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A soft cough brought Kheone out of her much-needed, dreamless sleep. She grabbed her sword on the nightstand before she had even opened her eyes.
“That will not be necessary, Kheone.” Michael’s wry voice was soft.
She let go of her sword and showed him her empty hand. The archangel stood a few feet from the end of her bed, an open rift behind him. Fully dressed, including snow boots and a thick winter coat, a packed duffle bag hung over one shoulder. The cold was getting to him, too.
Kheone sat up and stretched. “What’s going on?”
“I apologize for the intrusion.” Another apology. How odd. “I wanted to allow you as much rest as possible, but I must leave shortly.”
Leave? In the middle of a murder investigation? That didn’t seem at all like the archangel she knew. Her question must have written itself on her face because before she could ask it, he continued.
“You no longer have an experienced healer. The gathering in Boston has a healer to spare. I must assess their ability to part with one.”
She nodded her understanding. Some angels retained their full ability to heal themselves, but many had lost the ability in part or in whole. They had been relying on those who could heal others since the Second Fall, but it was a rare talent. Most gatherings had only one healer. Serel had been theirs. With him gone and the demons planning something, this put their gathering at risk for high casualties.
“Anything else I need to know?”
“I also contacted an expert in ancient languages,” he said. “I will take the fragments of the device to her. This may take a few days. I have made certain you are more than capable of leading the gathering during this difficult time.”
It only took a few thousand years of training and mentorship. Michael used Hurst University as his headquarters but rarely stayed longer than a few days. He traveled between all the gatherings around the world, ensuring they had the training and resources to battle any demons which might show up in their regions. She had half-expected him to stick around this time, though. Unexplained deaths did not happen every day. Kheone was both flattered by Michael’s trust and worried he had left so much in her hands.
“Safe journey, Michael,” she said.
With a curt nod, the archangel reached into his coat and pulled out a piece of paper, placing it on her desk. He turned on his toes and strode through the open rift, not sparing her a glance.
Caught between pleasure at the effect she apparently had on him and troubled by it, Kheone put the incident out of her mind. As much as she would like to consider Michael’s recent behavioral changes and what they might mean, more important things needed her attention right now.
Kheone picked up the paper he had left on her desk. The patrol schedule she had glimpsed yesterday. She looked it over. Considering the administration part of leading wasn’t his strong suit, this schedule was well done. The only thing she would change is the pairing of Emric and Maj, only because she knew the two were—what had Maj said?—knocking boots. She doubted Michael did.
Kheone quickly changed into workout clothes. Crossing the courtyard to the gym, she looked for the little black cat she had started calling Machka in her head. She even called out in a small voice that did not carry. No luck. A stab of disappointment struck her heart. Perhaps her recent loss caused a bond to form so quickly.
The large, silent gym echoed her footsteps as Kheone turned on the lights and took her place at the front of the room. A few moments later, the rest of the gathering trickled in. Some still had grief etched into puffy faces. Others looked grim. None smiled.
“Good morning, angels,” she said, the bell tower ringing out seven chimes. “You know what to do.”
The angels paired off and sparred. Kheone monitored the sessions, offering suggestions to the losers and encouragement to the winners. When the clock struck eight, she dismissed them. Maj stayed behind, leaning on the wall next to the entrance.
“What’s up?” Kheone asked.
The other angel grinned, a fleeting thing evaporating almost as soon as it began. “Funny, I was just going to ask the same thing.”
“Michael’s gone to recruit a new healer.” She left out the part about the fragments. The fewer angels who knew about them, the safer they were at the moment.
“Not that.” Maj waved dismissively. “Where did you go after the library? I came to check on you once we replaced the books on the shelves, but you weren’t there.”
Crap. What could she say which was true but wouldn’t reveal her devil’s bargain with Shax? The fewer angels who knew about that, too, the better. Kheone licked her lips.
“I needed a moment. Or a hundred.” She shrugged. Truth, but she neglected to mention she had spent them in the presence of a demon.
Maj pressed her lips together. “Okay. You know you have friends, right? We’re supposed to help each other through something like this.”
Kheone walked over to her friend and hugged her.
“I know,” she whispered into Maj’s soft, black curls. “But sometimes you have to grieve in private.”
“Don’t let it become a habit.”
“Promise.” Kheone let her go and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the next words out of her mouth. “I’m going through Serel’s room later. I could use some help. You up for joining me?”
Tears pooled in Maj’s eyes, but she nodded.
“I’ll be there after I shower. Join me when you’re ready,” Kheone said.
She gave her friend’s arm a quick squeeze, and Maj left. Kheone turned off the lights and secured the room. Strolling out into the courtyard, she stopped still. Almost like magic, the little cat sat on the bench.
