The child continued to wail while his panicked parents scrambled to find the lost toy. On hands and knees the boy’s father retrieved the top from beneath a nearby table and brought the child’s sadness to an abrupt end by returning the toy to him. Though his face was still streaked with tears, the boy was smiling broadly now. If only my task could be as simple, Aaron thought wearily.
“Do you want ketchup?” he heard someone say close by, as he turned his thoughts to how much farther he’d be able to drive tonight. He was tired, and for a brief moment he considered teaching Camael how to drive, but that thought was stricken from his mind by the image of the heavenly warrior in the midst of a minor traffic altercation, cutting another driver in two with a flaming sword.
Aaron felt a hand upon his shoulder and spun around to see the girl with the ponytail and the incredibly wide smile holding out his bags of food. “Ketchup?” she asked again.
“Were you talking to me?” he asked, embarrassed, as he took the bags. “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit dazed from driving all day and…”
He froze. His foster mom would have described the strange feeling as somebody walking over his grave, whatever the hell that meant. He never did understand the strange superstitions she often shared, but for some reason, the imagery of that one always stuck with him. Aaron missed his foster parents, who had been mercilessly slain by Verchiel, and it made his desire to find his brother all the more urgent. He turned away from the counter to see a man hurriedly going out a back door, two others in pursuit.
The angelic nature that had been a part of him since his eighteenth birthday screamed to be noticed, and senses far beyond the human norm kicked into action. There was a trace of something in the air that marked the men’s passing as they left the store. It was an aroma that Aaron could discern even over the prominent smells of hot vegetable oil and frying meat. The air was tainted with the rich smell of spice—and of blood.
With a polite thank-you he took his food and left the store, quickly heading to the metallic blue Toyota Corolla parked at the back of the lot. He could see the eager face of his dog in the back window. Gabriel began to bark happily as he reached the car, not so much that his master had returned, but that he had returned with food.
“What took so long?” the dog asked as Aaron placed the bags on the driver’s seat. “I didn’t think you were ever coming out.”
Being able to understand and speak any form of language, including the vocalizations of animals, was yet another strange manifestation of Aaron’s angelic talents, and one that was both a blessing and a curse when it came to his canine friend.
“I’m starved, Aaron,” the dog said eagerly, hoping that there would be something in one of the bags to satisfy what seemed to be a Labrador retriever’s insatiable urge to eat.
Gabriel also loved to talk, and after Aaron had used his unique abilities to save the dog after a car accident, the Lab had suddenly become much smarter, making him quite the dynamic personality. Aaron loved the dog more than just about anything else, but there were days that he wished Gabriel was only a dog.
“I’d really like to eat,” he said from the backseat, licking his chops.
“Not now, Gabe,” Aaron responded, directing his attention to the large man sitting with his eyes closed in the passenger seat. “I have to speak with Camael.” The angel ignored him, but that didn’t stop Aaron from talking. “Inside the restaurant,” he said. “I think three angels just went out the back door and…”
Camael slowly turned his head and opened his steely blue eyes. “Two of them are of the Powers; the other, a fallen angel”—he tilted back his head of silvery white hair and sniffed, the mustache of his goatee twitching—“of the host Cherubim, I believe. I was aware of their presence when we pulled into the lot.”
“And you didn’t think it was important to say anything?” Aaron asked, annoyed. “This could be the break we’ve been waiting for. They might know where Stevie is.”
The angel stared at him without emotion, the plight of Aaron’s little brother obviously the furthest thing from his mind. With Camael, it was all about fulfilling the prophecy—that and finding a mysterious haven for fallen angels called Aerie.
“We have to go after them,” Aaron said forcefully. “This is the first contact we’ve had with anything remotely angelic since we left Maine.”
Gabriel stuck his head between the front seats. “Then we really should eat first. Right, Camael?” he asked, eyeing the bags resting on the seat. “Can’t go after angels on an empty stomach, that’s what I always say.” The dog had begun to drool, spattering the emergency break.
Camael moved his arm so as not to be splashed and glared at the animal. “I do not need to eat,” he snarled, apparently very sensitive to the recent craving he had developed for French fries.
Aaron opened the back door of the car and motioned for Gabriel to get out. “C’mon,” he said to them both. “We have to hurry or we’ll lose them.”
“May I have a few fries before we go?” the dog asked as he leaped from the car to the parking lot. “Just to hold me over until we get back.”
Aaron ignored his dog and slammed the door closed, anxious to be on his way.
“Do you think this wise?” Camael asked as he removed himself from the front seat of the car. “To draw attention to ourselves in such a way?”
Aaron knew there was a risk in confronting the angels, but if they were ever going to find his brother they had to take the chance. “The Powers answer to Verchiel, and he’s the one who took Stevie,” Aaron said, hoping that the angel would understand. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try to find out what they know.”
Camael moved around the car casually buttoning his dark suit jacket, impeccable as always. “You do realize that this will likely end in death.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Aaron said as he turned away from his companions and followed the dwindling trail of angel scents into the dense woods behind the fast-food restaurant.
No matter how he tried to distract himself, Verchiel found himself drawn to the classroom within the St. Athanasius Orphanage where the prisoner was held.
Standing in the shadows of the room, the angel stared at the huddled figure feigning sleep within his prison, and marveled at how a mere cage of iron could contain an evil so vast. Verchiel would destroy the prisoner if he could, but even he was loath to admit that he did not have the power to accomplish such a task. He would have to take a level of satisfaction from the evil one’s containment, at least for now. When matters with the Nephilim and the accursed prophecy were properly settled, then he could concentrate on an appropriate punishment for the captive.
“Am I that fascinating a specimen?” the prisoner asked from his cage. He slowly brought himself to a sitting position, his back against the bars. In his hand he held a gray furred mouse and gently stroked its tiny skull with an index finger. “I don’t believe we saw this much of each other when we still lived in Heaven.”
Verchiel bristled at the mention of his former home; it had been too long since last he looked upon its glorious spires and the memory of its beauty was almost too painful to bear. “Those were different times,” he said coldly. “And we … different beings.” The leader of the Powers suddenly wanted to leave the room, to be away from the criminal responsible for so much misery, but he stayed, both revolted and mesmerized by the fallen angel and all he had come to embody.