Страница 11 из 54
He knew them, these silent visitors, each and every one of the strange figures who stood perfectly still before his empty desk, staring off into space. They were Seraphim, one of the highest orders of angels in the kingdom of Heaven. At one time, they had been his brothers.
One of the Seraphim slowly turned his gaze away from the wall and fixed the detective with an intense, unblinking stare. The eyes were large and completely black, the actual look of the human eyeball a detail considered trivial by its wearer. His name was Nathanuel, and he was their leader.
As he opened his mouth to speak, Remy knew it had been some time since the angel last wore the clothes of flesh, remembering the difficulty he himself had encountered after his decision to be human. "Coffee. Yes, I would enjoy coffee." The voice sounded wrong, the cadence off. Human speech was far more complicated than any angel knew.
The coffeemaker hissed and burbled loudly as the final drops of water passed through its i
"Hope you like it strong. It gets me through the day."
He was talking to them as if they were new clients — as if they were of this earth. That was a mistake.
Nathanuel laughed suddenly, harshly. It was how the angel imagined a human laugh should sound, but no human would have recognized as laughter the strange barking noise that sounded entirely bestial.
Remy looked over at the Seraphim leader.
"Something wrong?"
Nathanuel continued to stare at him. "You need coffee to keep you going. That is amusing."
Remy turned back to the coffeepot. "Yeah, a real riot." He set two mugs down, a black and an olive green, then looked toward the other Seraphim who were still engrossed in the empty wall behind his desk. "Anybody else? I've got a whole pot here."
None responded, showing as much life as department store ma
"They are not as… daring as I," offered Nathanuel.
He watched as Remy, carrying the two mugs of steaming coffee, careful not to spill them, walked to his chair behind the desk.
"Please, take a seat." Remy motioned with his chin to the angel leader as he prepared to sit.
Nathanuel looked at the comfortable chair to the right of the desk, his shiny, dark eyes taking in every detail.
"Yes, that would be fine."
The others were suddenly attentive, watching their leader as he sat, as fascinated with that act as they had been with the wall.
Remy had placed his cup on a cardboard coaster advertising the latest in light beers. He tossed another coaster in front of the Seraphim before placing Natha-nuel's coffee mug atop it. "How do you like it? Cream? Sugar? I drink mine black."
The Seraphim leader studied the steaming mug on the desk in front of him. He reached out with both hands, gripped the cup, and brought it stiffly to his face. The angels standing around him leaned forward in unison.
"I will drink it as you do," Nathanuel answered.
The Seraphim leaned closer still, watching with rapt attention as their leader brought the steaming cup to his lips and gulped the scalding fluid.
"Careful, that's hot," Remy cautioned.
Then he watched the angel's expression turn from fascination to sudden pain and confusion as the hot liquid burned his throat. Coffee dribbled from the corners of his mouth, leaving angry red welts.
"You're supposed to sip it," Remy said shortly. "Coffee is for sipping."
"I do not see the enjoyment in this," Nathanuel said coldly, gently touching the seared flesh with his unusually long fingertips.
He set his mug down on the desk, ignoring the coaster, as the others hovered over him, studying his burns and nodding their agreement with his assessment.
Remy took a sip from his own cup. The angels now studied his every movement. "Practice," he said, savoring the hot refreshment.
Then he set his mug down and met Nathanuel's black, soulless gaze. "So, what are you doing here?" he asked. "I'm smart enough to know that this isn't a social call. Heaven doesn't work like that — or it least it never used to." He picked up a pen and tapped it impatiently on a notepad before him.
Nathanuel squirmed, the burns already starting to fade. "The experience of being human — it is not to my liking."
Remy shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
"It's not for everybody. What do you want?"
The angel leader smiled. It didn't look right; far too many teeth. It reminded Remy of a trip to the New England Aquarium, where he was given the opportunity to take a good, long look at a shark. He remembered staring at the gray-ski
Nathanuel's smile was suddenly gone. "Masquerading as one of the Creator's special monkeys brings you pleasure. I do not see it."
Remy leaned forward again, his eyes blinking angrily. "I'm not asking you to. What I am asking, for the last time, is what you want."
The Seraphim leader seemed taken aback by Remy's open hostility, as he looked to his brothers and then back to the detective. "We have need of you, Remiel, not as an angel, but as what you pretend to be."
Remy didn't like the sound of that and quickly rose from his seat. He definitely needed more coffee. The Seraphim were silent, their heads turning smoothly, following his every move. He poured himself another full cup, set the half-empty container down, and took a sip.
"You need what I pretend to be? Explain," he demanded.
Nathanuel again tried a smile. It was equally as horrible as his first try. "Do not pretend that you have not felt something amiss in the natural world. You have not so completely disco
The detective thought of the bizarre events of the past few days, his visit to the hospital that afternoon weighing especially heavily on his mind.
"You feel it as we do," Nathanuel continued. "You see it with your faux human eyes."
Remy placed his cup on top of the refrigerator and leaned back against an old steam radiator. "People aren't dying," he said quietly. "Souls aren't being claimed. Is that what this is about?"
"Israfil is missing," Nathanuel answered in a flat, emotionless tone. "The Angel of Death has disappeared."
Remy had already suspected the truth, but hearing it come from the mouths of creatures such as these made it twice as disturbing.
"The scrolls are missing as well," Nathanuel added, interrupting Remy's thoughts.
He didn't think it was possible, but the situation was actually getting worse.
"From the expression on your face, we see that you understand the magnitude of this problem," the Seraphim leader said.
Remy returned to his desk with his drink, not sure of how to respond.
"The scrolls — have any been opened?" he asked.
Slowly, Nathanuel shook his head. "But the forces that will be called down upon the world if they should be opened have already sensed that something is amiss. They are restless."
Remy looked down at the star shape he had doodled on his notepad earlier. He picked up his pen and drew a circle around it. He could feel the eyes of the Seraphim upon him, and looked up into their dark gaze. He knew why they had come — what they wanted from him.
"You want me to find Israfil."
Nathanuel brought his hands together in a silent clap and then pointed at Remy with a long index finger. He noticed the Seraphim leader's fingers had no nails, another unimportant feature of the human design.
"That is what your God wants, Archangel."
"Why me?" he asked. "Last time I checked, I wasn't quite in favor with the Heavenly powers."
Nathanuel thought for a moment, cocking his head, birdlike, to one side. "You are the best of both worlds, so to speak. You are of Heaven, but you also know the ways of man."
Remy laughed nervously, tapping the notepad with his pen.