleared his throat. "Before you get further into this discussion, Gabriel—"

  Gabriel hesitated, then looked from Raphael to Ophaniel. "What?"

  Ophaniel raised his eyebrows. "Israfel."

  Gabriel took a short breath. Then he summoned Israfel.

  When she appeared, Raphael said, "Strategy session. Who's the next target?" and recapped the conversation. While he did this, Mary showed up with banana bread and a thermos ful of hot chocolate, but no one took any except for Gabriel.

  Israfel said, "It won't be Uriel."

  As Mary closed the hamper, she said, "Who do they think replaced Gabriel?"

  Everyone paused.

  "I have no idea," Saraquael said. "But you're right. They'l assume we have a new Seventh by now."

  Israfel said, "Ophaniel or Sidriel would do."

  "You could serve," Mary said.

  Both Raphael and Israfel laughed. "Two Seraphim on the Seven?" she said. "It would have to be a Cherub bonded to Raphael."

  "Not necessarily." Saraquael's eyes widened. "They think Raphael is unfit for duty. If Satan were the one making the decision, he'd boot Raphael out of the Seven in a heartbeat and replace him and Gabriel with Israfel and Ophaniel. He's going to assume God did the same."

  Gabriel shook his head. "He didn't replace Rahab and Ataf on the Maskim."

  Saraquael said, "Think social dynamics. He can't control a team of seven as effectively as he can a team of five. God isn't worried about that." Then he handed the token to Mary, who nearly dropped it. "It's me. For safekeeping."

  Raphael looked at Gabriel. You need more rest.

  Not after you just cal ed Israfel.

  Raphael reluctantly agreed to let him stay awake a little longer.

  Because the room had gotten crowded, they moved outside, a transition that left Gabriel confused and frightened.

  "You're stil dealing with that?" Israfel said, and Gabriel nodded weakly.

  They spread out in the sunlight, talking, playing music, and enjoying the togetherness. Gabriel lay on his stomach and fanned his wings to the light, luxuriously warm, but after an awkward thought, he forced himself awake again.

  Gingerly, he moved behind Israfel and brushed her hair.

  She peered over her shoulder, but he looked only at the blue-black strands in his fingers.

  Ophaniel and Sidriel started a discussion about tracking random angels in random places, and this Gabriel fol owed without joining. Something, at

  least, was coming back to him now, the way he'd braided Israfel's hair when they were sitting in groups, weaving in odd things because it annoyed

  her. Feathers, flowers, grass bits, ribbons.

  As he plaited her hair, he remembered how everyone always told him he braided it "wrong": he'd always divided a braid into four parts rather than three, a pattern which yielded a rounded braid rather than a flat one. Right outermost part under two, over one; left outermost part under two, over one. While he braided, he "spoke" to the soil until some poppies sprang up in answer, growing and blossoming. Gabriel picked one to braid the stem into her hair.

  The other two Cherubim had devised a check system more complicated than the FedEx delivery algorithm, but he trusted that in a few moments the

  scheme would col apse under its own weight and they'd resume with a modified simple system.

  Israfel said as he started a second braid, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

  "No."

  He felt power go out of her. Then she turned, thrusting a black box into his lap.

  The other angels, minus the Cherubim, looked up at attention.

  Mary sat forward. "The trumpet?"

  "I never showed it to you, did I?" Braid abandoned, Gabriel opened the case so the instrument gleamed in the sunlight. "I'm supposed to sound this for the final resurrection."

  Mary extended a hand, then drew back. "Can I hold it?"

  Gabriel handed over the instrument. She sighted along its edges, moved the valves, and admired the craftsmanship. Behind them, the Cherubim

  were stil debating.

  The awe in her voice blended into the breeze. "God outdid Himself."

  Raphael leaned back on his palms. "It's the most perfect instrument in al creation, and the sound it makes is heart-stopping. It makes a D and you just want to keep on hearing a D."

  Looking puzzled, Mary handed it back, and Gabriel kept it on his lap. "You've played it?"

  "You mean without raising the dead?" He laughed. "It won't be the trumpet itself that brings about the resurrection." He rested his fingers on the third valve tube. "Any trumpet would do, and any player. It's just an instrument."

  Raphael swept one wing out so he brushed the top of Gabriel's hair. "Tel me another one. You love that thing."

  Gabriel traced a fingertip along the bel . "I like the sound quality."

  Israfel made a face at him. "Go ahead and play."

  Gabriel raised the instrument, lowered it, then stood. "You have to straighten your windpipe to get a strong note."

  Raphael murmured under his breath, "Not that he's fanatical about the trumpet."

  Gabriel feigned surprise. "Doing things right is being fanatical?"

  Raphael turned to Mary. "That's obsessive-compulsive with a hyphen, if you were wondering."

  She laughed until Gabriel raised the trumpet and played one note.

  Everyone silenced. He looked down at where she sat.

  "Play it again," she breathed.

  Tilting the trumpet higher this time, he used the ful force of his lungs to play first a scale, then to work his way back to the starting note before picking notes at random.

  The trumpet met him in his soul, and he closed his eyes as though engaged in a long kiss. The stil ness of those around him made for an echo like

  a concert hal , and Gabriel let al the notes fal together into a melody and then braided his heart directly into the sound.

  Remiel appeared, startled. A moment after, Gabriel felt Michael's arrival, his nonverbal approval. Gabriel cut off the song.

  Mary sat forward. "Keep playing."

  "I don't like having an audience." Gabriel's head buzzed as he sat, and he felt as if his axis were wobbly. "Not when I'm just fooling around with it. It's al the trumpet, anyhow."

  Raphael extended his hand, and Gabriel passed him the instrument. Stil sitting, the Seraph played a short tune.

  "Now," he said, "was that the trumpet, or was that me?"

  Gabriel laughed. "If I say it's the trumpet, you'l say I'm disregarding your years of practice. If I say it's you, you'l ask if the trumpet magic works only for me."

 

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