Shit.Shadows from the Abyss were crowding around her. This had been happening more and more, each time after she’d killed someone. She pulled them to her, somehow, though she was visibly afraid of them. I’d chased them away up to now, before they could get close. But this time, they were on her before I could reach her, and she gave a cry of fear.
“Get away from her!” I shouted. A larger swath of shadow than I’d ever seen in one mass pulled away from the smaller ones that were almost smothering her, and attacked me. I lifted a knife and began to cut at what I expected to feel like film. I almost dropped the blade when I realized this particular shadow had a defined physical form; it was like cutting through a sheet of heavy plastic, even drying cement in some places. And the edges were sharp enough to rip through my flesh. I hissed as one did just that.
Other than my daughter, there hadn’t been a corporeal demon on Earth solid enough to truly damage a High Angelus for many centuries. I had wondered why they’d stopped appearing on Earth to attack the defenseless. Wondered why the worst shadows that we saw were the ones created by humans themselves, as they warred with one another and committed horrific crimes.
But maybe the true shadows had just been waiting for their chance. Because this one was every bit as strong as I was, and growing more substantial by the second. It stabbed at me with the edges of its form, using its own body like a serrated knife, and left black and bright red gashes all over my body that burned as if acid had been poured in each wound.
It aimed for my hand, trying to slice off a finger. I fell back, tripped over a loose brick, and found my wings and arms pinned by more of the damned things. As I watched helplessly, the largest shadow swelled, forming a great blade to cut my throat. I had only a second to send a thought to Feather, and to Gavriel, of the depth of my love and sorrow that my life was at an end. My wings were pulled back, cracking under the strain. The shadow squeezed me, crushing my ribcage and splintering my bones.
And then a great, shining light exploded in front of me, a deafening, metallic clang rocking the buildings around us.
I opened my eyes. Gavriel stood in front of me, light boiling out of him, his sword slicing halfway through the shadow beast. “You will not touch him,” Gavriel bellowed, his wings beating as he sliced and parried the shadow’s infinite blades. “You will not take my heart’s friend. Go back to the Abyss, and stay there!”
I had spent my life creating things of beauty and value. Gavriel had spent the latter part of his learning to destroy. But the way his sword moved through the darkness of that alley was a poem. The ringing of his blade against the shadow beast was a song, a clarion call to justice.
But it still wasn’t enough. It was as if every shadow that filled the Abyss had broken through on Earth, and congregated here with one purpose: to overcome us. Was this where we ended? How the battle against evil was lost, with me helpless to assist my leader?
No. I refused to allow it. I had one tool that could not be taken from me. My greatest weapon. I opened my mouth, the only part of me that could move with my limbs broken beyond repair, and did what I could do better than any other soul in this realm or the next.
Create.
With my soulfire infusing my voice, I sang the baritone line to match the high tenor hum of the Celestial sword, weaving thesong of our strong friendship, and the power of the Great Maker, the Singer of All Songs, into the melody.
I wrapped the love I felt for Feather and Gavriel, as well as the Novices I had sacrificed for, around each note, turning each sound into a bright blade of divine fire. I prayed as I sang, holding fast to my belief that the Mother’s love was powerful enough to use my hastily constructed tune to do Her will.
And the tide began to turn. Gavriel’s eyes leaked holy light, and his hands gripped the sword tighter. He pressed the monster against the wall, but in the way of shadow beasts, it splintered into smaller versions of itself and began attacking on all sides.
One of the pieces that tore itself away sprang to me and plastered over my mouth, silencing my song. My nostrils filled with the smell of burning flesh: mine. My face.
The pain was excruciating, and I almost blacked out. But then I heard a small shout, a high-pitched howl of rage, and saw her. My daughter, tearing at the shadow that suffocated me.
“Bad!” she shouted at it, stomping on it with her bare feet. Once it was flat on the ground, she spat on it. Her saliva hissed and bubbled on the surface of the thing, eating it like acid.
Then she turned and flew at the beast that Gavriel still fought, clinging to its back and repeating the process, using her nails to tear it and her drool to eat away at it, until it lay on the filthy ground, finally disintegrating under the combined weight of Gavriel’s holy fire and her spittle.
Silence reigned in the alley, until the little demon sniffled and stepped around the melted shadow beast. She stood on her chubby legs in front of Gavriel, who panted with exhaustion, though his gaze was resolute.
“Pleasedon’t,” I called, still gasping at the pain. “She’s… not a… demon like… the others.”
Gavriel’s jaw hardened, and he shook his head. “No, she’s not.” He picked her up in one hand, holding her slightly away from him as if she stank. I supposed she did, though I’d gotten used to it. “I won’t hurt her, Mik.” He frowned down at me. “You’re a wreck. Can you stand?”
“No.” It was hard not to cry out at the pain even speaking caused. My ribs were crushed. Gavriel sighed, and the little girl babbled with delight, twisting around at the end of his arm, and flapping her wings like she’d just played a marvelous game.
He stepped close, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with one hand. “Don’t say a word. I haven’t sung this song since… well, a long while. I’ve been practicing this past week.” Then he opened his mouth and began one of the Great Songs of Healing. I closed my eyes as my leader, my friend, knit my body back together again. His voice was rough from centuries of disuse, but the song was powerful, one taught by the Creator of All to Seraphiel in the first days of Sanctuary.
Gav healed me, though it took hours before I had the strength to stand. But slowly, as he sang and patted the hair of the now-sleeping toddler in his arms, his eyes filled with a strange, curious wonder. And I had a feeling the song was healing something more than my body.
I suspected it was healing something in Gavriel’s soul.
For three days,Gavriel cared for both me and my daughter. Earth food did nothing for me, but lying in the sunlight in the most secluded part of the park where we’d battled helped me rejuvenate. Even more effective was watching my best friend learn to love.
The little imp called me Dada, but she called him Gaga, and every time she said it, he melted a little more. Sometimes, he even forgot to look stern. I hid my amusement.
“No, you don’t bite the sword blade. You’re going to pit it again, see?” he murmured with exasperated affection. She sat on her rump on top of a clump of dandelions that matched her yellow ducky romper, one fist stuffed in her mouth, drool trailing down around her fingers. He held the sword in question out of her reach, and pointed at the small, dark marks that had indeed accumulated on one side of the Celestial blade.
She withdrew her fist from her mouth with a loud pop, and pointed it at the sword insistently. “Gaga, me!”
“Spoiling her,” he said, talking to himself as he wrapped yet another piece of his robe around the blade and handed it to her to chew. “Probably going to develop an appetite for Angelus wings.”
