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Imorean wrapped his wings a little tighter around his shoulders. There was no need to shield them anymore. He and some of the Cherubim were the only ones in the police station. Granted, they were separated from him by a glass and cinder block barrier, but they were angels, nonetheless. They knew what he was. Imorean adjusted his weight on the narrow bench in his holding cell. He had told Michael something like this would happen, but was he listened to? God, no. That would be inconceivable. He sighed, coughing as he did so. A plastic bench bolted to the concrete floor was the only thing in the cell aside from himself. He had slept on and off for the last few hours. It was only within the last two that he had been able to see properly again. His eyes still burned. Under his wings, he checked his watch. At least his hands had been released. Four in the morning. No one had spoken to him.
The door clicked open and Imorean sat bolt upright, groaning and trying to cover his eyes against the bright lights. They were still sensitive. Kerubiel stepped inside. An aura of raw fury followed him. The door closed and Imorean swallowed.
“Who are you?” asked Kerubiel, folding his gray wings.
Imorean considered for a moment. He could try to lie and take the risk of landing in even more trouble. But how could things get worse than this? Didn’t most angels know who he was by now anyway? Or had he misinterpreted that? He could tell the truth and –
Kerubiel took a step forward, heels thudding on the floor. Imorean launched to his feet. The Cherub drew a sharp breath, one hand flexing.
“I ask again, who are you?”
Imorean frowned. Kerubiel’s hand fell to his belt and Imorean spotted the small, black can of pepper spray. He pushed his shoulders back.
“My name is Imorean Frayneson.” A sudden recklessness invaded him. Some defiant, angry emotion. “Who’s asking?”
Kerubiel’s gray eyes flicked, looking him up and down. Anger rippled the air. “Do you know who I am? To whom you speak?”
Imorean shrugged and folded his arms. There was something haughty and reminiscent of Uriel and Sariel about Kerubiel’s manner that just made him not want to cooperate. “Vaguely. Why?”
“I am Kerubiel, leader of the Cherubim and protector of the Vatican, the Pope, the City and the Holy See.”
“Glorified guard, then?”
Kerubiel’s wings snapped up and a rumble made the air shiver. “You were with the Archangel Commander Michael in the Piazza last night. Why?”
“He asked me to be with him.”
Kerubiel laughed quietly. “And just why would he bring someone with him who reeks so strongly of human?”
Imorean shrugged. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but there was something in Kerubiel’s inflection that rankled him, digging right under his skin.
“I have never known my brother to put much hope or faith in the hybrids. Even more shocking that he would start to care about one. They are bodies to him. After all, it is a miracle any of you have lived even this long.”
Hands twitched at Imorean’s sides. He couldn’t let Kerubiel rile him. He bit the inside of his cheek. Something about Kerubiel’s words rang back to Sariel’s.
“Is Archangel Michael your commander?” asked Kerubiel, leaning on the door.
“No. I actually answer more often to the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny, but I do some work on the side for him.”
Tension cracked the air and Imorean took a short breath. Maybe now wasn’t the time for sarcasm. A rumble echoed from inside Kerubiel’s chest.
“Why did you come here? Why were you inside the Archives?”
“I told you when you arrived, I got lost. Disoriented.”
“In the middle of the night? After closing hours?”
Imorean swallowed. Being lost was his story and he was sticking to it. “... Yeah.”
“A likely story, indeed. I ask again, why were you there?”
“I’ve already told you.”
“What was Archangel Michael looking for?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
He took a strengthening breath as Kerubiel paused. Not telling full plans was in line with Michael’s character and Imorean knew the Cherub was considering his words.
“You are aware that if you went missing, the only ones who would know for some time are the angels, correct? Perhaps your family would be notified, but we know how avoidant Archangel Michael is of difficult paperwork.”
Imorean’s heart skipped a beat. “What are you implying?”
“No one would miss you. No humans would get involved to investigate any disappearances. To them, you do not exist. The rest of the Cherubim and I have free rein and if you do not start to cooperate, I will exercise it. Are you going to tell me the truth?”
Brown eyes narrowed. Imorean was at a loss for words. The only ones who would miss him or even know that he had vanished were his friends and the Archangels. He stayed quiet. There was no answer he could give.
“Now, Imorean Frayneson,” said Kerubiel, folding his arms and shuffling his dark, gray wings. “I asked you earlier who you were. What are you and for what purpose did you come here? Answer me and answer me now.”
For a moment, Imorean considered. Silence stretched between them. Michael hadn’t told him not to say anything. He wasn’t exactly holding sensitive information. There was something about Kerubiel, though, some aggressive tendency, that he didn’t like. It set him on edge. The silence stretched further and Imorean glared. There was a tension to it now.
“I’m the fifth Archangel,” said Imorean. “Michael is my mentor. Would you really dare lay a hand on the newest Archangel, Kerubiel? Could get pretty messy.”
The Cherub snorted. “Messy, indeed. Perhaps then, removing you from the equation would be a cleaner option for the rest of us.”
