I sat in the chapel balcony at St. Mary's, staring down at the church below me and brooding. Michael and Forthill had been seeing to Father Douglas, who wasn't going anywhere under his own locomotion for a while. They had him in a bed somewhere. It had hurt to watch Michael, moving in what was obviously great pain, hobble around the room helping to make Douglas feel better. I'd have been content to dump the asshole in an alley somewhere and leave him to his fate.
Which might, just possibly, be one reason I was never going to be a Knight.
I had also swiped Forthill's flask of scotch from his room, and it was keeping me company in the balcony. Two more reasons I was never going to be a Knight.
"Right at the end, there," I said to no one in particular, "those two started speaking a different language. I mean, I understood all the words, and I understood the passion behind them, but I don't get how they connect. You know?"
I sipped some more scotch. "Come to think of it, there are a lot of things I don't get about this whole situation."
"And you want an explanation of some kind?" asked a man seated in the pew beside me.
I just about jumped out of my skin.
He was an older man. He had dark skin and silver-white hair, and he wore a blue workman's jumpsuit, like you often see on janitors. The name tag read "Jake."
"You," I breathed. "You're the archangel. You're Uriel."
He shrugged. The gesture carried acknowledgment, somehow.
"What are you doing here?" I asked—maybe a bit blearily. I was concussed and half the flask was gone.
"Perhaps I'm a hallucination brought on by head trauma and alcohol," he said.
"Oh," I said. I peered at him, and then offered him the flask. "Want a belt?"
"Very kind," he said, and took a swig from the flask. He passed it back to me. "I don't exactly make it a habit to do this, but if you've got questions, ask them."
"Okay," I said. "Why did you guys let Michael get so screwed up?"
"We didn't let him do anything," Jake replied calmly. "He chose to hazard himself in battle against the enemy. The enemy c hose to shoot him, and where to point the gun and when to pull the trigger. He survived the experience."
"So in other words, God was doing nothing to help."
Jake smiled. "Wouldn't say that. But you got to understand, son. God isn't about making good things happen to you, or bad things happen to you. He's all about you making choices— exercising the gift of free will. God wants you to have good things and a good life, but he can't gift wrap them for you. You have to choose the actions that lead you to that life."
"Free will, huh?"
"Yes. For example, your free will on that island."
I eyed him and sipped more scotch.
"You saw the Valkyrie staring at Michael. You thought he was in danger. So even though it was your turn, you sent him up to the helicopter in your place."
"No good deed goes unpunished," I said, with one too many «sh» sounds. "That's where he got hurt."
Jake shrugged. "But if you hadn't, you'd have died in that harness, and he'd have died on that island."
I scowled. "What?"
Jake waved a hand. "I won't bore you with details, but suffice to say that your choice in that moment changed everything."
"But you lost a Knight," I said. "A warrior."
Jake smiled. "Did we?"
"He can barely walk without that cane. Sure, he handled Douglas, but that's a far cry from dealing with a Denarian."
"Ah," Jake said. "You mean warrior in the literal sense."
"What other kind of warrior is there?" I asked.
"The important kind."
I frowned again.
"Harry," Jake said, sighing. "The conflict between light and darkness rages on so many levels that you literally could not understand it all. Not yet, anyway. Sometimes that battlefield is a literal one. Sometimes it's a great deal more nebulous and metaphorical."
"But Michael and me are literal guys," I said.
Jake actually laughed. "Yeah? Do you think we angled to have you brought into this situation because we needed you to beat someone up?"
"Well. Generally speaking. Yeah." I gestured with the flask. "Pretty much all we did was beat up this guy who had good intentions and who was desperate to do something to help."
Jake shook his head. "The real war happened when you weren't looking."
"Huh?"
"Courtney," Jake said. "The little girl who almost got hit by a car."
"What about her?" I asked.
"You saved her life," he said. "Moreover, you noted the bruise on her cheek—one which she acquired from her abusive father. Your presence heightened her mother's response to the realization that her daughter was being abused. She moved out the next morning." He spread his hands. "In that moment, you saved the child's life, prevented her mother from alcohol addiction in response to the loss, and shattered a generational cycle of abuse more than three hundred years old."
"I… um."
"Chuck the electrician," Jake continued. "He was drunk because he's fighting with his wife. Two months from now, their four-year-old daughter is going to be diagnosed with cancer and require a marrow transplant. Her father is the only viable donor. You saved his life with what you did—and his daughter's life, too. and the struggle that family is going to face together is going to leave them stronger and happier than they've ever been."
I grunted. "That smells an awful lot like predestination to me. What if those people choose something different?"
"It's a complex issue," Jake admitted. "But think of the course of the future as, oh, flowing water. If you know the lay of the land, you can make a good guess where it's going. Now, someone can always come along and dig a ditch and change that flow of water— but honestly, you'd be shocked how seldom people truly choose to exercise their will within their lives."
I grunted. "What about second baseperson Kelly? I save her life, too?"
"No. But you made a young woman feel better in a moment where she felt as though she didn't have anyone she could talk to. Just a few kind words. But it's going to make her think about the difference those words made. She's got a good chance of winding up as a counselor to her fellow man. The five minutes of kindness you showed her is going to help thousands of others." He spread his hands. "And that only takes into account the past day. Despair and pain were averted, loss and tragedy thwarted. Do you think that you haven't struck a blow for the light, warrior?"
"Urn."
"And last but not least, let's not forget Michael," he said. "He's a good man, but where his children are involved he can be completely irrational. He was a hairbreadth from losing control when he stood over Douglas on the beach. Your words, your presence, your will helped him to choose mercy over vengeance."
I just stared at him for a moment. "But… I didn't actually mean to do any of that."
He smiled. "But you chose the actions that led to it. No one forced you to do it. And to those people, what you did saved them from danger as real as any creature of the night." He turned to look down at the church below, and pursed his lips. "People have far more power than they realize, if they only choose to use it. Michael might not be cutting demons with a sword anymore, Harry. But don't think for a second that he isn't still fighting the good fight. It's just harder for you to see the results from down here."
I swigged more scotch, thinking about that.
"He's happier now," I said. "His family, too."
"Funny how making good choices leads to that."
"What about Father Douglas?" I asked. "What's going to happen?"
"For the most part," Jake said, "that will be up to him. Hope- fully, he'll choose to accept his errors and change his life for the better."