Libraean
London, 1857
Libraean placed his quill back in its case and rose from behind the desk where he’d been quietly sitting, determined to go after David. Although she had been brought back to full consciousness, Morrigan’s face was an expressionless mask, as if she were still lost in the mire of memory. As he stood, however, her eyes clamped onto his. “Don’t go after him,” she pleaded.
Libraean snorted incredulously. “I cannot just allow him to put himself in danger. Were you not the one who originally tasked me with his wellbeing?”
Morrigan rose from her chair, her black skirts settling around her ankles. “He must go when things become too much for him. We must let him.”
Libraean’s anger rose. “I have been looking after him for centuries—who are you to tell me how best to handle him?”
Jacob quickly placed himself between them. His shortness seemed more pronounced next to the statuesque vampyre he tried to block. “Libraean, please,” he pleaded.
But the kind gray eyes that radiated from his weathered skin only sought to enrage Libraean, a fury he had not felt for centuries dismantling his usual composed demeanor. “You would do best not to speak to me,” he snapped. A gust of volatile wind unsettled the parchment stacked on the desk as his wings involuntarily unfurled behind him.
Jacob’s lip quivered and he flew from the room without another word.
Daniel jumped to his feet, but the crone raised her hand to intercede. “The hour is late and has brought to life many emotions thought dead,” she said in a low, crackling voice. “We must let things settle how they may.”
Libraean took a deep breath, suddenly ashamed of how he spoke to Morrigan, though his opinion on the matter remained firm. The light that usually danced in her sky-blue eyes had gone out as she stared ahead, waiting for him to finish. “Please forgive me,” he whispered, feeling his temper, and wings, slowly deflate.
“Always,” she replied with earnestness, though she was unable to break free of the murky sadness that now swam around her.
“It is time for me to retire,” the medium said, pulling herself to her feet. “My work here is done.”
Dan made a sound of bewilderment. “We cannot stop now—we have only received the beginning of her memories before David interrupted us. We must continue on.”
“That is not how these things work,” she asserted. “She must rest.”
Libraean pulled off his cap, aware the action exposed the stumps of his retracted horns. “My apologies to you, as well, madam,” he said to her. “Can I offer you a room here tonight?”
“I must attend to my other affairs,” she replied, her expression dry. “I will be waiting at the tea and cake parlor if the master returns.”
Libraean sighed, disappointed but understanding.
“I will see she returns home safe,” Dan offered.
“Nonsense,” the old woman negated as she made her way out of the room. “My driver has been waiting outside your gates to collect me. Good evening to you all.” And with nothing more, she exited the room, her deliberate footsteps disappearing down the hall.
Dan threw up his hands in frustration, storming out in the opposite direction, leaving the two of them behind.
Morrigan was quiet, her eyes drawn to the last gasps and pops of the dying fire. A moment of empathy swelled in Libraean’s chest, for deep inside, he could feel the unique connection to the woman who birthed his soul, although his loyalty to David held firm. “I think I will retire to the parlor,” she murmured, relieving him of his conflicted feelings. “You should see to Gabriel.”
The room was left uncomfortably quiet as the last creature left, Libraean observing his parchment strewn haphazardly across the floor. He could hear the wind howling outside, letting him know that David hadn’t strayed too far. Although he was not pleased with her at the moment, Morrigan was right—he knew better than to follow David when he was this upset. But that did not mean he had to like it.
He sighed, bending down to pick up his papers and groaning with the exertion it required. He didn’t bother to reorganize the pages before he stacked them, putting them back in their leather binder and wrapping it with string. He shoved it into the top drawer, assuming it would be best to keep it close at hand. He had in his possession now so many different stories, so many histories, it was becoming overwhelming, the pages severely unkempt. He’d have to reorder and bind them into books after everything had settled. If they settled.
A low growl expelled from his stomach, interrupting his cleaning efforts. He had once been able to exist on real food, such as meat and eggs, with only a bit of blood now and again. But it seemed as though turning Morrigan and sampling the essence of living creatures had awakened a craving that demanded nothing else. He sighed once more, shuffling about the room to put the last of the low burning lamps to sleep.
The manor greeted him quiet and dark, just as he liked it, and he found his way easily to the sparingly used kitchens of the manor. They once served as the living area of the priests who served the cathedral before its abandonment, and were refurbished by the Lardones, who attempted to modernize them, but couldn’t do much with the size and Spartan design. The kitchen itself boasted a large cast iron stove to serve dozens, and a long preparation counter with cabinets on the opposite side. A round table, tiny by comparison, was situated in the corner for the servants to take turns eating. Beyond that, was a narrow preparation room with another long table at its center, lined with additional cabinets brimming with unused dishes, and a tiny, annexed room devoted entirely to their washing. It was in this tiny room that David stored his reserves, bottles of blood kept chilled in wash sinks filled with ice. An unused wine cellar lay underneath it, a narrow wood ladder leading down to what was once a fully stocked collection. Libraean grabbed one of the bottles from the wash sink, hobbling back to the kitchen to place a pot of water inside the stove. He lit the fire below, waiting patiently at the table for it to boil, hoping to warm it and retire to bed without notice.
