I want to turn and saunter right back outside, and not only because I’ve walked into another church. I long to finish our conversation. I sense that’s the only way to make sure Callie and I are all right. The unit, not us as separate beings. I can’t stand the idea that we might not be.
This is a new emotion and I’m not going to be shy about saying I loathe it. I’d rather only have access to the boiling oil variety of bubble bath than to feel this way. (What? Men aren’t supposed to have nice baths? Check your toxic masculinity at the washroom door.)
I’m sure this relationship unrest is exactly what Father had in mind when he came up with his abominable plan.
The entryway inside is quiet and I reach out for the calm Sean claims these monstrous buildings provide … Nothing. But there is a sign advertising the MUSEO DEL TESORO—Museum of Treasures—off to the right. There’s no one at the desk, and past it, a set of steps goes down. I’m not surprised about the lack of staff. The place isn’t busy, not a peak church time I guess. Servants of the Above keep different days and hours than we do Below, and I’ve never had cause to learn them.
But for a second time, I’ve entered a church and haven’t burst into flame. I’m feeling smug on that score when I take the steps going down and down and then exit them at a creepy mausoleum of an underground museum. The stone walls keep it cool and dry, which means the air has a clammy, haunted feel. I find a light switch and flip it, and the weak spotlights trained on the museum’s holdings come to life. They show off cases filled with the oldest, most antique, overly gilded … junk.
I pass by the cases while navigating the twisting warren of rooms, and spot another limb encased in glass. An arm and hand. There must be holy ghosts ranging all over the Above with a torso here, and a head there, missing the rest.
I imagine how much Callie would hate this, if she’d had to come inside instead of me. She’s terrified of feeling trapped beneath structures, of being in enclosed spaces under anything. Yes, it’s funny that she fell for a prince of Hell.
Is she out there right now thinking about how mismatched we are? How we should break up? How our worlds are too different? How we are? If she quit her job, anything is possible …
No, I can’t think that way. After I’m out of here, I’ll tell her all about this underground horror show, how Father did us a favor switching our powers. She’ll soften. We’ll apologize by moving on, no need to say the words. This is one fairy tale I hope to be true.
There are more museum cases with golden objects in them, and I pause to read the plaque in front of one for an anecdote for Callie. It’s a story I’m familiar with, for once. Salome—one of Father’s—asked for John the Baptist’s head at King Herod’s wedding celebration. The platter in the museum supposedly held it as it was presented. Ghastly.
There must be something pretending to be the Holy Grail around here somewhere. And our quarry looking for it.
“Sean?” I call.
The sound echoes in the museum.
Then I spot it. Ahead there’s a case lined with red velvet and lights illuminating a green glass hexagon that is apparently nothing of real note. The glass around it is broken—Sean, I assume—but the dish sits where it should and that means he determined it’s magic-free. I can find him and get out of here.
I have to retrace my steps. The museum being closed means the exit isn’t open, and forcing my way out might put me outside the church. I want to speak with Callie, but not until I have Sean in tow. A story and the MIA soul we need to save. Gifts to seek forgiveness for questioning her actions.
I should have explained instead of asking. She and her mother are so close. Her mother plainly loves her. I can’t imagine not doing anything a person like that asks.
But I am well aware that I can’t understand their relationship. I’ve never known anything like it. My soul is new and I don’t even know what it means. There’s no way I could have explained any of that without sounding like the saddest boy in sad town. And I’m not.
At least as long as we’re good.
This time, I enter the cathedral proper. I catch myself thinking it’s more to my taste than the other one before I correct: there are no churches to my taste. That said, if there were, then this might be one, with its striped arches and stately gray columns.
Same uncomfortable wood benches, if fewer of them. Sean’s about halfway along again, sitting in the middle of a row. I make sure my footfalls are audible so as not to startle him.
“Made a bit of a mess downstairs,” I say and slide in next to him.
“I was in a hurry.” He pauses. “What took you so long?”
“Mad it’s me and not your girlfriend? I can’t imagine dating a guardian.” I shudder without meaning to.
“She wasn’t my girlfriend. And I’m sure it’s mutual.” I see a glint that some might call deadly in his eye. We study flash cards of human expressions, body language, the various glimmers in the eye as young demonlings. The better to spot opportunities for corruption.
“You care about her as if she was.” I may as well say he’s breathing. Which … is he breathing? Without my powers, I can’t tell. I can’t listen for the beat of his heart. Is he technically dead or alive?
He doesn’t deny it either. “I thought she hated me.”
It seems like she does? I keep my own counsel on that.
“Sucks to be proven right,” he goes on.
I can relate. “Sorry.” I have a sudden thought. “The Grail business—does it have something to do with her?”
