Division [1/5]
[ Masterpost]
---
There. He had asked the question, and it was entirely out of his hands now. Whether Michael gave him the Name, whether he would be destroyed for his arrogance, it was all out of his hands. The only relief he had now was that the burning urge to ask for the Name was gone.
Light flickers around him as Michael stares into his eyes, and Kasbeel doesn't try to stop him, doesn't bother to even try blocking the invasion of his thoughts and of his being. Why would he? There is no hiding from Michael, as he is nowhere near strong enough to block him effectively and come out of that alive. Besides, he has nothing to hide.
Nothing except for his urge to ask this forbidden question, and he asked it barely seconds ago.
Michael finally breaks his gaze, and Kasbeel studies him, trying to guess at the inner workings of his mind: what is he deciding, what will he do?
Not that he can read an archangel. Armored fires wreathed in light and how can you read the body language of a being made of starstuff? (These are the kinds of thoughts Kasbeel has chased around since his creation, and the kind of thoughts that led him to the here and now of asking for the hidden Name, the one no angel but Michael can know.)
It is a surprise to see Michael's light dim, however briefly, and Kasbeel steels himself to whatever Michael is about to say. He doesn't know what that brief change means, and dares not to hope that he will be told what he wants to know.
Michael opens his mouth, and speaks.
Kasbeel knows the Name of God, the forbidden Name, and he knows that it has left Michael and has come to rest in him, has entrusted him with its power and he is a sacred and mighty and terrible being to hold it within himself.
Michael's light burns brighter, and that - in that brief moment when the name is still joining itself to Kasbeel, making itself at home - Michael cuts him down with a sword edged with fire and cleaves the Name in two.
Kasbeel knows excitement, awe, joy, surprise - fear, anger, pain - and the Name keeps him alive even as he is slain, and when the Name is cut he is still - still! - alive.
But he is no longer whole.
Michael sheathes his blade.
---
Haniel, chief of order of principalities, archangel, ruler over the month of December and of the planet Venus, bowed to the archangel Michael and accepted his new charge. A new angel, ignorant in the ways of Heaven (unlike all other angels, who came into existance knowing what they were and what they were meant to do) and one that required guidance.
"His name is Kazfiel," Michael says. "See to it that he is made useful to you."
Haniel takes the hand of the young angel, quietly marveling at how small and how young he is. Quietly marveling at how much trust is being placed in him. He is being trusted to show Kazfiel what is expected of him, and to keep this angel safe.
"There are conditions," Michael says.
He explains that Kazfiel is not to come into contact with the other young angel. ("Kazbiel. He is not to meet her under any circumstances.") He explains that Kazfiel's rank is undefined. ("I am certain he will be a warrior. But what his intended use is...that remains to be seen.")
Haniel doesn't ask why Michael seems to be shaken, and he doesn't pry into the details that Michael isn't telling him. It isn't his place.
All the while Kazfiel holds his hand and watches him, eyes curious. Haniel has an idle thought (so rare, so easy to ignore when he has only his duty and purpose to follow, life as an angel defined in absolute values and only now disupted by the presence of this anomaly) and wonders: what will Kazfiel look like in ten years? In a thousand?
---
"I specifically told you that I will remain in residency here, and I am afraid I cannot agree to your wishes. Sir, we have gone over this and over this and please: I make few requests of you, in fact I make no requests as general policy, and this is the exception to that policy: please do not ask me to do the impossible for you."
Leroy looks his Assistant up and down and sighs. "Would it kill you to actually listen to my request before you get all defensive? Because I'm not going to ask you to move."
"You're not?"
"Don't sound so surprised. Here. I was going to see if you can turn this place into something other than a store. You never sell anything, it's a front for your existance here... Don't look so fisheyed, either. I'm asking you to stay within these same four walls as always, just change the innards a bit."
There's a pause, and Leroy watches wheels turn in his Assistant's head. He's not asking for the sun or the moon here, and surely it's not an impossible request.
"What precisely do you have in mind?"
"Turning this shop area into more of a cross between a library and a cafe, except it's closed to the public."
"I only offer water for refreshments, as you well know. Sir."
"Ah, but I'm certain you can expand your repertoire to serving hot water as well. Or is that too hard for you?"
His Assistant looks immensely peeved, but Leroy's having none of it. He knows what he wants done, and if he can upgrade the storefront into something more comfortable, then maybe he can get a crack at convincing his stubborn Assistant to upgrade from a simple cot to a comfortable bed. (If his uncle were still around, he'd give him a piece of his mind for leaving this issue alone. Servant or employee, it makes no difference - you don't treat them poorly.)
"Is serving hot water forbidden by your rules, or can I give you a pot and tea bags and actually see them get used?"
"I wouldn't make use of them for myself, but if you want me to keep a cup in readiness for you, I can do that."
"Excellent! Also, turn those shelves into bookcases, alright? I'll get some boxes over soon so we can get my collection moved in."
"Ah...as you have proven to be difficult to read (and I am terribly sorry about my deficiency in that area, sir) then may I ask why you want to store your possesions with me?"
"You'll take care of them, and I can call you up and ask you look something up - don't give me that look, I know you know what's in them. And it's another excuse to drop in here more often."
There's that fish-eyed look again, the one Leroy is coming to enjoy (how often can he surprise someone who knows the future scarily well?) and he gives a grin in return.
"Alright, alright. I'll ease up on you," he says. "A question before I get going to fetch those boxes. Exactly who do I call up to guarantee a smooth transaction for those grimoires, and is there anything I can use to lower the prices - ah, thank you." Maybe he should still be freaked out at how there are pieces of papers prepared before he arrives that contain the answers he's looking for, but it's in danger of becoming routine now. "And - " Yes, there's the other answer to the question that time. He reads it, just to make sure there hasn't been a mistake.
There hasn't been, and he puts the papers in his front pocket. "You're too good, you know that?"
"Thank you, sir."
---
It's been nearly a week since Leroy's managed to get his Assistant to agree to renovations, and still far too little work has been done so far. They're barely done with moving his books in, and there's an idea: maybe he should mark down a deadline for when everything should be done, so he can hold his Assistant to it.
