Just three weeks ago, the Grigori had helped Remy to avert the Apocalypse. Although their motive was selfish—for their fate if the world should die was uncertain at best—Sariel had gathered his Grigori brothers to help Remy prevent the release of the Four Horsemen.
"A matter of grave importance," Remy repeated. "Seems to be quite a bit of that going around these days."
Sariel stared, not understanding Remy's sarcasm.
"Why are you here, Sariel?" Remy asked, not even trying to hide his exasperation.
"The old man is dead," he replied.
"The old man… who… what old man?" Remy was confused, but then it dawned on him, the connection with the Grigori.
The old man.
"Noah?" Remy asked. "Noah is dead? How?"
Sariel adjusted his suit jacket, again tugging on his sleeves.
The cruel winter wind blew again, and with the chilling breeze came a taint of change in the air. A taint of something menacing. "He was murdered, Remiel," Sariel said. "The ark builder was murdered. “Before the Flood Unbeknownst to them, Remiel watched as they toiled, building the great wooden craft. Day after day he observed the old man, Noah, and his sons work on what gradually took the form of an enormous, roofed ship.
An ark.
Remiel had not been on the world of man for long, and he knew there was much still to explore, but he found that he could not leave.
The angel was fascinated, that fascination becoming even more pronounced when, in the early hours before dawn, he watched the old man approach the enormous vessel and begin to paint the magickal sigils upon its hull.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Remiel drew closer. He allowed himself to be seen, approaching the old man as he wrote with crimson fingers upon the hull of the great wooden craft.
"What are you doing?" Remiel asked, studying the marks, feeling the arcane energies radiating from the strange symbols of power.
"You startled me," Noah said, and Remiel felt the man's ancient eyes scrutinizing him, peeling away the deception that he was but a nomad from the desert.
That he was but a man.
Noah dropped to his knees, and immediately averted his eyes.
"Messenger of Heaven, I have done as He has asked of me. All nears readiness," the old man professed. "As soon as I have completed the symbols, we will be ready to accept the beasts of the land."
"You mistake me for someone else, old father," Remiel said, reaching down to take the man's hand and pull him to his feet.
"Are you not one of His winged children?" Noah asked.
Remiel's suspicions were correct, the old man could see through his disguise.
"You can see me?" he asked.
Noah slowly nodded.
Truly this human has been touched by God, the angel thought.
Remiel's attention returned to the ark and the sigils that the old man was painting on its surface.
"These are powerful magicks you play with," he said as he brought his hand close to one, feeling the energy emanating from it. "And did the Almighty bestow this knowledge upon you, as well, as the gift of sight?"
The old man dipped his fingers into the wooden bowl of bloodred paint and began to draw upon the ark again.
"As your brethren have brought me this most holy mission, they have also delivered unto me the means to achieve this enormous task," Noah went on, the symbols of power leaving his fingers in strange patterns of scarlet.
TWO
"My brethren," Remiel repeated thoughtfully. "Why do you do this?" he asked. He walked around to what would be the bow of the great ship. "Why have you built such a craft?"
"You test me, angel," the old man said, furiously painting. "A great storm is coming."
"A storm?" Remiel asked. He spread his wings, and floated gracefully into the air to inspect the great ship further. The magick had begun to work upon the craft. The angel flew closer to an open passage leading deep into the bowels of the ship. The darkness was limitless—the space within the belly of the ark endless.
"It is a storm to wash away that which offends Him," Noah said as the angel returned to his side.
"And the ship?" Remiel questioned, folding his powerful wings behind him.
"It is needed to hold all life that has been deemed worthy to survive," Noah said. "The beasts of the land, no matter how large or small; it is my task to be certain that they live. As they are the Lord's children, so are they mine."
Remiel was fascinated. Had this old man actually received a message from the Lord of Lords, telling him of an approaching cataclysm? Did the Almighty truly intend to wash away His own creations?
He had known his Creator as a being of intense emotions. But he questioned the notion that the Almighty could be capable of destroying what He had once been so proud of, what had been the primary reason for the Great War against the forces of the Morningstar.
Remiel pondered this quandary for many days and nights, all the while watching Noah as he and his family performed the tasks supposedly assigned by God.
Eventually, the skies grew dark and pregnant with storm.
Remiel observed the beasts, deemed worthy, herded aboard the great ark. It was the magick that called to them, drawing them to the place that would be their sanctuary against the coming doom. It seemed not to matter how many there were, the belly of Noah's craft welcomed them all and gave them safety.
It took seven days for Noah and his sons to complete their miraculous task, and when the last of the animals was finally herded aboard, there was the most awesome of sounds from the sky, a clap of thunder like nothing Remiel had ever heard before.
A sound that signaled the beginning of the end.
And then the rains began.
It was a terrible rain, the water falling so quickly, the wind blowing so fiercely, that it soon began to obscure the land. A great and terrible hand in the form of a storm had descended upon the world, to wipe away its imperfections.
Remiel stood at the foot of the gangplank used by the beasts to climb to safety aboard Noah's ark, and looked out into the storm. From the corner of his eye, he thought he'd seen something. Peering intently through the torrential downpour, he scanned what little was left of the land until he found them. Hooded shapes, their skin the color of dusk, standing perfectly still in front of the caves that spotted the hills, as the rain fell around them and the waters rose.
Within moments they were gone, swallowed up by the deluge.
Remiel turned to board the craft, and came face-to-face with one of his own.
The angel Sariel stood with his Grigori brethren. One by one they climbed the ramp to board the ark. Remiel was surprised to see that they had been found worthy. Soon only he and the Grigori leader stood upon the gangplank.
"Did you see them?" Remiel asked above the howling storm.
Sariel did not answer. Instead he turned and began the climb to board the ark.
Remiel grabbed hold of the departing Grigori's arm.
"I asked you a question," he said sternly turning his gaze toward the now-empty hills.
"His will be done," Sariel said, pulling his arm away.
And the rain continued to fall. Ancient teachings said it lasted for forty days and forty nights, but the angel Remiel recalled that it took far less time than that to drown the world.
THREE
Remy left the ancient memories behind, returning to the here and now. "Murdered?" he asked. "How do you know?"
"I saw it," Sariel said, stepping closer to the porch.
Marlowe started to growl again. The Grigori leader stared at the Labrador with cold, unfeeling eyes.
"I know murder when I see it."
Remy was about to ask more questions, but stopped. No, he told himself. This time I will have nothing to do with their affairs.