“Good morning, Machka.” The old word for cat had become his name.
“Meow.”
She scratched under his chin—she didn’t know how she knew, but Machka was definitely a boy.
“Sorry, I can’t stay for more. Too many things on my plate.”
Kheone walked toward the dorm, intent on getting on with her day. The cat followed and darted into the hall when she opened the door. The small creature stuck to her heels as she walked to her room and scurried in. Apparently, she had a cat now.
The halls of the dorm were nearly silent; only the faint drone from the TV in the common room made any discernible sound. Post-training was usually a boisterous affair, with most of the gathering eating in the kitchen. Serel was often in the middle, making and passing out breakfast to the hungry angels. Without him, there was no reason to flock to the kitchen. Something to bring up with Michael when he returned.
The cat meowed plaintively, parking himself by the cupboard where Kheone kept a few snacks. Was he hungry? She racked her brain to come up with something she had in her room a cat might eat. She found a can of tuna salad. Cats liked fish, didn’t they? One way to find out. She put the contents of the can on a paper plate and placed it in front of her new friend.
The little cat scarfed half of his snack right down, then returned to her for more attention, twining himself between her ankles. She rubbed his head and stroked along his back, the purrs growing louder by the minute. The cat looked up at her and meowed some more. He leaped onto the bed and curled up at the foot. Yawning, Machka gave a little chirp before his tail covered his nose and his eyes closed. Kheone opened the window enough for him to leave when he wanted and went to take her shower.
With damp hair, she gathered some boxes from a storeroom and walked up the stairs, dreading what she might find in Serel’s room. Her footfalls felt loud and heavy but drew no attention. She tried the handle and met resistance. Someone had locked the door, an unusual move in a building full of angels. None of them had valuables to protect, and privacy was rarely a concern. Kheone used her master key and slipped inside. Sadness lingered in the air of the now empty room, though it looked much the same as the night before.
She began with the small closet, folding the items neatly. Like all the angels, most of Serel’s wardrobe consisted of black t-shirts and cargo pants. Perhaps someone could use an extra change of clothes. As Kheone dumped a bin filled with socks into one of the boxes, an envelope fluttered to the ground. An elegant hand had written Father Arturo Fauci, Dept. of History, on the front.
Her fingers itched to open it, but the better portion of her nature stopped her. The letter wasn’t for her. It was for Father Fauci. Serel had left her one last task.
Footsteps stomped up the stairs, encouraging Kheone to shove the letter into a pocket. Maj stepped in the room, her expression deliberately blank.
“Hi,” she said.
“Thanks, Maj. I know this isn’t easy for you.”
The two angels worked in silence and quickly finished packing Serel’s possessions. Sad, really, how little he had to show for his long life. She had first worked with Serel three thousand years ago, when she had guarded the soul of a mystic in China, and he healed the devout. Although they had worked together several times since then, Kheone had only come to know him in the past year. Her friend’s entire existence fit into three boxes, most of those clothes which would be shared by the rest of the gathering.
If she died, what would she leave behind? Nothing more than Serel had. Her possessions weren’t really hers. She had lost the only thing she ever felt was truly hers in the Second Fall. Another would wield the Guardian’s blade when she perished if it was ever found.
Kheone and Maj left the boxes stacked at the foot of the bed.
“I have patrol in a few minutes,” Maj said, voice quiet, reluctant to leave.
“I know,” Kheone said. “Go. We can leave this here for now.”
In a few days, when emotions were less raw, she would see if anyone could use the spare clothes. The rest would go into storage. All they would have left were their memories and the hope to one day reunite behind the Heavenly Gate and bask in God’s glory.
Maj left, and Kheone went to check on her cat. There was no trace of him. Damn. After packing her dead friend’s things, she could have used some feline company. With a sigh, she pulled out the university directory and looked up the name on Serel’s letter. The Chair of the History Department was, indeed, Father Fauci. She hurried to the kitchen where the community phone hung on the wall, an old-fashioned model chosen because most of the angels knew how to operate it. Kheone made the call.
“History. Fauci speaking.”
She had not expected him to answer his own phone. “Hi, Father. My name is Kheone. I’m a friend of Serel’s.”
A lingering pause, followed by the faint sound of a door clicking shut over the phone line.
“Yes, Serel mentioned you. I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t aware he had any friends outside our gathering. He left a note for you. Will you be in your office later?”
“My schedule is pretty full today. Can you come by around six?”
“Certainly. Thank you, Father.”
In a few hours, she might have another clue in Serel’s death. A frisson of dread shook her from head to foot.