Coincidentally defiant of his wishes, Jacob appeared in the doorway. “Oh,” he said, startled. “Do you want me to leave? I came down to make myself tea.”
Libraean sighed. He was exhausted, his bones ached for rest and his stomach demanded sustenance. He had no fight left in him. “I’ve got water on—you may as well wait for some for yourself.”
Jacob nodded, slipping in. He opened one of the cabinets to produce two china teacups painted with delicate flowers, and a metal tin. He pulled down a matching teapot, scooping into it a few spoonfuls of herbs from the tin. From where he sat, Libraean could smell dried chamomile and lavender.
Jacob’s body looked completely different than the lithe angel he remembered, shorter and a bit stockier, tightly clipped white hair replacing the glowing mane of gold, his gray eyes set deep in a mess of wrinkled skin. Yet his mannerisms were the same, his poise graceful, the way his hands moved almost artistically as he did something as simple as brew tea. It let Libraean know that inside his aged prison of flesh, he was still the ancient creature he’d once known… had once loved.
“Before Mr. Lucius arrived, I was sure you’d find a way to head back to the vaults,” Jacob commented lightly. “I’ve never known this house to have so many visitors.”
Libraean huffed. “Visitors without the master of the house in attendance.”
“Ms. Morrigan is right, he will return,” Jacob assured him.
“I understand they are lovers, but that does not negate the fact that I have been the one looking after him for centuries in her absence.” Libraean felt his cheeks grow hot. “I might have been his son in our ancient past, but in this life, I’ve cared for him like he was mine. I cannot shake the feeling that we should be out there looking for him.”
“I think I might understand a little of what you mean,” Jacob said, not unpleasantly.
“Forgive me,” Libraean caught himself. “I know you have lived with him, caring for him as well.”
Jacob gingerly took a seat across from him. “How curious to live forever,” he changed the subject. “How do you manage? You are, in essence, the oldest one among us.”
Libraean frowned, peeking in the stove to check the pot of water. “We are graced with forgetfulness, which I think serves us well. Much like childhood might seem like a fleeting dream to an aged man—he can remember bits, but it is so far from where he is today that it doesn’t seem real. It is like that for us. I can remember the ancient times if I focus on them, but mostly, memories just surface at their own discretion. Some things have been forgotten forever. Some things stay, even though I wish I could forget them.” He stood as the water began to boil.
“No, no, let me,” Jacob insisted. He went to the counter, adding a bit of the bubbling water to the tea kettle before placing the entire bottle of blood into what remained in the pot. He draped them both with towels as they sat. “No wonder you cherish your histories so much. You are preserving the world’s memories.”
Libraean nodded, almost smiling.
“I remember my life as an angel like it was a dream,” Jacob said softly, his back turned. “I’ve only lived one human life, here, as Jacob, and that’s all I vividly recall. Except for you, of course. I remember everything about you.”
Libraean waited for a flare up in anger, but it did not come. He looked down at his gnarled hands. He’d become so used to the weathered flesh and surfacing veins, he could hardly remember them any different. “I thought I would enjoy growing older. It was my gift for working with the Council.” He added wryly, “They did not go back on their promise.”
Jacob turned to face him. “Neither did we.”
Libraean scoffed. “I have a crooked spine and a set of hooves to prove quite the contrary.”
“You abandoned me before I could fix it!” Jacob sputtered in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.
“I don’t have time for this.” Libraean rose to his feet, prepared to storm out of the kitchen.
“Sit down, old man, your blood is ready,” Jacob ordered, unruffled by his words.
Libraean huffed indignantly but sat, watching Jacob swirl the bottle around to make sure it was evenly heated before pouring the contents into a teacup. He strained warm tea into his own cup, then carried both to the table. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Libraean did not reply, sipping the blood. He was surprised how efficiently Jacob had warmed it. It tasted fresh on his tongue.
Jacob smiled, reading his expression. “I have been Mr. David’s manservant for enough years to have figured it out. He thinks I never knew, but of course I did.”
Libraean stared at him. “How long have you been in this house?”
“Oh, since you two moved here,” he replied. “The Lord Jesus was very kind to me after my departure, sending word once he discovered where you were. I positioned myself where Mr. David would find me, hoping he would see fit to hire me into his employ. Luckily, fate intervened.” He gave a small smile as he took a sip from his cup. “You never had interest in the manor, so I never ran into you. At times, I wanted to visit, but I was afraid, so I learned to be content knowing you were safe. That was most important to me.”
A few moments passed between them as they sipped their respective beverages, giving Libraean time to study him. Although Jacob was aged, his eyes and cheeks were positively flushed with life, quite a different look than the other creatures in the manor. Libraean narrowed his eyes before finally asking, “Why did you lie to me, Gabriel?”
Jacob set his cup down before looking him straight in the eye. “Will you listen to me without storming off?”