Imorean hurled himself backward as Kerubiel’s hand flexed. A sword flashed into the Cherub’s palm. Imorean pressed himself hard against the bench. There was nowhere he could go. His teleportation powers were too underdeveloped. His sword was confiscated. He didn’t want to use his powers. Not in a confined room with someone he could seriously injure. His nerves were raw and strained. He was trapped. In more ways than one. Kerubiel shook his head and drew himself to his full height. Imorean wondered for half a heartbeat if he could overpower Kerubiel without his sword and get away. He glanced at the faux glass window of his cell. The other Cherubim were watching them. A door at the back of the processing area opened. The Cherubim moved, shuffling apart as a small, strawberry-blond Cherub strode through the processing area and pushed the cell door open. Kerubiel turned and Imorean relaxed. For some reason, he was reminded of Colton. An older, sportier version of Colton. In its own way, it was reassuring. The tension seemed to have been sucked out of the cell.
The Cherub looked between them, then focused on Kerubiel. “Sir.”
“What is it, Simiel?” asked Kerubiel, half lowering his sword.
The Cherub, Simiel, cleared his throat. “Archangel Michael has been confirmed in France and –”
Imorean’s heart sank as Kerubiel turned to him, a horrible smile on his face. “Looks as though your commander has abandoned you. Imorean Frayneson, we are going to finish our conversation. If it does not go in the direction I want, then I will transfer you to Pagliarelli in Sicily. When you are ready to talk to me, I will see what I can do to retrieve you. Until such a time, I believe you will benefit from some time in total isolation in a maximum-security prison.”
Imorean opened his mouth to snap a response at Kerubiel, but Simiel interrupted before he could make a sound. “Sir.”
“What is it, Simiel?” snarled Kerubiel.
“Mr. Frayneson’s bail has been paid.”
Even as Simiel spoke, Imorean grinned. How he hadn’t noticed it before, he didn’t know, but now, now that he had a glimmer of hope, he felt it – a certain blueness to the air. He looked up at the ceiling, wondering if he could pinpoint the presence he felt, but Kerubiel’s voice pulled his attention back into the cell.
“By whom?” snapped Kerubiel, sheathing his sword.
“Archangel Raphael. He’s upstairs.”
Imorean’s grin deepened as Kerubiel snorted. He extended his senses, feeling Kerubiel’s fury. For the first time ever, feeling someone angry was incredibly satisfying.
“Take him upstairs,” snapped Kerubiel, shifting away from the door.
Imorean felt his own heart soar in his chest. Raphael and Michael. They hadn’t abandoned him. They hadn’t. He was leaving. Imorean wasn’t entirely sure if his feet touched the ground as he took a few steps toward the cell door. A hand seized his upper arm and he looked up at Kerubiel. The Cherub’s gray eyes blazed with a ferocity that took all the spring out of Imorean’s step. It was an anger he had seen in gray before. It knocked him back to earth.
“Tell Michael I will be waiting if he dares to return to Italy. If you ever dare to come back, I will not hesitate to kill you – hybrid Archangel or not. My loyalty does not belong to Michael or to the Seraphim. It belongs to my task and my orders. I will not allow you to get in the way again. Go.”
A chill hit Imorean’s stomach as he stepped away from Kerubiel and passed through the cell door, steps faster than usual. He didn’t stop until he was beside Simiel.
Imorean breathed out hard. “Okay. Lead the way.”
“Upstairs,” replied Simiel.
Imorean walked half a pace behind him, letting Simiel take the lead across the large processing space toward a stairwell. Only one thought coursed his head as he ascended the stairs. He had been bailed. He nearly bumped into Simiel’s back as the Cherub pushed open a door at the top of the stairwell. Imorean nodded at him and stepped through into a spacious lobby. Beyond large windows, the streets were full of life and movement. Another breath of relief swept Imorean’s chest. His eyes locked onto a figure standing in the center of the police lobby. Raphael. Imorean left Simiel’s side and walked across the floor to Raphael, opening his mouth to greet him, to tell him how much of a saint he was. Then Raphael turned and his expression darkened.
“Not a word,” said Raphael, holding up a finger. “I’m not happy with you.”
Imorean snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t think he had ever seen Raphael angry. And now – he pushed his senses a bit – Raphael felt furious.
“Thank you, Simiel,” said Raphael. “I can only hope he has been behaving.”
Simiel shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I work in the administration offices.”
“I understand. Can I take him off your hands now?”
“Yes. Just be sure that he does not come back to Italy.”
“No trial or serving time?” asked Raphael. “Michael has given the direct order that Imorean be returned to the field.”
“Kerubiel would push for it, but we cannot exactly detain him against Michael’s direct orders. Michael’s orders override any of our own, excepting any prior established orders. Like the order to protect the Vatican ...”
“What kind of sense does that make?” asked Imorean, unable to stop himself.
Raphael drew a tense breath. “Michael is the reigning authority between our Father and the Cherubim. For Kerubiel and the Cherubim, any orders from Michael are treated with the same sanctity as if they had come from Father. These are not orders that can be broken, rivalled or overridden. Michael’s word is law, except when his word contradicts something he has already said. As Michael is ordering your return to the field and gave no orders regarding detainment, Kerubiel is not in a position to make his own decision concerning you. Now, until we leave this building, not another sound.”
Imorean held up his hands in surrender, then rubbed his eyes a few times. They were still itching. He glanced outside. He wanted to get going and he wasn’t sure that he ever wanted to return to Italy.
“I advise you should leave sooner rather than later,” said Simiel. “The longer you stay here, the more furious Kerubiel will become. I urge you both to leave the country and take a long absence before you return.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” muttered Imorean. He sidestepped as he spotted Raphael’s elbow jabbing toward him.
“Something I intend to pass on to Michael,” nodded Raphael. “Imorean, let’s go.”