He looks over for a calendar to mark up, and - he sighs. Of course. Sometimes he's sure his Assistant goes without things just to irritate him.
"Why don't you own a calendar?"
"January fourth, two-thousand - "
"Ah, right, sorry. Of course you know the date, you know everything." It's dry sarcasm, and Leroy is holding back irritation.
"Indeed, sir. As this is the last box, you'll want to dash outside and lock up your vehicle before some addled prankster thinks to check inside and find that you've left the keys in it. It's cold enough to risk that sort of thing, after all."
"That had better be a joke," Leroy snaps, and he runs out of the little shop, making a beeline to where his car is parked. He retreives his keys (thank god they are still there) and locks up quick, already shivering in the cold. "Need a new jacket," he mutters to himself, and he turns to run back to the relative warmth of his Assistant's shop.
The snow isn't kind, however. He trips in the slush and thank god he wasn't carrying anything. Instead of focusing on how the slush and snow is soaking his pants and coat and freezing his hands, he scrambles up, thankful that he doesn't need to run and pick up damaged books out of the snow.
He freezes, suddenly aware that he's not alone. It's a sidewalk, it's a public space, but there - were they there before? - are two men standing barely a foot away, looking steadily at his Assistant's shop.
"It's closed today," he offers by way of greeting, deciding not to be miffed that neither one had offered him a hand to help him up. "He's doing some remodeling."
"You know the inhabitant?"
Odd phrasing. Leroy doesn't ask. "I do." Wary, guarded. These two: they're tall, both of them. Dressed in sharp black suits, and both of them without a coat. One's a redhead, and the other's blonde, and Leroy needs to decide if he's going inside now or waiting around to talk to them. Trouble is, they look like security goons or business execs, or even bloody mafia, and he doesn't want to tangle with those types, period.
The redhead looks at him, eyes unreadable. "Let us in." It's an order, not a request, and Leroy looks between them both before going to the door.
"The door's unlocked," Leroy says, pulling it open. "He'll throw you out if he doesn't want you here."
He doesn't wait to see if they take the door or not, and heads for his boxes, counting them again.
"Stay right there, sir. This is going to be unpleasant."
"What?" Leroy looks up and over at his Assistant. It occurs to him in the back of his mind that he's wearing the same kind of suit (but it's the same suit he always wears) as the two oddballs outside, but any implications from that are disrupted and lost when he hears the door open.
In come the two (no snow on their shoulders, they were standing outside long enough for some snow, surely?) and Leroy frowns. Why is his Assistant pale? He's never seen the man look afraid before.
"It is a rare honor to serve you, kind sirs. I trust the journey down here has been pleasant?"
"We were sent to you." The red-haired one seems to be the spokesperson for the duo. Leroy frowns, paying attention. Usually his Assistant would give him warning before odd business entered his shop, but not this time. Why?
"You were indeed directed in the correct direction. I will serve as oracle and I know just where to send you."
"We are not going to follow your directions blindly."
"Of course." The Assistant puts a finger to his lips. "Your quarry is accompanied by another of her ilk and a demon. Will that do?"
"No."
"The numbers are correct," says the blonde. "Ha - "
"We will require more proof, oracle."
Leroy hms and renames the redhead in his name to H. He's aching to scoot behind the counter and elbow his Assistant for names, but he knows better than to interrupt. Not yet, in any case.
"Sir, do you want to know their names?"
"Ah..." Leroy stiffens as the two strangers turn to study him. "It'd be better manners to ask them directly. I mean, I can ask when you're done."
"They require proof, and as it would discomfort them for me to name sensitive information so baldly, I must give them enough tidbits. Their names would serve as partial proof. Do you want to know their names?"
Easy enough, then. "Yes."
"Haniel and Kazfiel. They are on a mission to capture two fallen angels and destroy the demon that accompanied them when they escaped from Hell. I assure you that I haven't gone crazy, simply that this is more unusual business than my typical fare. You could consider this living proof that your studies are more than simply intellectual."
"Parlor tricks," says Haniel. "The last one we consulted told us that much."
"Yes, I know. I was simply placing myself on her level before I went further. Your own suspicions have brought on the rest."
Leroy almost smirks to hear the note of arrogance in his Assistant's voice. This is his element: being smarter than his customers and lording it over them. It's almost annoying sometimes, but he forgives that on the virtue of his Assistant learning early not to play such games with him.
"Neither one of you will like the results of this hunt, and it would be in your best interests to inform Michael that he must send another. But as that is a useless warning that will go unheeded, then I will proceed." He puts his hands together, collecting his thoughts. "Haniel. You had a close encounter with that mighty angel Lucifer before his Fall, and out of fear for your new charge you made a bargain with him - "
"That's enough," Haniel interrupts, voice low. Leroy shivers involuntarily at the sudden tension in the air, how dangerous this man (angel?) seems now.
"Really?" Kazfiel asks, but Haniel raises a hand and he closes his mouth before he asks more questions.
"You've proven your worth. Consider yourself fortunate that I am not authorized to destroy more than is necessary to bring down my quarry."
"Indeed, indeed. Ask your questions now." The Assistant has a benevolent smile on his face, and seems completely unconcerned about his safety.
"Their names?"
"Suphlatus. Flauros. The Harlot. Her original name is masked to me."
"Acceptable. How are we to destroy their wards and protections?"
It's all business now, with Haniel asking numerous questions about this Harlot and her companions and with the Assistant evading certain questions without offering a reason why but answering the rest of them thoroughly, and all the while Leroy can see curiosity building in Kazfiel. Unlike before the angel is nearly fidgeting now, and Leroy knows that he's eager to evict Haniel from the premises and ask him for answers at length, but - Leroy finds himself pitying the poor thing, because he knows that look Haniel's wearing. He's seen it on his father often enough. It means Haniel won't answer any personal questions, full stop.
"Leroy, I will address your concerns at a later date," his Assistant speaks, interrupting his thoughts and Haniel's latest question. "Rest assured that they will be handled soon."
"Of course. You know you're creepy when you do that, right?"