“I’ll try,” Libraean replied honestly.
Jacob sat back in his chair. “I don’t recall the exact moment of my creation, but angels are born exactly how they appear to the human eye, like young men. We do not have to piece together our world from infancy like humans. We just know. And in this knowing is our history, the story of how God created an army of angels—his sons—to defeat the fallen ones who sought to replace mankind, and how one day, his beloved Lucifer betrayed him and started the Great War. God defeated him with the help of my oldest brother, Michael, casting him down into Hell, where soon all the human sinners would go.”
“Except we call it Tartarus.”
Jacob nodded. “Each religion has its own story. I was given mine as factual. I knew no different. I was born much later than my brothers, and my job was to deliver messages to those God wished to speak to. It was only later that my brothers and I began to hunt Mr. Lucius’s daemons. Again, it was under false pretenses. We thought that the banished angel Lucifer had created such creatures as an affront to Him for casting him out of Heaven. It was during my time on earth amongst the humans, the daemons, and the creatures, that I realized there was a Great War happening, just not exactly what I thought.”
He straightened in his chair. “When I saw you, I thought you were just another daemon, until I realized you intended to take your own life. Angels can see things humans cannot—although you were a blood drinker and marked by your differences, I saw through to your soul. I knew you were meant for better things in the world than death. The story I told you back then was not the story told to me—it was the one that I believed to be true, gathered by what I had seen around me. If I had known you were actually Horus reincarnated, born of the first god and goddess who ever existed, I would have told you.”
“I don’t understand how you didn’t know. You spoke to God directly,” Libraean argued. “You and your brothers are archangels—history hails you as being imperative in your service to Him.”
Jacob sighed. “As I said, I knew nothing else, for God kept us isolated from all other deities and creatures. I have heard that many other gods do the same. It is my personal belief that humanity has suffered because of it. You are well-learned enough to know the atrocities mankind has displayed in the name of religion. My Lord Jesus, however, was different. He thought all mankind benefited from spirituality in whatever form it took. Eventually, we spoke only to him as God became more distant and fragmented as humans evolved and the religions changed. He is now protected by the Watchers, a new group of angels who act as a deciding council in His Name. Had they found out what I intended to do, they would have forbidden me to contact the girl on threat of banishment. It was Jesus who urged me to tell her what I knew secretly, even though he knew I’d have to face repercussions.”
“The girl? What girl? What did you know?”
“After you left the Kingdom, there were so many times I wanted to visit you, to contact you while you lived out your life estranged from us, the life of a hermit. But when you found the Council, and later found Mr. David, you seemed content. I was prepared to leave you in peace. Then I discovered there was strife amongst the other deities.” He crossed his fingers on the table.
“An unknown god found a way to siphon enough power that they could destroy the realms and the gods,” he explained. “Our God wanted no part of it and all that mattered to the Watchers was that this god could not harm our realm. But although our position was passive, it didn’t seem right to let it happen. I knew part of your family still lived in the Underworld, and that you and David would be affected by the destruction of realms. I had to warn you somehow.” He looked away. “I approached Jesus and told him of what I’d discovered, and he told me there was a child born with ancient power, who lived on earth. He warned me that if I chose to intervene and warn her, that I could be cast into Hell, but if I only told her bits of information, I would lose my wings, but he could protect me from further punishment. And so, a decision was made. My wings were taken, and I was remade into a human being. I had no idea who I really was until much later in my mortal life when I began to dream of my history. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find you nor Mr. David until well after my skin wrinkled and my hair turned white.”
Libraean was speechless.
Jacob took a sip of tea. “So much time had passed since then, I assumed the threat was either gone or the girl had warned you in time to fix things. But now we know that wasn’t the case because, as you may have guessed, that girl is Miss Cahira. And now that more has been revealed, I believe what I overheard was true—that for the last hundred years, a rogue god has been murdering the other gods and destroying their realms. It would explain why Ms. Morrigan and Mr. Lucius are here at the same time—perhaps they even died together.”
“We must tell the others.” Libraean stood up quickly.
“Ms. Morrigan must finish her tale.” Jacob stopped him. “My information is nothing without her to fill in the details. She holds the exact memory of her godly death.”
Libraean sat back down. “Yet, she rests.”
Jacob yawned. “We should do the same.”
“Humans,” Libraean sniffed, though a hint of a smile crept through.
“Oh, come now, your age is not far off from mine—we grow tired, regardless of supernatural capabilities,” Jacob said playfully.
“It seems wrong not to tell the others.”
“Mr. David is not here,” Jacob pointed out. “Our medium has left us and our mistress rests. There is nothing for us to do immediately.”
Libraean sighed, pulling himself back up to his feet. “I still don’t forgive you.”
“I didn’t expect you would.”
“I’m still quite upset.”
“I understand.”
“Would you like to retire to my room tonight?”
“Of course.” Jacob nodded. He put out the stove, leaving the dishes behind, and followed him down the hall.