That certainly seems like the kind of thing feelings for a woman could inspire someone to do, embark upon a quest to gain a magical object all these cathedrals claim to have and no one can locate.
Sean closes his eyes and sighs, slumps down in his seat. Enough of an answer for me.
He must know guardians can’t be wooed. So far as I’ve heard. “She’ll come after you,” I say.
“I know. I wish I knew where it was, so I could obtain it first.”
I think of what Callie would do. “You should let us help you. Callie’s great at solving puzzles.”
“You shouldn’t,” he says.
“Why not?”
He places his hands on the back of the bench in front of us. His knuckles flex as he grips it. “The Grail holds an immense amount of power. I told you that you were the inspiration for me deciding to steal it—the Order of Elerion wanted to create Hell on Earth. But the Grail can do the opposite. It can bring paradise into existence.”
I still. What would it mean—Heaven on Earth? An actual utopia? It might put Hell out of business, but wouldn’t it put Above out too? What would guardians do?
“I don’t think she’d want that,” I say, carefully, leaving aside the rest. “Saraya the Rude seems to quite like her job.”
His response is grim. “A warrior needs a war.”
I can’t argue that. “This is above our pay grade, my friend. What you’re talking about … it’s…”
“I’m aware,” he says. “I thought you might understand, given all this second-chance business. I like a grand gesture. She’s never noticed the others.”
Without asking, I’m certain he means the litany of high-profile thefts. I do understand.
“Maybe we could back up a few steps and you could tell me why she hates you and you’re willing to find the Grail to create some version of paradise for her without her asking.”
And then I’ll figure out how to redirect you. Callie must achieve her goal.
Sean looks at me. A long searching look, and he’s seriously considering it. Maybe he’s about to trust me, ask me for help, and I can walk out of here with a real gift for Callie. Or …
A squad of guardians rushes in through whatever the front of the church is called and fans out to flank us with their weapons on full display. Yes, that’s the scenario that happens.
They cry to each other in Latin and other tongues my current state prevents me from interpreting. Their arms gleam a metallic threat, picking up the light from the cathedral windows. Holy weapons.
Sean and I gain our feet in seconds.
“She’s not with them,” he says.
He means Saraya. We exchange a look. The squadron sans leader is closing in on us, but I check behind us and see him do the same. They’ve made one crucial mistake.
They left us an exit through the front of the cathedral. Saraya is likely waiting there, but we don’t have another option. If she’s out there, so is Callie.
“Run for it?” I suggest.
“After you,” he says.
We bolt unceremoniously from the end of the row and back toward the entrance. An arrow pierces a wood bench inches in front of me and the sounds of pursuit follow us but I force my legs to keep pumping. I don’t have to ask if they’re shooting to kill or wound. They certainly would be happy with each option.
Neither of us—fugitive from Hell or its prince—is anyone they would stoop to protect from their deadly aim.
Sean puts on a burst of speed and reaches the door first, slamming it open. We’re panting with the exertion as we reach the steps out front and I turn to try to bar the door. “Callie, can you lock it up?”
But it’s too late, the guardians inside push against it, moments from forcing their way out. “Some help here,” I say and glance over my shoulder to find Callie or Sean.
Callie stands in front of Sean, defending him, wings extended wide. Saraya has a blade leveled at her neck, the point nearly touching the skin.
Passersby give us a wide berth, a few on phones probably summoning the authorities.
I take a few steps away from the door and toward Callie without thinking. The guardians behind me rush out and surround all of us in what is probably a semicircle formation they’ve practiced a hundred times. My powers will protect Callie from almost anything. But from a guardian’s blade? Doubtful. There’s a reason we avoid them, besides their bad taste in fashion.
“Just let her take me,” Sean says.
“I can’t,” Callie says, and the words come out as a whisper. A scared whisper. “You know that.”
I scream at Father with every fiber of my being. I vow revenge. I threaten the entire world with destruction should anything happen to her.
I stand right where I am and try desperately to summon a way to help.
“This is tedious,” Saraya says. “You have no chance against us and you know it. Our orders are to return him, as with any escapee from Hell.”
Saraya doesn’t want to hurt Callie, I realize. Because of her association with me? Or is it something more? Is there a real person under that snobby, off-puttingly sanctimonious, weapon-toting armor?
There is for Sean.
Put in a position to do anything to please Saraya or let Callie die, I fear he’d go with door number one. I fear it, because it’s what I’d do if the positions were reversed.
I’d do it without hesitation—or I would have if I’d never met Callie. But if I’d never met Callie I wouldn’t know what it means to care about someone deeply enough that you’d remake the world for them. I get what Sean’s about all too well.
This situation must be dealt with first.
“Come on,” Saraya says. “This is taking too long. You’re ruining our retrieval time average.”