"I do, sir. Now, as you were saying?" He turns back to Haniel with that same benevolent smile, the one that's guaranteed to grate on nerves. Leroy almost snickers to see it again. (Let him laugh where he can, especially when it comes to fellows like these two.)
Haniel frowns, but continues.
---
It's not long before they've left the shop to its usual silence, and Leroy lets his Assistant have a few minutes while he gets some of the books placed on their new homes on the shelves. It's a comfortable silence, one he's used to - for as long as he's known the Assistant (and considered him 'his') it's been a mutual understanding that neither one of them pries into matters that are personal and private ones without good reason. Leroy doesn't ask what his Assistant writes in that book he keeps by his cot, he doesn't get asked about what he really thinks of the partner he brought back to his flat the other night, nor about his relatives or why cigarettes can cause him nightmares.
And because his Assistant claims to know everything (except when he doesn't, by his own admission) including details about his personal life, Leroy takes it upon himself to nose into the mundane aspects of his Assistant's life in his free hours. Hence his presence here today, with the boxes of books and the already-set-up coffee maker. ("If you won't drink coffee out of it, just use it to heat the water and I'll bring by boxes of tea, got it?")
A thought occurs to him. "Hey, Assistant. Were you trying to talk me out of this whole thing so I wouldn't be here today?"
"That was not - " when Leroy looks over the Assistant is looking at once outraged and amused. "It was not my primary reason for protesting."
"Ah-ha, then it was one of your reasons."
"A small one, sir. Barely worth considering."
"Mmhm. Care to give me the low-down on those angels now, or do I have time to sort out another box?"
"It is quite easy to do both, sir. The box to your direct left with the green design on it has those foreign titles, and I believe you wanted them grouped together on the bottom shelf. That is simply busywork and you are more than capable of listening to me while doing that."
"It never fails to amaze me when you do that," Leroy says as he bends to shift that box over and open it up - yep, the foreign titles are there, and he had never intended to sort them in with the others. "Okay, go ahead."
"I will offer you a warning, sir, as I am not inclined to give this information freely regardless of audience, and so while I may be made to regret this mode of telling everything I will not hesitate further." And before Leroy can ask, the Assistant launches into his explaination.
Spoken rapidly, with the words barely distinct from one another: "I was only peripherally aware of that meeting, and thus unable to arrange for more convenient circumstances for us both. I would have preferred it if you had not been present but as you can see that did not work out and so here we are. As you are interested I will answer that yes I do occasionally act as oracle for otherwordly agencies, but entities seeking me out have become fewer and fewer in recent ages. My prices are usually high as well, as only the Dalliard family - your family - commands me at will. You are the first Dalliard in several hundred years to discover this side business of mine, but I trust that it won't be a problem provided I give you details and information about it. As you are about to interrupt and ask me to explain this method of speech I will answer that I have commonly used it to distract and otherwise befuddle my listeners, and you could call it a form of stream of consciousness but in the spoken word and quite frankly I enjoy it, as it allows me to - here I must break off to mention that I have abstained from it for quite a long period as it over-amused your predecessor to confine me to this style except when he required information and then I was to stay strictly to business. Quite frustrating but his years were difficult in general and I would prefer that this not be the last sentence you focus on, so I will inject some vital information into this paragraph. Haniel is an archangel, Kazfiel is at once his partner and charge, and he sees to it that Kazfiel behaves properly in all things. Nevermind that it has been several thousand years since they first met and that he can trust Kazfiel to most things by now. But angels are unchanging and difficult to deal with at the best of times. If I am permitted, I may interfere in their business."
Leroy raises his hand, then lowers it, and sighs. "You're nuts."
"Quite, quite. A happy state of affairs comes out of such a state of sanity especially when I cannot help but be able to name you a complete list of murders and victims within the last six years and if I were not so selective in my focus I could tell you almost anything about anything. You are quite lucky that - "
"Right. How do I turn this off again?"
"You don't, sir. Once provoked I am - "
"You're upset, got it. So if I make you happy - " It's futile bargaining, and Leroy knows what always comes next. Damnit, but he hates it when his Assistant gets like this.
"I would be much obliged if you would stop interrupting. Some of my words may be important, for example: the angel Kazfiel will return within half an hour to ask me some questions and clarify what he heard about the secrets in Haniel's past. Quite unbecoming conduct for an angel of his stature, but I personally find it fascinating."
"Excuse me!" Leroy slams his hands down on the counter, effectively silencing his Assistant.
"...I apologize."
"Great, but that's not what I want. Talk however you want when I'm not asking you for explanations, got it?"
He's fed up with it. It's all well and good to be addressed as 'sir' and it's great to have information that no one else can possibly give him, but there's something he's always noticed about the Assistant's behavior that needs to be corrected if they're to continue working together, and soon: too much passive-aggresive behavior, too many reminders that Leroy's not all-knowing like his Assistant. Problem is, the Assistant is a servant. The terms of the relationship were spelled out as master and servant, and unless the Assistant was lying to him when he originally introduced himself and described what his function was, Leroy needs to apply some corrective measures and fast.
"Are you going to use a whip?"
"No, I am not." Leroy rubs his forehead, briefly. He doesn't have time to go into discipline issues right now, but it's on his agenda now. "Exactly when is this Kazfiel arriving?"
"Twenty-three minutes, fourteen seconds. Thirteen. Twelve."
"I like you, Assistant. And not just as a resource. But unless you really want me to start treating you like a friend and dragging you out for drinks - permitted to leave or not - then I suggest you stay in line. Don't look like that. I can't see the future and I don't know everything, but I can cut phonelines as well as anyone else."
"Your threats are unnecessary."
"Are they?" A blatant challenge.
"Yes."
Leroy holds back an irritated sigh and steps back. "Write down a brief summary of what those angels are doing here, and what they're hunting. And the books I can use to verify at least some of your information."
"Human lore is notoriously full of holes - "
"You've told me before. Get to it." Leroy turns back to his books, ending the conversation. So that angel is coming back. Right. He needs to clear his head, before anger overwhelms him again. As he said, (and thought so many times) he's not Jack, and while he will insist on obedience he will not resort to cruelty. So: "I'm taking a walk, and I'll be back for that angel gets here. Got it?"
"Take care not to slip."
