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LUCIFER’S ATTENTION snapped to the messenger, who darted in and bowed low. He dismissed his attendants and broadened his shoulders. “Rise and report.”
“Captain Zivel sends word. Elazar will do it.”
Such a potent sense of triumph swelled in Lucifer that he felt victory was already achieved. “Perfect.”
“But not for you.” The messenger shook his head. “Zivel ordered me to make it clear that Elazar won’t do it for you.”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes in annoyance. Zivel had always harbored a terrible jealousy for Elazar. That stupid oaf never could reconcile the fact that a wingless ministry rogue outclassed an average soldier like himself. “Well, you can tell your captain that I don’t care who Elazar does it for so long as he just does it.”
A second messenger dropped in from the east and threw himself before the Devil face down. “Pardon, my liege. Urgent news from Malkior.”
Surprise curtailed Lucifer’s agitation. Malkior usually communicated only with his master, lord Yakum. He didn’t expect to hear from either Malkior or Yakum until their plague was truly ready. “Then speak,” Lucifer commanded.
“Malkior says they attacked him,” the messenger answered. “Jediah, and a ministry angel with him.”
A cold jolt ruined Lucifer’s original self-confidence. He lifted the demon up by the throat. “A ministry angel? Who was it? Who!”
The demon’s feeble hands pulled against Lucifer’s wrist. “He doesn’t know,” he half-choked. “Malkior doesn’t know! He never saw him before, but he was there, and he aided Jediah. That’s all! That’s all!”
Noting the defeated look in the messenger’s eyes, Lucifer realized he’d get nothing more from him. He relented his grip, letting the demon drop hard to hack around in the grass.
“Begging your pardon, sire,” Zivel’s messenger approached with lowered eyes. “It’s just a ministry angel. He’s practically harmless.”
Lucifer rushed into his face, ready to break his neck. “Has this war, after six thousand years, taught you nothing? I’ve underestimated God’s pathetic scrap heaps one too many times. No one He throws in is ever just a harmless anything!”
Brushing the wrinkles off of his robe, Lucifer pointed at the other messenger. “You! Tell your master, Malkior, to disappear and find a hole to cower in. He’s good at that. And you.” He turned back to the other and adjusted the loosened edges of his collar. “Send word to Elazar and Zivel. Tell them to ready Zivel’s legion and put my plans into motion.” The messenger’s neck tensed and arched back as Lucifer continued to speak. “I may not know this meddlesome ministry angel, but I know Akela. He’s obsessed with his relationships. Once I set my trap, he’ll seek that nature angel friend of his, and provide exactly the bait we need. If God is withholding Jediah—His ace—then I guess I’ll start with His joker.”
***
This kind of waiting tested Jediah’s patience most. Every lost second meant another step behind Malkior, but until Akela returned from scouting, it meant he could do nothing. None of them could. They were stuck in the Paris catacombs, surrounded by pieces of the city’s darker histories.
Jediah looked down at Nechum’s makeshift arm sling. Gold stained the fabric. He frowned and determined to clean it out before returning it. Nechum deserved better than a splotched shawl for his kindness.
Testing his broken arm, Jediah moved it but a few inches before the stings bit back. Pain and frustration forced him to lie back again, anxious and bored.
Seeking some way to relax, Jediah ran his hand through his hair. The cool strands soothed his roughed fingers until they met a single bump. He paused and fingered the thicker locks at the nape of his neck. It was a braid. He had missed one.
Thoughts of Chloe flooded his mind and stopped his initial urge to undo it.
No, I mustn’t undo this. It mattered so much to her, and I mustn’t forget her.
But then he wondered if he should forget. Her illness had her mortal life hanging by a thread, and her unsaved soul teetered on the edge of absolute death, ready to plunge into darkness. Cutting the braid and cutting his ties to her sounded easiest to rid himself of potential grief.
Still, Jediah shook his head. But she had her grandfather who loves her and gave her that Bible. There still may be a chance... for her, that is. Once more, dreams of salvation and its mysteries returned to him, and Jediah saddened at the irony. He wanted it, but couldn’t have it. She needed it, but didn’t reach for it.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. But I can’t abandon her while she’s unsaved and dying.
