The Fallen

But not the words—try as he might, Camael could not forget the seer’s words. They spoke of a promise, of a more peaceful time when his existence would not be one filled with the passing of judgment and the meting out of death. The words were what made him abandon his brethren and their holy mission so very long ago. Words that still haunted him today.

But what if Susan had been the One? It was a question he struggled with every time he was too late to save one of them. What if she had been the key to reuniting the fallen with Heaven? What if Verchiel had taken it all away in a self-righteous burst of purifying fire?

Camael finally saw Susan’s body among the last to be carried from the fire-ravaged building. Her blackened limbs reached up to the heavens, as if pleading to be saved.

It pained him that he had not been there for her.

What if she…a tiny voice in the back of his mind began to ask and he promptly silenced it. He couldn’t think that way. He had to keep going or all his past sacrifices would be for naught.

Camael turned from the carnage and strode across the rooftop. The angel tipped his head back to the early morning sun and sniffed the air.

There were others, others who needed him.

With the Powers’ attacks on the rise, he would need to move quickly if any were to be saved.

Zeke motioned for Aaron to sit. There was one chair in the tiny room, a black leather office chair that had probably been rescued from the garbage. A large swath of gray electrical tape ran down the middle of the seat and Aaron touched it to see if it was sticky before he sat.

After the business at the common, the three had quickly left the scene to avoid unwanted questions. The driver of the white Escort seemed genuinely pleased that she hadn’t killed Gabriel, and had even petted the dog before driving off. As the crowd rapidly dispersed Zeke suggested they head for his place.

It was a fifteen-minute walk to the Osmond Hotel, a boardinghouse on Washington Street, not too far from downtown Ly

Zeke lived on the fourth floor, room 416, of the dilapidated building. It wasn’t the kind of place where one would expect to find an angel.

“A fallen angel,” Zeke corrected as he sat down on the single-size bed covered by a green, moth-eaten army blanket. “There’s a big difference.”

Aaron had bought sodas and a bottle of water for Gabriel in a bodega they had passed on the way to the rooming house. “Do you have something I can put this in?” he asked as he cracked the seal on the water.

Zeke got up and started rummaging through plastic trash bags that littered the floor. “Sorry, I don’t,” he said. “Can’t cook in the room so there’s no reason for me to have any dishes.”

Aaron poured some water into his cupped hand and offered it to the dog. “It’s okay. We’ll manage.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel said in a well-ma

Zeke lay back on the bed and popped the top on his soda can. “You all right?” he asked Aaron as he fished for something in the pockets of his tattered trench coat.

Gabriel finished his water. “Thank you again, Aaron,” he said, and licked his chops. “I was very thirsty.”

Aaron wiped the slobber on his pant leg. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said to Zeke, popping the top on his own drink. His eyes never left the dog. “Does he seem—I don’t know—smarter to you?”

Zeke produced a nip of Seagram’s from his pocket and poured the contents into his can of soda. “Not supposed to have booze in here either,” he said with a grin as he took a large gulp of the spiked drink. “Been waiting for that first sip all morning,” said the fallen angel, smacking his lips.

Aaron sat at the edge of the office chair and began to stroke Gabriel’s head.

“Does he seem smarter?” Zeke repeated, and then stifled a belch with his hand. “Yeah, I guess so, but what did you expect? You fixed him, you made him better—probably better than he ever was.”

The angel took another drink.

Aaron sat back in his chair, soft-drink can between his legs, and shook his head in disbelief. “It’s all a blur; I have no idea what I did.”

Gabriel lay down on his side and closed his eyes. The room was silent except for the sound of the dog’s rhythmic breathing as he quickly drifted off to sleep.

“What’s happened to me, Zeke?” Aaron asked. There was fear in his voice and he struggled to maintain control. “What did that…animal thing inside my head do? Talk to me!”

Zeke’s can of soda stopped midway to his mouth. “God’s menagerie,” he said. “Not animal thing. Let’s try not to be disrespectful.”

Aaron nodded. “Sorry,” he said with a smirk.

“Most people see it as some kind of animal; a dove or a lion. All of His creations.”

Zeke tipped the can of soda back and drained its contents. He then tossed the empty can into a trash bag beside the bed. “It made you complete,” he said, answering Aaron’s original question. “For the first time since you were born, you’re how you’re supposed to be.”

“And how am I supposed to be?” Aaron asked, a

“You’re a Nephilim, Aaron, through and through.”

Aaron slammed his fists down on the arms of the chair. “Stop calling me that!” he yelled angrily.

Gabriel jumped and lifted his head. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Sorry,” Aaron apologized, and reached down to scratch beneath the dog’s chin. “Everything’s fine. You go back to sleep.”

Gabriel lay back and almost immediately resumed his nap.

“Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but that’s what you are,” Zeke said. He had found another nip and was drinking the whiskey straight this time.

“So is this what your kind of angel does? What did you call yourself—a Gregory? Do Gregorys go around outing people who are Nephilim?”

Zeke chuckled and leaned his head back against the cracked plaster wall. “Grigori,” he corrected. “And no, that’s not what we do. Our assignment came directly from the Big Guy upstairs,” he said, pointing to the ceiling. “And I don’t mean Crazy Al in room five-twenty.” He had some more whiskey before he continued. “God Himself told us what to do. Our job was a simple one really; it’s amazing how badly we screwed it all up.”

The fallen angel spoke slowly, remembering. “It was our job to keep an eye on mankind. They were still very young when we came here, and in need of guidance. We were to be their shepherds, you know, keep ‘em out of trouble and all.”

Zeke fell silent and a look of sadness darkened his features.

Aaron placed his empty soda can on the floor beside his chair. Someone in a room close by began to cough violently. “What happened?” he finally asked.

Zeke was staring at the small brown bottle in his hand and did not look up as he took a deep breath and continued. “We became a little too enamored with the locals, lost that professional distance.” He nervously turned the bottle in his hand. “We began to teach them things, things the Lord felt they didn’t need to know: how to make weapons, astrology, how to read the weather.”

Zeke laughed harshly. “One of us sick bastards even taught the women about makeup.” The angel brought the nip halfway to his mouth. “So if your girlfriend spends two hours putting her face on before you go out for the evening, you can blame us.”

“I actually don’t have a girlfriend,” Aaron said sheepishly, immediately thinking of Vilma.

Zeke finished the last of his liquor, ignoring Aaron’s comment. “And they taught us things as well: how to drink, smoke, have sex. We went native,” he said as he squinted into the empty bottle. A