Leroy glances back at his Assistant, then sighs and lets himself out into the cold.
---
The heavenly library; that majestic archive full of the great extents of Heaven's knowledge. It is Kazfiel's newest assignment and joy in one, as here he is freed to learn as much as he can. His endless questioning of Haniel was initially welcomed, but now Haniel is eager to set his charge to the books and scrolls so that he may ask everything he wants without troubling the clearcut lines of his own existance.
The walls of books go up and up and up, and at first all Kazfiel does is fly along and through the bookcases, taking in the immense quantity of them. He's paying attention to where certain books are stored with more security than he can see at first glance, and he's noting the locations of interesting titles (when the books have titles) and the first thought that is at once a sentence and in his head fully formed is this: I have eternity and I'll need it.
The rest of his thoughts are quick, rapidfire questions: What's missing? Who writes these? Can I write one? Can I read them? Is there anyone who has read all of them? Can I meet them?
"Curious," murmurs an angel from above. "Are you Kazfiel?"
"I am."
Kazfiel flies up, to see this angel eye-to-eye, and he bows his head briefly in a gesture of respect. He does not know this angel's name yet, but it is easy enough to see the trappings of rank. An archangel, and while he could guess at its identity with some confidence, it would be safer not to. (He thinks with shame of the day he guessed at an angel's identity and guessed wrong. Haniel had not been pleased.)
For a long minute the archangel says nothing, and Kazfiel looks away from him, waiting for instruction. He nearly fidgets, urged by the ever-present tug in his mind to move, to descend through the layers of Heaven to seek out something (he knows not what) but Haniel has impressed into him the importance of suppressing this urge until the proper time.
"You resemble..." the archangel begins, then silences itself. "Perhaps that was intentional. Kazfiel, come with me."
Abruptly the archangel turns in the air, and Kazfiel hurries to follow it, curious. They ascend through the spiral bookcases of mahogany and marble, and wind through a land-bound section of books, walking over carpetted floors and past tall rows of scrolls, and Kazfiel does his best to memorize the locations of these scrolls, fully intending to return later and read them. They pass several angels that Kazfiel identifies as thrones, but before he can identify their tasks he has to hurry on in order to keep up with the archangel.
Finally they come to a room lit by candles, where a desk sits against the wall, and Kazfiel studies the numerous stacks of parchment in the room, and the rows of inkwells and quills, ready for writing. He opens his mouth to ask why there aren't windows or any place for open air to come in (as is usually customary in the architecture of Heaven) but the archangel indicates the ceiling.
The dome, to be correct. A dim blue glow emits from its surface, and he must ask:
"Stars?" Kazfiel asks, preventing himself from frowning. It's a glorious recreation of the night sky, but he doesn't see its use. "Why - "
"Earth has clouds, and while some nights are perfectly clear and bright, some nights are completely dark," says the archangel. "One day humans will fashion rooms such as this, and this is how they will view the stars on those nights."
"You have no need of this," Kazfiel says before he can stop himself from offering his opinion.
"One day I will be sent down to Earth, to walk it as men do and to learn everything about it and its inhabitants. It pleases me to design this, and there is another reason besides."
"What is that?"
"The book I am writing isn't to be seen by any eyes except my own until it is done or unless I offer someone the chance to read portions of it. While I could write it in the busiest portions of Heaven and trust that no angel would read it, it suits me to work in an enclosed space."
Kazfiel doesn't entirely understand, but now he knows who the archangel is: "Raziel," he breathes. The entire library is his domain, and all of the secrets in creation are his to know.
"Yes," Raziel says, a smile on his face. "I appreciate curiosity, especially in places where I am unlikely to find it."
"You mean me?"
"Angels, by definition, are messengers; soldiers; tools. The vast majority of our kind knows exactly what is expected of them and will fulfill that role to the best of their ability. Only the oldest of angels, the archangels (myself included) and certain exceptions are given a semblence of free will. I cannot say if it is true free will or not, as the hand of our Father is in all things and we may simply be blinded to our true purpose. In other words," here Raziel pauses for effect, "Yes, I mean you. You are curious and desire to learn things both above and below your station. Poor Haniel is and has been unprepared for this, and I will attempt to remedy this soon."
Kazfiel blinks, taking all of this in, then nods. He doesn't entirely understand, but then he may not be meant to, and regardless he keeps returning his attention to Raziel's words: 'unless I offer someone the chance to read portions...'
As if reading his mind: "Yes, I am." Raziel puts a hand on the desk. "I've prepared the pages for you."
Kazfiel moves closer, hesitating. Can he really? He looks at Raziel again, wondering if this is a test, perhaps something to do with free will, but curiosity overrides his concerns, and he sits, bending in to read...
---
Leroy shakes snow from his hair as he turns the corner, ready to get back inside the warm shop as soon as possible - it's cold out, and he still needs a warmer jacket - but he stops when he spots the angel. It's the blonde one, Kazfiel, and he gives him a cautious smile when Kazfiel looks in his direction.
"Back so soon?"
"I have questions," Kazfiel says, and to Leroy's surprise he turns away from the shop and walks over to him. "You can answer some of them."
"Can we at least get inside? I'm freezing." Leroy asks, gesturing not to the shop but to the little cafe on the corner. It's open, it's private, and he's not ready to deal with his Assistant yet.
Kazfiel tilts his head, looking him over, then nods. "I apologize. I had not realized..."
"Just come in, alright?" Leroy opens the door. "I'll pay, so order whatever you want."
There's a small part of his brain that's screaming 'what are you doing, you have no idea what he's capable of, you don't know what he wants, if he tries anything the lady inside won't be able to do anything' but he overrides it by ordering himself some hot chocolate and getting the little table by the window. Kazfiel sits down a minute later with a cookie and hot chocolate, and it's easy enough to silence his nerves with the image of an angel eating a cookie.
Leroy sips his chocolate for a minute before raising his cup. "So, Kazfiel. What do you say to a trade?"
"A trade?"
"It's simple. You ask me a question and I answer as best I can, and then I do the same to you. Repeat until we're out of questions."
It's a gamble, one he's pretty sure he wouldn't have a chance of winning with the other angel, but Kazfiel eventually nods and sets his cookie down.