Releasing a sigh, his inner commonsense criticized the new plan forming in his head. It sounded crazy. Absolutely nuts. He didn’t know what it’s fully like to carry the Spirit inside, but he knew God. His understanding of salvation was limited, but he knew some things. His quiet debate went on until the arguments for the plan slowly gained the majority.
“You know what humans need to do to be saved,” he reasoned. “That should be enough, right? Besides, she loved letters. Surely, I can spare enough time for one.”
***
Frowning, Eran watched the pained look on Jediah’s face. If their captain was disappointed in them, he had every reason to be. Eran hated to admit it, but once again, he and Laszio’s usefulness struck a dead end.
They spotted Jediah when he chased Malkior underground. They leaped into action as instructed, but instead of helping, they wound up lost in the labyrinth, choking on fog, and shooting light at harmless shadows. Malkior might not have gotten away if they moved faster. True, their prestigious captain never berated them for their slipshod performance, but what was there to be said other than they embarrassed themselves? Jediah never shied from giving criticism, but he never attacked anyone’s personal worth.
Eran released a breath. That was one of the many character qualities he so admired about his captain. Eran often asked himself why he couldn’t be as morally balanced. Why couldn’t he be as resourceful? Jediah was forthright, forgiving, and knew what to do. He always knew what to do.
Trying to keep his frustrations from his face, Eran rubbed the back of his neck. Jediah shouldn’t have to pick up our slack. Eran heard a grunt from Laszio, who paced in tight circles. He released a light chuckle. It never ceased to amaze him how his best friend always displayed on the outside how he himself felt on the inside.
Laszio cast suspicious glances at Alameth, who prayed in the distant corner with his hood so low it touched the tip of his nose.
Eran shuffled in his seat. He didn’t feel comfortable around Alameth either, for he didn’t know what to make of him. He constantly seemed aloof, like he wanted to be cut off from everything and too well practiced at it. Not to mention, it was his fog they suffocated on not but a couple hours ago.
Eran leaned over to Nechum, who hadn’t yet spoken a word since the incident. “Hey, Nechum,” he whispered. “You ministry types have this empathic sense, don’t you?”
Nechum squinted. “Yes?”
“What can you tell us about him?” Eran nodded toward Alameth.
Twisting in his seat, Nechum stared at Alameth, then faced Eran head on. “Forgive me if this sounds harsh, but I hardly believe that’s your business.”
“But do you sense anything strange? Perhaps a bit off?”
An indiscernible expression crossed Nechum’s face. Eran couldn’t put his finger on it, but the way Nechum’s head tipped sideways made it appear he wanted to retreat from the conversation—a telltale sign when an honest person couldn’t lie but hated to share the truth.
Nechum pursed his lips. “You mistake my gift for clairvoyance, brother. I cannot read minds or sense what all is in a person or being. Only what they feel.”
Laszio, who apparently eavesdropped, knelt next to them. “Then what is Alameth feeling? What emotions do you sense in him right now?”
Folding his hands in his lap, Nechum’s face fell, and Eran tried to piece together what that meant. “Are you saying that Alameth isn’t feeling much at all?” Eran asked.
Nechum closed his eyes but didn’t deny it.
Eran traded looks with Laszio. “Should we be concerned about that?”
For a moment, Nechum didn’t move. “Yes,” he breathed. “And no.” His aquamarine eyes deep with pity, he stared at Eran and Laszio. “I don’t know all that Alameth or others of his kind have seen or been through. He’s probably seen things, wretched things, you and I can only imagine for six thousand years. So I ask you, which would be worse for Alameth? For him to emotionally detach himself from the grim side of his work? Or to like it too much?”
Terrible scenarios played out in Eran’s mind, and he grimaced.
Laszio drew in close and spoke in a soft voice. “So do you think Alameth needs help, Nechum?”
Nechum stared into his wringing hands that rested on his lap. “Everyone needs help, brother Laszio. Including you and including me.”
Akela’s head poked in through the ceiling. “Hey, everyone. I’m back.” He jumped down, and a burnt scent wafted off his steaming wings. He rolled his shoulder. “Boy, that flight was a workout.”
