ACHANELECH
France. Versailles Gardens. Monday, May 13, 12:05 AM GMT+1
“WHAT TIME IS IT, Chérie?” Achanelech asked, feeling his brow pinch in irritation. He waited with his consort, Emanelech, under the cover of darkness by the tree line near one of the many fountains in the geometric gardens of Versailles.
Humidity—the smell a mixture of acid rain and summer heat—hung in the silent night air and covered his skin in an unwanted layer of pungent moisture. Impatiently, he scanned the well-groomed periphery. The full moon shimmered off the surface of the nearest fountain, illuminating the now-deserted park.
Strolling through these gardens over the centuries had given him great pleasure. He had to tip his hat to that megalomaniac Louis XIV for building them. But they weren’t here tonight for a pleasant stroll to admire the maniacally ordered shrubbery. They had business to conduct with their sworn enemy—a meeting that was long overdue.
One did as one must, he thought. Especially when trying to gain a tactical advantage in the war to survive.
“Five minutes later than the last time you asked,” Emanelech snapped. “A few minutes after midnight. Our source will be here any minute.”
Achanelech tsked at her and paced, making heavy use of his cane to support him. His bones creaked as he walked; the stiffness in his leg unbearable since his last tête-a-tête in Hell. The jeweled top of his walking stick dug into his palm. Attached to a concealed knife, it was a replacement for the one he’d lost back in April while attempting to dispatch that scientist, Dr. Kai Solomon.
He glanced at Emanelech, thinking he also should’ve worn a cloak to protect him from the cloying dampness. Then again, her reasons had nothing to do with the weather. She wore it to cover her still healing injuries from when they made payment for their botched assignment.
Their Master had been clear: capture Cara Collins, don’t kill her. They’d failed in the first, and nearly succeeded in the second when Achanelech had wielded his knife at Dr. Solomon only to have Miss Collins dive in front of the blade.
Achanelech hadn’t quite anticipated Cara’s willingness to forfeit her life for the good doctor. A mistake he wouldn’t make again.… Had Cara died, Achanelech would’ve single-handedly destroyed his chance and that of his Master, Lucifer, and all of his brethren for winning their prize and escaping Judgment Day. Not his intended or desired outcome by far, yet one for which he and Emanelech bore the full brunt of their Master’s displeasure.
As for the cloak, Emanelech refused to be seen uncovered in public. The scarring on her arms and the deep slash over her right eyebrow continued to cause her angst. Nothing a few more meals of human souls couldn’t heal.
They’d come a long way on their road to recovery over the last eight weeks, crawling back from charred lumps of demon flesh to their former selves and current human guises. Well almost. Even after two months he still had trouble sleeping on his back.
A figure dressed in a hooded cloak emerged from the darkness. The dark-colored garment swirled around the wearer and gave its movement the appearance of gliding across a smooth surface.
Crickets that had been silent seconds before began to chirp in symphony, and the surrounding forest came alive with the sounds of night creatures.
Lulled into safety by the presence of an angel, perhaps? He scowled, irritated that God’s creatures insisted on hiding in his presence. As if they sensed a predator… or something worse.
“It’s about time,” Achanelech muttered under his breath, hoping to make this a quick and productive encounter. His priority was to return himself and Emanelech into Lucifer’s good graces. As such he needed to gain something of value from tonight’s meeting.
“What do you have for us?” Emanelech asked anxiously before he could even form words.
“News of the Twelve,” said the gender-neutral voice from underneath the hood. Standing midway between a tall woman and a medium-sized man, Achanelech couldn’t surmise if the obscured figure was either male or female under the garment.
“Names? How many?” he asked. His pulse quickened. That would hold them over. Beside one possible suspect they’d been pursuing since childhood, Cara Collins was the only confirmed member of the Holy Twelve who would lead the battle on the side of their enemy.
“The ‘possible’ has been confirmed, and a new member revealed.”
“That’s all?” he groused, his hope short-lived. Three in total. The Angelorum was sure taking its time assembling its little army of twelve.
Emanelech stepped on his foot. Pain shot up from the claws at the end of his toes, and he let out a grunt. Bitch. She’ll pay for that later, he thought.
“We appreciate your taking this chance to tell us,” she gritted out, glaring at Achanelech with glowing eyes from under her hood. Her less-than-gentle reminder that this was her contact, not his.
Her voice turned to a purr as she addressed the angel. “The new name?”
A gloved hand pulled an envelope from within the cloak and handed it to Emanelech.
“You’ll find it in there. Burn it once you are done. One more thing, they’re expected at the Sanctuary before month end.” Without another word, the figure turned and glided away, disappearing back into the night. The insects and night creatures fell back into silence with the angel’s departure.
Emanelech tore open the envelope.
Calling a flame to his forefinger, Achanelech crouched next to her to illuminate the paper.
He skipped past the name he already knew. A smile spread across his face when he saw the one he hadn’t.
Chamuel, Son of Eae.
A plan rapidly unfurled in his mind. He cackled with glee. This might give them exactly what they needed to gain back Lucifer’s favor… not to mention help even up the score with his angelic nemesis, Eae.
There was no mistaking the aura of love that surrounded the Nephilim male when Cara lay dying in his arms at the warehouse as Dr. Solomon attempted to save her life. If his feelings were returned by her, he’d make the perfect bait.
Achanelech set the paper and envelope on fire, watching the flame lick across the creamy paper leaving black ash in its wake. The delicate charred flakes broke off, spinning in pirouettes to the ground until nothing remained. A chortle rose from his throat as he rubbed his hands together to relieve them of residual ash.
“Acchie, you’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you?” purred Emanelech.
Delight filled his demon heart. “Oui, Chérie. Cara Collins, once again, will be ours.”