"He referred to you as sir. Why?"
"The Assistant? The exact nature of our relationship is complicated, but simply put he works for me. In detail, he's been bound to my family line, and I'm the latest Dalliard in the line. Don't ask me how that got started, or how we have him bound, as I don't know and I haven't asked." Leroy makes a mental note to himself to pry into that later. He's always meant to, but there's something to be said of his Assistant's abilities to deflect or distract questioners, and he's never gotten around to it.
Kazfiel seems to take this in stride, taking his own drink and tasting it. For a moment Leroy just watches him, bouncing around ideas for a question, and beyond that he's not one to deny anyone a chance to enjoy some good hot chocolate.
At last Kazfiel sets down his cup, and Leroy leans forward. He has something non-threatening to ask, just to test the waters and fish out some information he might be able to use later.
"Alright. You two mentioned that you were referred to my Assistant. Who referred you?"
"Haniel negotiated access after I convinced him that it would be easier to move in these lands without antagonizing the local Pagans, and we consulted Mimir under Odin's watch. That creature sent us here."
Leroy nods, raising a finger as he pulls a pen out of his pocket and scribbles down notes on his napkin. "I don't have as perfect a memory as you probably do, so I'm taking notes for later." He says by way of explanation. "Go ahead, it's your turn."
"I doubt you have much information I can use," Kazfiel says. "If you don't know what your Assistant is."
"He's not a demon or a spirit, and he's no God." Leroy says. "Pagan or otherwise. If that helps narrow it down for you. And may I mention that I'm the best source of information you have on his habits and so on. And if you two are planning an extended stay on Earth, I can give you primers on how not to stick out like a sore thumb."
He tries a smile, aware that in the end he's not as useful as his Assistant is, at least not without a lot more study and experience. Still: he's not willing to let Kazfiel go just yet, as this is exactly the sort of thing he needs to gain that experience he's looking for.
"You act above your station, mortal," Kazfiel comments. He picks up his cookie. "But it is your turn to ask a question, and I am willing to continue."
Leroy nods, sipping his drink. What to ask, then...he doesn't bother to hide his relief at Kazfiel's words, or his curiosity. He's never been addressed like that before, and it's a curious sensation. "What would I have to do to convince you to let me ask you a bunch of probably stupid questions, and then get answers for them?"
"Your Assistant knows everything, or so he claims. Couldn't he answer those questions?"
"Hey, you need to answer my question before it's your turn again. Remember?"
Kazfiel frowns at him, then takes a bite of the cookie, finishing it. Leroy watches him chew and then swallow, absently wondering if angels need to eat. Absently wondering if angels look like men in suits when they're in Heaven. A whole list of stupid questions to ask Kazfiel springs to mind, but he can't and won't ask them yet. Not when Kazfiel could just get up and go, getting on with his (its? Do angels have gender?) business.
"Remain curious," Kazfiel says at last. "And assist us when we next question your Assistant, so that he does not aggravate Haniel as he did. I will endure your questions in exchange for that. Is that fair?"
He can't stop the grin, so he doesn't. Instead he holds out a hand, and after a moment where Kazfiel looks utterly confused, Kazfiel hesitantly takes his hand. Leroy shakes it once, then pulls back. "We're shaken on it: it's a deal, Kazfiel."
"I comprehend," Kazfiel says, and gets up. "I have no need to eat but I like to. Does that answer the first of your questions?"
"You can read minds?" Leroy asks, not really surprised. He gets up too, pulling out his wallet and counting out the pounds and change for the drinks and cookie.
"I choose not to in most cases," Kazfiel says as they exit, but it's not exactly reassuring.
"You're still less creepy than my Assistant," Leroy says, raising a hand to shield his face from the sudden wind. "...still need a new jacket," he mutters to himself, shivering. It's too cold out, and he hurries ahead towards the shop and - and slips.
It's not helping that his jacket is getting even wetter from the slush, and he's getting tired of seeing angels from down here, but he accepts the hand Kazfiel offers gratefully and brushes himself off.
"Thanks... He warned me to watch my step," Leroy mutters, carefully picking his way over to the Assistant's door. "Great."
"He is a fine oracle," Kazfiel says neutrally, and holds the door open for him.
---
"Demon."
Flauros turns, back stiffening at the word. "I don't like your tone," he says by way of warning, but it's Suphlatus (Fallen angel of dust; he fears her) and he knows he'll never act on it. From her smile, she knows it, too. "What do you want?"
She seats herself on the counter, fingering the little bell. "They're here. Keep an eye out for suits and let me or Kaz know if you spot 'em."
"It worked, then." Flauros keeps his tone neutral, hiding his disappointment. As much as he craves resolution, and as much as he supports his angels, this little mockery of a human life has been pleasing. Another few days...another week...
"Is that a problem, Flauros?" She rings it, once, and raises her hands from the counter.
"No." It's not unreasonable for him to loathe and fear angels, even those he works for. In fact, it's unusual that he would even consider being loyal to them for any reason other than fear, but then again the reason he is here - the angel he is loyal to - is an unusual one.
He almost asks for details, for anything else to watch for, but no. That would be beyond his station, and Suphlatus has never been patient with demonkind. She'll offer details if she's so inclined, and he will strive to obey to the best of his ability.
He holds still as Suphlatus leans forward, reaching out to trail her fingernails over the skin of his neck, and tells himself that this gesture should frighten him more. This form is vulnerable, and unlike in Hell he must worry if his neck is injured. Yet.
"Corruptor," he rumbles, and bares his teeth when she looks at him. Weakness or not he will not bend any further than required for this angel.
"What she sees in you I will never know," Suphlatus murmurs, and pulls away. "Keep an eye out."
"I will," he says, and resumes his post, wrapping the guise of humanity completely around him once more.
---
"My information was accurate, but I regret to tell you that I will not divulge the secrets of Haniel's past without his consent. There are some boundaries I simply will not cross, not even for angels."
"Had he not stopped you - "
"Ah, but he did! And therein lies the problem. He means for that information to be secret, and I see no reason to expose him at this time."