Jediah wobbled to get up while only using one arm, but he rose to a stand. “How’d it go, Akela? Did you find Malkior?”
Akela swayed back and forth. His hands fiddled with his satchel. “Sorry, but no. I checked every building, street, sewage pipe, doghouse, and potted plant. Everything. Came up with zip.”
“Great. We wasted an hour,” Jediah said.
Akela grinned. “But it’s not over, sir. Far from it.”
Surprised by his comment, Eran stood up in interest. “How?”
Akela’s wings hummed. “While I was searching, I hatched an idea.”
Laszio raised his eyebrows. “A plan? You?”
“Hey, I’m not the smartest messenger, but I have my moments,” Akela returned.
“We’re listening, Akela,” Jediah said as he nailed Laszio with that familiar warning look.
Feeling sorry for his friend, yet agreeing that his interjection came rather rude, Eran bumped Laszio in the shoulder.
Akela, unbothered, clapped his hands together. “Okay. So. Malkior is a nature angel, right? They’re wingless, so he had to flee on foot. But he’s not anywhere in the city or the outskirts, so it’s safe to assume he jumped ship into the third realm.”
“So now we’re really stuck. He could be anywhere,” Eran said, then crossed his arms.
“Ho, ho, ho. You’d think so,” Akela said. “Well, little did he know, he left traces of this!” He opened his hand. Two black specks the size of poppy seeds rolled in the center of his palm.
Laszio frowned at the flecks. “Dirt. You found dirt.”
“Yes!” Akela responded with increasing jubilance. “But it’s not just any dirt.”
Nechum cupped Akela’s hand in his own and leaned over the specks. “It’s ash.”
Eran peered at Nechum. “Which means what?”
“Physical matter isn’t readily susceptible to spiritual influence, but see how Akela can hold these so easily?” Nechum nudged a speck. “This ash must have come off of Malkior when he escaped. This could lead us right to him!”
Eran peered closer. “How?”
Closing his hand, Akela drew the ash close to himself. “After the Sin Curse, God appointed nature angels to help delay the earth’s rapid decay. They keep it from tearing itself apart. Thus, it’s only natural that they interact with the physical realm on a near constant basis, and it just so happens that after a time, their beings ‘imprint’ or ‘acclimate’ to the place they manipulate most. They mimic their surroundings kinda like a copy machine, and praise the Lord that He made volcanic sediment as individual as the stench of a camel!”
Before Eran could even question what on earth a copy machine was, Akela dug into his satchel. “Now where did I put that—Ah, here it is.” He pulled out a tiny bottle. After carefully containing the ash and corking its top, he buried the bottle back into the bag.
Eran’s hope dawned. “So you’re saying that we use this ash to identify Malkior’s volcano, swoop in, then flush him out.”
“Bingo!” Akela winked. “and I know just the brother who can help us.”
“Who?” Jediah inquired.
“Jedd. He’s my best friend and a nature angel of the wind class. He’d be more than happy to identify this soot for us.”
Shaking his head, Laszio frowned. “No, he can’t. This is a stealth mission, Akela. No one’s supposed to know we’re even here.”
Akela hand-waved at Laszio. “Who says I have to tell him what it’s for? He and I are tight like that.” He crossed his fingers, then turned to Jediah.
Jediah looked pensive and more than a little wary, a rare thing for him by Eran’s recollection. He wondered if his captain was more concerned that Akela would blab too much or if Jedd would deduce too much.
After a minute, Jediah nodded.
Akela grinned. “I won’t let you down, sir! I promise. I’ll talk to no one but him. You’ll see.”
Jediah lifted an eyebrow. “Do you know where Jedd is right now?”
“Mexico. El Puente de Dios to be precise. They’ll be pushing the warm front to the north. They do that every spring season this time of year.”
Jediah covered his mouth in thought, then straightened his posture. “Fly to Mexico, get his advice, then come straight back. Understand? No detours.”
“No detours, got it,” Akela affirmed.
“And no socializing.”
“Of course. Of course.” Akela’s thin wings raised. Gold lightning sparked from their tips. “Be back soon!” He shot out of the tunnel.
Eran rubbed his brow and found a spot to make himself comfortable for prayer. As far as he knew, this could be a disaster.