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Sariel felt it before it happened. The temperature in the room dropped dramatically, and he saw the strangely troubled expression on Israfil's face turn to one of fury and revulsion.
The Angel of Death extended his arm toward the giggling Armaros, as the other Grigori seemed to become immediately lucid, scrambling away from their brother. The females appeared to sense trouble as well and crawled away to hide behind an overstuffed sofa.
"You think it's fu
Sariel reached out to Israfil in an attempt to calm his ire, and felt the flesh on his hand grow numb as his fingers entered a field of severe cold that surrounded the angel. With a hiss, he withdrew his nearly frozen limb, clutching it to his chest.
"You think you're special?" Israfil asked Armaros.
The Grigori dropped to his knees, averting his gaze and begging for mercy. But Israfil's anger had rendered him as blind as their servants.
And then Armaros began to scream, his naked body flopping to the ground, writhing in agony.
"It is they who are special… they who are the chosen of our Holy Lord."
Armaros' body began to wither and cracks appeared in his flesh. Still the Grigori screamed, his cries for mercy falling upon deaf ears.
There was a sudden flash of light as a sphere of pulsing energy exploded out from within Armaros' desiccated body. The glowing orb drifted across the room to Israfil's extended hand, and as it came close, the Angel of Death closed his fingers upon it, extinguishing the light.
And then Israfil turned his angry gaze toward the others. Sariel and his remaining brethren quickly averted their eyes so as not to further feed his anger. They waited for a sign that they were to die, or be spared the angel's wrath, but it did not come.
Finally gathering up his courage, Sariel raised his head, only to find Israfil gone.
The reason he had come to them, and his behavior, a mystery.
The lingering stench of an angel's death hanging heavy in the air, the only evidence that he had even been there at all.
To truly be with them… to be like them.
Sariel's account of Israfil's visit replayed in Remy's mind. Over and over again he heard the Grigori's words, painting a picture that served only to intensify his growing sense of unease.
It was raining harder now in Boston, and he was having a difficult time concentrating on navigating the wet city streets. Thankfully, no one was about, as if the deluge had washed away anyone foolish enough to venture outside.
Remy hated to admit it, but the Seraphim's suspicions might actually have meant something, that Israfil had somehow become enamored with humanity, thus making it difficult for him to do the job that the Almighty had assigned him.
It's crazy; this is the freakin' Angel of Death, for Pete's sake.
But if what Sariel said was true, Israfil had come to the Grigori looking for some sort of affirmation that it was possible to be of both the Heavenly host and humanity.
It made Remy's head hurt to think of it. The two states of being were polar opposites, which was why he himself had chosen to suppress his true nature… at least as much as he was able. He could only imagine the ferocity of the struggle as the two conflicting natures attempted to exist at the same time, which was probably why the world was in its current situation.
It was actually Sariel's disturbing supposition as Remy had been preparing to leave the Grigori den that had left him chilled to the bone. He heard the leader's words again, filled with a breathless anticipation.
"Do you suppose that if the Apocalypse is called down — that if all is laid to waste — the Heavenly father will finally allow us to return home?"
Remy was so taken aback by the question he hadn't known how to reply. He had simply left the building as quickly as he could.
He turned up Charles Street between the Public Garden and the Common and reached for his cell phone. Holding it up, keeping one eye on the road, he scrolled down his listing of most used numbers. He found the one he was looking for and dialed it.
"Yeah," came Lazarus' familiar voice on the other end.
"Just getting back from seeing our friends," Remy said. "Israfil paid them a visit not too long ago… seemed a bit out of it. The implication being that he wanted to be human."
"Ouch," Lazarus said.
"Yeah, ouch as in 'Ouch, this whole Apocalypse thing could really put a crimp in my day. Do you have anything for me?" Remy asked as he turned onto Derne Street and began the chore of looking for a parking space.
"Nothing, really. Everybody's pretty quiet. It's like they know something big is coming and they're all holding their breath."
"Have you seen anything of a demonic nature?"
"I try and stay clear of those types. Why?"
"Had a run-in outside my office with some individuals of definite demonic persuasion. They tried to convince me to give up on the case."
"They kick the shit out of you?" the immortal asked.
Remy could hear the amusement in his voice. "Pretty much. There had to be at least four of them, maybe even more."
"Sure," Lazarus chided.
"Yeah, go screw." Remy had just about given up on finding a space when he remembered that he still had to give Ashlie a ride home anyway.
"So you think there are demons involved with this business now?" Lazarus asked.
"I think there are parties interested in seeing Israfil stay lost, and in conjunction, bringing about the end of the world. Isn't that friggin' cheerful?" Remy pulled up in front of his house, driving the car onto the sidewalk so as not to block the narrow street any more than he had to.
"Sounds it," Lazarus agreed. "Well, I suppose the night's still young. I'll see what I can dig up."
"Thanks," Remy said, turning off the engine. "Call if you come across anything."
The immortal broke the co
Finally, he bit the bullet and exited the car. Out into the storm.
Remy heard Marlowe bark as he slipped his key into the door. It was followed by the sounds of the jangling tags and clicking toenails as the dog raced to greet him.
The nails sounded long; he would have to cut them again soon.
"Hey, buddy," Remy said, closing the door, the dog happily sniffing him up and down.
"You're home! You're home!" Marlowe chanted, barely able to contain his excitement. Remy reached down to pet him, his movement causing the water that beaded on his coat to rain down upon the happy pup.
"Wet!" he yelped, licking up some of the drops that spattered the hallway floor.
"Yep, it's pouring. Where's Ashlie?" he asked, looking for the teenager, guessing that she'd probably fallen asleep in front of the television.
"Ashlie gone," Marlowe said, turning and bounding down the hallway, back to the living room.
"What do you mean she's gone?" Remy asked, following the animal. "Ashlie?" he called out. "Hey, Ash?"
Remy rounded the corner and stopped as he caught sight of the stranger sitting on his couch. He stared at the young woman, not sure of what to do next. It was obvious that he had woken her up. Her shoes were on the floor in front of the couch, a mug that looked as though it might have once contained tea resting on the coffee table in front of her. She looked at him with large, fear-filled brown eyes. She was attractive, a brunette with shoulder-length hair and fair skin.
Marlowe had hopped up onto the couch next to her, leaning back and waving a paw at Remy as he panted loudly.
"Who the hell are you?" Remy asked. "Casey," Marlowe barked.