Leroy takes a deep breath, urging himself to calm down before he steps in. Now that he actually likes Kazfiel, it's harder to be as amused when his Assistant plays this game, and he's ready to step in and demand answers himself. The trouble is, he doesn't want to risk a power struggle yet, not over this, and certainly not with company.
It's an unpleasant change from their friendly company earlier, but a necessary one if he is to prevent troubles in the future.
"Is it truly necessary, sir?" His Assitant looks over at him, cordial. "The circumstances are thus: if not for a mismanaged argument you would be continuing on with your life unharried and our relationship would remain the same. It is simply now that you are intruding on affairs that I have been - "
"You're doing it again," Leroy says. "And yes, I know that you have your secret meetings. But unless you lied to me...listen. Either call me sir or not at all. Understand?"
"Ah," his Assistant says, and, "Point taken. Sir."
"Thank you. Now, tell Kazfiel this secret of Haniel's. And if you can't tell him, tell me."
He affixes his Assistant with a long stare, waiting, and for a moment neither one of them backs down. Until, at last, his Assistant looks away and says, for once with slow, measured words: "Haniel was still uncertain of his position with regards to you," he nods to Kazfiel. "And Lucifer, being aware of the situation and in preparations for a war he knew he might not win, decided to take advantage of it, and potentially gain himself yet another edge over the forces of God. He approached Haniel discreetly, and made plain his terms: either Haniel would carry out some small tasks for him, or he would destroy you. He intimated that he would not be adverse to taking you for his own as well, and left Haniel to brood over this."
"I remember nothing of this," Kazfiel cuts in. "Haniel was - "
The Assistant interrupts. "You were engaged in your studies with that angel, and as Haniel was already accustomed to shielding you from his doubts about the upcoming war...the combination of your inattention and his discretion left you in the dark. As Haniel intended."
"So what exactly did he ask Haniel to do?" Leroy asks. He'll keep them on topic if for no other reason now than his own curiousity.
"Ah, but you may be more interested to hear that he did not do most of them. Haniel was forced to submit to a few indignities, but in the end committed no crime worthy of mention. As an added bonus, Michael was made aware of this plot of Lucifer's and put an end to it."
"Assistant."
"Yes?"
"Answer the question."
"Ah. Yes." A sheepish smile, one that Leroy doesn't buy for a minute. "He was required to give Lucifer some of his own essence. Thus strengthened Lucifer had hoped that an unsubtle edge would be helpful. He was marked in the process, and quite frankly you do not want to know."
Here, here is where Leroy gets a whiff of exactly why his Assistant is skirting around the subject. He nods, finally understanding at least a portion of this, and turns to Kazfiel.
"Is there anything else you want to ask him?"
"I want to know how Haniel was marked."
"Kazfiel...in this case, I can see why my Assistant's being so circumspect. You really should let it go."
"Why?"
Leroy rubs his forehead. "Listen. He let Lucifer hurt and mark him to protect you. He's obviously embarrassed of it, and quite frankly? We don't need details. Do you understand?"
There's anger there, a flash of stubborn irritation, before it's smoothed over with calm. Kazfiel nods, unreadable now.
"If it is any consolation," his Assistant says. "Someday (I cannot say how soon) Haniel will show you that mark. Do not press him on it until then."
"...Then I have one other question to ask of you." Kazfiel says, quietly.
Leroy studies him, and studies his Assistant, and waits for the question. He's not sure why his Assistant is tense again, but then - is the question difficult? He doesn't know yet.
"I want to know the location of the archangel Raziel," Kazfiel says in a clear voice. He nods to Leroy and adds, for his benefit, "After the wars and debacle with the Grigori, the archangel Raziel descended to Earth in order to learn more of the secrets he was trusted with. He has not returned, and Heaven..."
"You knew him?" Leroy asks, surprised. He shouldn't be, but then again with words like 'archangel' floating around he can't help but think of unapproachable figures, distant in a way reminding him of deities.
"He was my primary teacher," Kazfiel says. "He extended the breadth of my knowledge in ways Haniel could not. I was...eager for his return."
"Then...Assistant? Do you know where he is?"
"That angel is gone." The Assistant says in a flat tone of voice. "Destroyed by an errant human."
"Only the sword of an archangel can slay an archangel." Recitation, with the tinge of denial. Leroy winces at the sound of it. "He is not dead."
"No, that angel is not dead." The Assistant says. "However. Beyond your reach, and gone."
For a long moment Kazfiel moves to ask a question but no sound reaches his lips, and Leroy wants to reach out to him, offer some sympathy. For a long moment the Assistant is stone, not saying or showing anything.
Leroy thinks: There is more going on here.
But before he can act on that thought, the door opens and in comes Haniel with the cold winter winds.
---
There is an odd sort of pleasure in crafting wards; in crafting sigils and complex markings empowered with the ability to bind angels and creatures Raziel tells him are going to be called demons, once they are created. The wards aren't always symmetrical but they are always crafted with patterns in mind, and it isn't long before Kazfiel can see the shape of the pattern, find what is missing and correct the wards accordingly.
He works with chalk on a rough stone floor, unable to test the wards by using them, but able to trust that they are well-designed and would work, if he activated them. He can see how the lines of power flow through the patterns and how the bindings light up as he tests them, trapping himself in slightly broken circles, testing all of the layers except for the one he left open so that he could leave when finished.
Raziel seems to delight in showing him new creatures, new forms of demons with new ways to circumvent the wards and break the cages created for them, and Kazfiel rises to the challenges, crafting new circles of power and new sigils meant to confine and tame and more.
"Have you given much thought to using sound, Kazfiel?" Raziel asks him on a quiet night. "It adds yet another layer to the trap."
"I have not," Kazfiel says as he wipes the floor clean and restores his chalks to their original state. "Tell me."
"Then come with me," Raziel says. "I have yet another place to show you."
Kazfiel takes to wing when Raziel does, abandoning the chalks and instead flying up through the overturned bookcases, sprawled in mid-air over this pit, books held eternally half open, pages suspended in time. Kazfiel takes care not to ruffle those frozen figures, following the course Raziel sets. The library of Heaven is a maze, and the darker portions of it tense up Kazfiel's nerves in odd ways, but he is never afraid. There are no dangers, and Raziel has often told him that they could let children run through here unsupervised, provided they were able to fly.