“So sorry,” Callie says, and the motion of speaking allows the knife to prick her throat. A red bead blooms on her neck.
Saraya doesn’t press the advantage, but this is headed nowhere good. All I can see is Callie’s neck, bleeding. My mind supplies a full-on tableau of the worst-case scenario—Callie prone on the ground with far more blood pooling around her. Stop it, stop it, I have to stop it.
There is one person who could put a stop to this situation.
I close my eyes and shout for him, not that the volume will matter if he decides to ignore the call: “Michael! Arch! Angel! Michael! I, Luke Astaroth Morningstar! Call! Upon! You!”
Saraya snarls. “He won’t come.”
But there’s a change in the air around us. It grows heavy, dense, charged from one breath to the next.
He is coming.
Saraya gazes at the sky and then assumes a devout stance, dropping her sword to her side, bowing her head. The rest of the guardians follow her lead.
Callie is able to turn her head with the blade gone and our eyes find each other. I go stand at her side as the dust on the streets lifts into a swirling cloud that will cloak us from anyone who isn’t among our party. Anyone whose eyes might disintegrate at the sight of an archangel on Earth.
I reach out and gently wipe away the small tear of blood on Callie’s neck. That’s better.
Sean blinks at the glow descending toward us. “What did you do?”
“He saved you. Again,” Callie supplies. She nods to me. “And me. You’re a genius. Let me talk to him—I have an idea.”
“You always do.”
She smiles at me with the warmth I’m used to and I imagine our apologies contained within it like I dreamed.
Michael descends into the maelstrom of us and the dust storm he’s conjured. His pale wings glimmer with their own light, his skin smooth and hard. He radiates power, just as the first time we met him. His energy is also … different than when he helped us stop the apocalypse. Not that he was cuddly that day. But right now he scowls in a way that says he’s actively peeved, like we interrupted his nap. It takes effort to look at him.
Even with my powers, Callie is squinting. Her wings ruffle, no doubt sharpening, a reflex in reaction to the presence of an angel. Simply being here, he’s a threat.
I hope my gamble pays off, and he’s currently a lesser problem than Saraya and her history with Sean.
“Why did you summon me, child of Satan?” he asks.
Callie starts to answer, then must remember one of the first rules of protocol Porsoth shared with her. We always address one of higher rank only after being addressed.
She’s never been that good at following it.
“I require a stay of execution,” I say, “of your orders.”
“My orders?”
Michael is like Father, if Father went for the distant alien air. He’s like what Father would be if he stayed up Above, far from mortal concerns. Which means unlike Father, he can’t be baited. I have no idea what Michael wants.
Callie needs to talk, to present her idea. I make her an opening.
“Callie?” I say.
She jumps in gratefully. “Your guardians are here to capture Sean Tattersall and return him to Hell.”
I notice for the first time that Sean’s head is bowed too. None of the guardians have changed their posture yet.
“He was set loose from the bounds of Hell,” Callie says. Though certainly Michael could have read the details in the fabric of reality for himself in a nanosecond. “Luke and I have … We have less than two days left to show he can be redeemed. It’s a bargain with Lucifer—to prove that people can change … Can deserve second chances…”
She’s losing steam in the face of Michael’s inscrutable lack of serenity. The dust in the clouds around us spins with renewed fervor.
“Is it a bargain or a game?” Michael asks.
Callie looks to me with a helpless expression.
“Father considers everything a game,” I say. “But for us, it’s serious.”
Callie nods. Good answer.
Michael goes silent for an amount of time that I’d remark on for any other being in the universe. Dust storm got your tongue? I can taste the words.
I wait as we all do, silently.
His first move isn’t to speak, it’s an actual movement. He glides toward Sean. I can see that Callie wants to do what she did earlier and block the path, keep our quarry safe.
“Look at me,” Michael says, low.
Sean raises his head. He doesn’t flinch or disintegrate.
After a long moment, Michael faces Saraya. “This will continue, my loyal servant, Saraya the Rude,” he says, “for the length of their terms with the damned one. You are not to prevent their activities.”
“Thank you,” Callie says, a gloating note in it that I appreciate but Saraya of the sour-lemon face does not.
He glances over at her and my wings. The dust swirls harder. He speaks to Saraya again. “You are to give them any assistance they require.”
Saraya’s face ticks up and I admit to grudging admiration that she doesn’t hide her complete outrage from Michael.
To us, he says, “Good luck.”
Like he was eavesdropping earlier in Father’s throne room, joining the echo of everyone else. So far our luck hasn’t been.
The dust swoops in around us and I shut my eyes, only opening them when the sensation of being stung by a million tiny pinpricks ends. Michael is gone, and here we are.
With our new allies.