“Perhaps,” he spoke at last, not looking up from his hands as he worked, “there are sometimes occasions in which a lie of omission becomes a necessity.”
The library swallowed his quiet words, taking them and tucking them away as if to make his heresy merely another tale on countless shelves.
“That is a very bold statement,” Christos spoke just as softly, eyes flashing with something close to anger, “and a very presumptuous one.”
“Who are you to decide such things, Rapha?” Michael asked in a low, dangerous tone.
“Who am I?” his tone was tight. “I’m the one who had to help Mary tear apart these shelves decades ago, looking for a way to save the newborn Prince of Hell, and the one who tried to find a way to save its Queen. I’m the one who labors over these books and tomes for hints and clues despite the risk it lays upon me.”
Raphael turned away, pacing restlessly as the old wounds reopened deep inside. “I am the one—” he spun back to face Michael, “—who stayed by your side and grieved for both of uswhen one by one, our friends defected. The one who stuffed your reckless, obstinate mouth with food and ambrosia when you gave up and wanted only to rot.”
The larger man recoiled, casting his gaze aside with shame at the dark memories Raphael dragged up.
“I am the one,” Raphael said, tugging his braid where it hung over his shoulder, some of his anger giving way to sadness, “who is tired of burying friends, and seeing them suffer.”
Michael looked stricken. “Why didn’t you ever tell me how it weighed on you, all this time?”
Raphael softened. “What good would it have done, old friend? Except to add to your own burdens? No, you have your demons, and these are mine. I haveneverapproved of what happened to Lucifer, or later to his Fallen.”
Christos winced. “You are not alone in that regard.”
Raph brushed the tail of his braid over his palm, closing his eyes to center himself as he said, simply, “I am not sorry for what I have done, even if it is treason.”
His companions went very still, and Michael cast a quick look around them to ensure they were alone.
“I would be very careful of saying such things, Raphael,” Christos said, looking suddenly very tired.
The angel fixed him with a hard stare. “As if I haven’t had to be cautious all these eons?”
The Prince scowled, hands flexing into fists. “You don’t want to experience what my father will do to those who betray this kingdom.”
“You need not warn me, Christos, for I have seen it with my own eyes.”
“And still, you condemn the love of my life to such a fate!” His calm composure broke, and Christos strode forward until he was toe to toe with the angel. “You know what happens, and youhelped her do it anyway!”
Raphael fixed him with a wrecked look and rested his hands gently on Christos’s shoulders. “She knew what she was doing. She knows it’s the right thing to do.”
The younger man trembled. “I will lose her, Raphael. Even if he doesn’t kill her, he will never let me follow her into exile.”
“I know,” he said softly. Christos came apart, tears welling up and spilling over, his gentle sobs the only sound disrupting the otherwise absolute quiet of the library. Raphael enfolded him in a tight embrace, the threat of tears shining in his own eyes.
Michael had to look away, his own heart aching for the young prince. It took everything in him not to rampage through the room and topple the useless towers of books. All this wisdom, all these tales and accounts of history, and nothing for them to do but sit here and wait for the world to come crashing down.
It was a hopelessness he had felt only once before, had hoped never to feel again. Even now, his fingers twitched at the memory of closing over Gabriel’s throat, the fury he had smothered at the angel’s casual disregard and veiled threats.
He met Raphael’s gaze over Christos’s shoulder, seeing a similar resigned anger in those emerald eyes, and decided they were overdue for a chat.
Gabriel could see the desire to rattle the foundations of the room written clearly on Michael’s face, and he breathed a sigh of relief when the furious warrior managed to reign himself in. If he hadn’t, Gabriel would have come toppling down with the books from his perch on top of the shelf.
He was occasionally prone to sprawling up near the stained-glass ceiling when he wanted a little bit of peace and quiet. It was sheer luck that he had been lounging here, casually flippingthrough what the humans considered a “classic” tale, when the comfortable silence was sorudelydisrupted by a soldier throwing a tantrum.
How could he resist listening in on whatever had managed to rile the perpetually stoicMichael, he of the Glorious Elite, precious darling of Jehovah? Anything that could ruffle those stone feathers had to be more interesting thanMacbeth.
And lo and behold, they confirmed what he had long suspected. Raphael was a heretic, and Mary Magdalene was not to be trusted. Ever since The Lamb had granted her divinity, Gabriel had felt a sense of unease around the young woman. Her face and figure were surely lovely, but the company she kept boded ill for Heaven and, clearly, she had been corrupting the prince.
“We cannot speak of this again,” Christos finally composed himself and spoke, confirming Gabriel’s fears. “All we can hope for at this point is that we will be able to return the book to its rightful place before my father notices it’s missing.”
Gabriel frowned. Well, that was certainlynotthe right course of action. Apparently, he’d have to take this news to Jehovah himself, if anything was to be done to prevent the utter disaster unfolding as they spoke. How could Christos allow his little girlfriend to threaten everything they held dear? The repercussions alone could very well destroy everything, not to mention what Lucifer could do with his powers supplemented…