As he follows Raziel he distracts himself with the thought of a being that wouldn't be able to fly - what a funny and pitiable thing, he thinks! - and so nearly loses sight of Raziel as they wind their way around a tower.
Raziel halts in his flight, wings beating a steady tempo as he waits, and Kazfiel offers a sheepish smile at the delay.
"I was thinking," he says once he catches up to him. "And I was wondering...what would it be like if I couldn't fly?"
"There are ways to experience that," Raziel says. "But I doubt you would want to at this time. The ground is a long way down."
"I can see that!"
"Indeed - follow me and keep up this time, Kazfiel. I don't want to wait for you to catch up again."
"Yes, Raziel," Kazfiel says, and he follows more closely this time, letting his thoughts wait for a better moment.
The opening into the top portion of the tower is a round portal, edged with white wooden borders and leading into an empty space. There are windows, tall ones that extend up and down for long stretches, ones that are filled with blue-tinted glass.
The top of the tower, small as it is, is peppered with small holes, and sunlight streams down through the air, and Kazfiel must pause to admire the sight.
"Warded against sound, and warded to contain power." Raziel comments, raising a hand to point out the white lines of wards that lace around the windows and across the walls. "This is an ideal location to explore the strength of these form of wards, as there is no way to leave them half-constructed. You bind completely or not at all."
"How does it work?" Kazfiel asks.
"Observe," Raziel says, and he speaks a string of syllables that light up the room and Kazfiel can feel the rush of power as something attempts to happen.
Raziel lets it fade, and smiles thinly.
"The thing I attempted to summon doesn't exist yet." He turns to Kazfiel. "Try repeating what I did."
Kazfiel nods, and does. He fails in his first attempt, and in the second, but by the third he is beginning to understand what Raziel shows him, and the fourth attempt brings a rush of power with it.
---
"I need your expertise," Haniel says to Kazfiel by way of greeting. "I have found them and verified his information. Getting in will be difficult, as their defenses are formidable."
"Sir," The Assistant says, eyes on Leroy. "Reconsider you opinion of me. You truly did not want to be here today."
Before Leroy can ask why, Kazfiel shakes himself and takes a step towards Haniel.
"Are they prepared for us?"
"Overly so."
Leroy doesn't like the way Kazfiel turns then, or the look he is given. He doesn't like how he's being appraised all of a sudden, nor does he like the sudden warning his Assistant is giving him. If it is a warning. (Bit late for a warning, too.)
"You will be of use to us," Kazfiel says. There is no trace of emotion in his tone, no trace of humanity. It is flat; robotic. The hairs on the back of Leroy's neck go up, as do his arms when Kazfiel moves towards him, walking into his personal space. Leroy backs up, and again, and again until he bumps back into the counter, Kazfiel following his every step.
"Assistant - " Leroy starts.
"Agents of fate," The Assistant mutters, before he is sliding around the counter - a first for Leroy, as he has never seen the man come any closer than that - and inserting himself between Leroy and Kazfiel. "There are other humans you can use. This one is mine."
Except that it's the other way around, Leroy thinks, but Kazfiel's eyes are still on him, and he knows that he's going to get dragged into this, if only because they have already made a deal.
"Tell me what you plan to do," he says, hiding any fear as he puts a hand on the Assistant's shoulder.
"They intend to use you as a walking shield. A sacrifical lamb, send to the Harlot for sacrifice." The Assistant says. "Sir. You will not acquiesce to this demand. Nor will I allow you to go without protest."
"Then we will find another," Haniel says, voice equally as cold. "Come, Kazfiel."
"Sacrifice. You're going to let someone else die." Leroy manages. "I can't let you do that."
"Then you will go."
"No," says the Assistant. "Absolutely not."
Leroy knows very little about the situation, even less about why they want him. He can guess, and his mind is racing, looking for a way out that won't leave someone else in danger, looking for more information than he has. This isn't good, this isn't working -
"Sir." The Assistant glances back at him. "The Harlot is capturing and sacrificing men primarily for the purpose of luring these two down here. They are lying in wait to trap the two angels sent for them, and you would simply be a tool that would be used and destroyed by either side."
"Tell me how to change the situation, so no one has to die."
"I..." Here the Assistant hesitates, uncertainty showing.
"We're going." Haniel says. "Kazfiel."
Leroy reaches out to grab at Kazfiel's shoulder, almost, fingers halting when he spots something go sharp in his Assistant's eyes; sees his shoulders stiffen.
"If either of you leave now I will immediately call the Harlot and her entourage and warn them of your approach!" The Assistant says, quickly. "My master has asked me to change the situation and so I shall. Kazfiel, the tug you feel will lead you directly to the Harlot, to your twin, and thus to unending darkness. Due to Suphlatus' presence the power granted by your union would be warped in undesirable ways. Haniel! Are you willing to violate those orders granted to you by Michael so long ago?"
Leroy pulls his hand back, surprised at the sudden hope and frustration Kazfiel is showing. Twin? He shouldn't be focused on that, but that's what his mind has landed on. He doesn't know enough to participate in the conversation, not now, not yet.
"You would fail to inform of us this?" Haniel asks, and there is an audible wave of power coming off of him, a tangible sign of rage. "When we come to you for information - "
"My business is in knowing the future as well as everything else, not in changing it. That is the purview of humanity, and without the intercession of my master then nothing would have changed."
"Destruction," Haniel says flatly.
"You don't even know why you're to keep them separate." The Assistant says softly. "I suggest that you turn and take Kazfiel back to Heaven and inform Michael the truth behind the identity of the Harlot."
"We cannot violate our orders."
"Indeed not. Fortunately for us all, neither can I." The Assistant puts his hands together, speaking quickly in a language Leroy doesn't understand, and then - Haniel steps forward, speaking a word of warning - a great flash of light -
and they are elsewhere, in a place Leroy does not know.
---
[ Continue]
---
There. He had asked the question, and it was entirely out of his hands now. Whether Michael gave him the Name, whether he would be destroyed for his arrogance, it was all out of his hands. The only relief he had now was that the burning urge to ask for the Name was gone.
