“Is that him?”
Rafe lets out a breath. “Thatwashim.”
“He died?”
“He relinquished his immortality.” Rafe closes his eyes. “To become a human man.”
“Angels can do that?”
“Once, it was considered unthinkable,” Rafe says quietly. “But a number of years ago, that changed. It started as an isolated quest when two lovestruck fallen angels chose to fall further, into mortal life. They wanted to raise the stakes on their love, to know the ultimate passion. The idea caught on. I guess it appealed to Samael.”
“The Angel of Death fell in love?”
“No,” Rafe says, “but he wants to. Or something like it. And his resignation has opened up a vacuum of power. That’s why we started Acheron.”
“You’re not really a student, are you?” Dez asks.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so,” Dez says, pushing him gently, feeling his angelic body against her fingertips. “But I don’t understand. What are the first-years doing here? I’m getting the sense you don’t cross the earth rounding up mortals like this every fall?”
“Your class is unique,” Rafe says. “Traditionally, we seek the help of one mortal every couple of millennia. A woman named Thecla, most recently. But since Samael abandoned his post, we’ve had to rethink our methods.”
“Heavenis rethinking its methods?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Even eternity evolves.”
“Can you take me to my brother, Rafe?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“How does it work?”
“God only knows.”
“When did Samael leave?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“Acheron issix weeks old?” Dez says, then catching herself in the crowded Vault, lowers her voice to a whisper. “I’ve been here for four!”
“It came together quickly. Necessity, the mother of invention.”
She looks around in disbelief. “All of this is brand-new?”
“The building, yes, but of course our traditions are far older. Every last-year in this room has trained in Life Reviews for thousands of years. Now we’ve brought your class in to train you, too.”
With his head, he gestures for Dez to listen to what the director is saying.
“We understand,” Moriah speaks into the microphone, “that this is a lot to process. But something inside you rhymes with this work. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made it this far. Tonight you’ll be given the choice: stay here with us and continue your training, or leave for good in the morning. Should you choose to stay, you will work at a faster rate. Death waits for no one, and no one waits for death. Each of you will be expected to complete fifteen hundred Life Review films by the end of the academic year.”
Murmurs spread around the room. Dez shoots Rafe a look—this number is impossible—but he doesn’t meet her gaze.
“But as your speed increases, the quality of your work must improve, because the consequences of poor craftsmanship are dire.”
Rafe puts a hand on Dez’s back. “You need to hear this.”
“A poorly crafted film does not offer closure on the mortal’s life. It’s unconvincing. In such cases, the dying may turn back to life very late in the process.”
