Страница 12 из 54
"You mean to tell me that with all your power, you can't find one of your own?"
There was a flash of something in Nathanuel's black eyes. Anger, perhaps. The angel did not care to be questioned. He never had.
"Israfil is one of our most powerful. For reasons unknown, he has chosen to hide his presence from us."
Remy was getting close to the meat of the problem.
"Why?" he asked. "Why is the Angel of Death hiding? Why has he forsaken his responsibilities? You must know something more."
Again there was a spark in those horrible, incomplete eyes. The corners of Nathanuel's mouth began to twitch. The others watched their master, alert to the growing intensity of his mood.
"As you are well aware, this world has an adverse effect on certain members of our kind. It makes them take leave of their senses."
The other Seraphim again nodded in agreement with Nathanel's words.
"We believe that Israfil has grown too enamored with this place and the human animals that populate it. There is a chance he may have gone so far as to don human form and move amongst them."
Remy smiled, but there was little humor in it.
"Heaven forbid."
"There are even rumors that he may have become romantically involved with one of the natives," Natha-nuel said, a look of disgust spreading across his long, pallid features. "It's almost more than I can bear."
A spark of anger ignited in Remy.
"The way you talk and look at me, Nathanuel, it's as if you blame me for Israfil's actions."
The Seraphim chief slowly rose from his seat. The others stepped back, allowing their leader his space.
"In Heaven, you are looked upon as a rebel, Remiel of the host Seraphim. And for reasons unbeknownst to me, some find what you have done… attractive."
Remy stood as well, placing the tips of his fingers on the desktop and leaning forward.
"What if I were to tell you that I don't want anything more to do with our kind, now or in the future? What if I told you to find the Angel of Death yourself?"
Nathanuel smiled yet again. There may have been progress there, but it disappeared too quickly to tell.
"You play the part so well, Remiel, so full of righteousness and anger. You must be enjoying yourself."
The detective had had enough. "Get out," he told them. "You and the news you bring have nothing to do with me. I'm not part of that world anymore. I'm sorry, but I can't help."
Nathanuel's stare grew more intense, the wet surface of his shiny black eyes seeming to roil. "And what world will you be part of when the seals are broken, the scrolls unfurled, and the Horsemen rain death and destruction down upon this one? Will you then seek the forgiveness of Heaven? I'm curious."
Remy bit his tongue as he attempted to keep his anger in check. Nathanuel turned and slowly made his way toward the door. The other Seraphim followed. At the door, he stopped and looked back at Remy.
"Find Israfil or don't — it matters not to me. The Creator dispatched us with this message for you, and we have performed our appointed task. He always did have a soft spot for this miserable ball of dirt and its filthy inhabitants."
The door had not opened, but the other Seraphim were suddenly gone.
"Hey, Nathanuel," Remy called, taking his seat again.
There was genuine a
He certainly is learning quickly.
Remy picked up his coffee mug and drained the last of its contents. It was cold, bitter. Similar to how he was feeling. He gestured to the angel chief with the empty mug.
"We didn't discuss my fee. You don't expect me to work for nothing, do you?"
"Fee, yes," Nathanuel answered thoughtfully, slowly nodding his head. "Is averting the Apocalypse not payment enough?"
Remy leaned back in the chair, putting his feet up on the desk. "Sounds fair to me," he said with a wry smile. "Pleasure doing business with you."
The afternoon was shot.
Remy still sat at his desk, chair pushed back as far as it could go. Hands behind his head, he gazed up, deep in thought, at the cracked plaster ceiling. Everything that had happened since yesterday now made a twisted sort of sense.
The Angel of Death was missing. It explained everything: Mountgomery and Carol Weir, the cries of the trapped souls at Mass General, pleading to be set free.
He thought about how huge this was, how everything that lived upon the planet, everything that exhibited some form of sentience, human or not, had a soul and would be affected. Without Israfil, nothing could die; no matter the level of suffering, the solace of death would remain unattainable.
And then it hit him like a ton of bricks dropped from the Prudential Tower.
"Shit," he said, putting his hands over his face as he sat forward in the chair, the enormity of what had been dropped into his lap finally sinking in. "Shit. Shit.
Shit."
Remy grabbed his mug and stood, heading to the coffeepot for a refill. His hand was shaking as he picked up the carafe, and it took a concentrated effort for him to keep from spilling the hot drink.
He replaced the pot on the burner and slowly brought his hand up to his face to gaze at the still-trembling digits. He could feel his heart rate quicken, the blood pound through his body. It was times such as this when he truly felt like them.
When he believed that he really understood what it was like to be human.
But this… this is all so much bigger than that.
Remy carefully picked up his mug, leaning forward for a large, slurping sip so as not to spill coffee on himself. He returned to his desk, mind racing. The more thought he put into it, the worse the situation became.
As if it wasn't bad enough that the Angel of Death was missing, but with the five scrolls gone as well… Remy shuddered, trying to force thoughts of the Apocalypse from his mind.
He had some more of his coffee and then tried to distract himself with work. He turned on the computer that sat on the corner of the desk. He had to finish the estimate on a surveillance job he'd been offered, as well as the final bill for services to Mrs. Mountgomery, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get it together.
Remy couldn't stop thinking about the Angel of Death, and the Horsemen galloping toward the end of the world.
Exasperated, he finally switched off the computer and gathered up his things, resigned to the fact that nothing was going to be done in the office that day. Whenever he felt this way, there was only one thing that could help him focus.
As he shut off the office light and closed the door behind him, Remy noticed that he could still smell a lingering scent of the angelic, and made a mental note to bring a scented candle from home, just in case the loathsome stink was still there when he returned to the office tomorrow.
First he would stop off at home to pick up Marlowe.
His mind a jumble with thoughts of Seraphim, angels of death, and a possible apocalypse, Remy knew he had to see Madeline.
He needed to see his wife.
Marlowe tensed, his dark brown eyes riveted to the yellow-green te
She made the gesture to throw, once… twice, before finally letting the ball fly across the well-kept lawn at the back of the Cresthaven Nursing Center.
Her laugh is the most wonderful thing to hear, Remy mused as they both watched the black dog bound across the grass in pursuit of his prize.
The weather was warm again, with just the slightest tease of the cooler months to come, but Madeline still pulled her sweater tight about her dwindling frame as she sat in the green plastic chair.
"He looks good," she said to Remy standing beside her, watching as the dog happily snatched up the ball and rolled it around in his mouth. "Thought for sure he'd be fat with all the crap you give him."