Light flickers around him as Michael stares into his eyes, and Kasbeel doesn't try to stop him, doesn't bother to even try blocking the invasion of his thoughts and of his being. Why would he? There is no hiding from Michael, as he is nowhere near strong enough to block him effectively and come out of that alive. Besides, he has nothing to hide.
Nothing except for his urge to ask this forbidden question, and he asked it barely seconds ago.
Michael finally breaks his gaze, and Kasbeel studies him, trying to guess at the inner workings of his mind: what is he deciding, what will he do?
Not that he can read an archangel. Armored fires wreathed in light and how can you read the body language of a being made of starstuff? (These are the kinds of thoughts Kasbeel has chased around since his creation, and the kind of thoughts that led him to the here and now of asking for the hidden Name, the one no angel but Michael can know.)
It is a surprise to see Michael's light dim, however briefly, and Kasbeel steels himself to whatever Michael is about to say. He doesn't know what that brief change means, and dares not to hope that he will be told what he wants to know.
Michael opens his mouth, and speaks.
Kasbeel knows the Name of God, the forbidden Name, and he knows that it has left Michael and has come to rest in him, has entrusted him with its power and he is a sacred and mighty and terrible being to hold it within himself.
Michael's light burns brighter, and that - in that brief moment when the name is still joining itself to Kasbeel, making itself at home - Michael cuts him down with a sword edged with fire and cleaves the Name in two.
Kasbeel knows excitement, awe, joy, surprise - fear, anger, pain - and the Name keeps him alive even as he is slain, and when the Name is cut he is still - still! - alive.
But he is no longer whole.
Michael sheathes his blade.
---
Haniel, chief of order of principalities, archangel, ruler over the month of December and of the planet Venus, bowed to the archangel Michael and accepted his new charge. A new angel, ignorant in the ways of Heaven (unlike all other angels, who came into existance knowing what they were and what they were meant to do) and one that required guidance.
"His name is Kazfiel," Michael says. "See to it that he is made useful to you."
Haniel takes the hand of the young angel, quietly marveling at how small and how young he is. Quietly marveling at how much trust is being placed in him. He is being trusted to show Kazfiel what is expected of him, and to keep this angel safe.
"There are conditions," Michael says.
He explains that Kazfiel is not to come into contact with the other young angel. ("Kazbiel. He is not to meet her under any circumstances.") He explains that Kazfiel's rank is undefined. ("I am certain he will be a warrior. But what his intended use is...that remains to be seen.")
Haniel doesn't ask why Michael seems to be shaken, and he doesn't pry into the details that Michael isn't telling him. It isn't his place.
All the while Kazfiel holds his hand and watches him, eyes curious. Haniel has an idle thought (so rare, so easy to ignore when he has only his duty and purpose to follow, life as an angel defined in absolute values and only now disupted by the presence of this anomaly) and wonders: what will Kazfiel look like in ten years? In a thousand?
---
"I specifically told you that I will remain in residency here, and I am afraid I cannot agree to your wishes. Sir, we have gone over this and over this and please: I make few requests of you, in fact I make no requests as general policy, and this is the exception to that policy: please do not ask me to do the impossible for you."
Leroy looks his Assistant up and down and sighs. "Would it kill you to actually listen to my request before you get all defensive? Because I'm not going to ask you to move."
"You're not?"
"Don't sound so surprised. Here. I was going to see if you can turn this place into something other than a store. You never sell anything, it's a front for your existance here... Don't look so fisheyed, either. I'm asking you to stay within these same four walls as always, just change the innards a bit."
There's a pause, and Leroy watches wheels turn in his Assistant's head. He's not asking for the sun or the moon here, and surely it's not an impossible request.
"What precisely do you have in mind?"
"Turning this shop area into more of a cross between a library and a cafe, except it's closed to the public."
"I only offer water for refreshments, as you well know. Sir."
"Ah, but I'm certain you can expand your repertoire to serving hot water as well. Or is that too hard for you?"
His Assistant looks immensely peeved, but Leroy's having none of it. He knows what he wants done, and if he can upgrade the storefront into something more comfortable, then maybe he can get a crack at convincing his stubborn Assistant to upgrade from a simple cot to a comfortable bed. (If his uncle were still around, he'd give him a piece of his mind for leaving this issue alone. Servant or employee, it makes no difference - you don't treat them poorly.)
"Is serving hot water forbidden by your rules, or can I give you a pot and tea bags and actually see them get used?"
"I wouldn't make use of them for myself, but if you want me to keep a cup in readiness for you, I can do that."
"Excellent! Also, turn those shelves into bookcases, alright? I'll get some boxes over soon so we can get my collection moved in."
"Ah...as you have proven to be difficult to read (and I am terribly sorry about my deficiency in that area, sir) then may I ask why you want to store your possesions with me?"
"You'll take care of them, and I can call you up and ask you look something up - don't give me that look, I know you know what's in them. And it's another excuse to drop in here more often."
There's that fish-eyed look again, the one Leroy is coming to enjoy (how often can he surprise someone who knows the future scarily well?) and he gives a grin in return.
"Alright, alright. I'll ease up on you," he says. "A question before I get going to fetch those boxes. Exactly who do I call up to guarantee a smooth transaction for those grimoires, and is there anything I can use to lower the prices - ah, thank you." Maybe he should still be freaked out at how there are pieces of papers prepared before he arrives that contain the answers he's looking for, but it's in danger of becoming routine now. "And - " Yes, there's the other answer to the question that time. He reads it, just to make sure there hasn't been a mistake.
There hasn't been, and he puts the papers in his front pocket. "You're too good, you know that?"
"Thank you, sir."
---
It's been nearly a week since Leroy's managed to get his Assistant to agree to renovations, and still far too little work has been done so far. They're barely done with moving his books in, and there's an idea: maybe he should mark down a deadline for when everything should be done, so he can hold his Assistant to it.
He looks over for a calendar to mark up, and - he sighs. Of course. Sometimes he's sure his Assistant goes without things just to irritate him.
"Why don't you own a calendar?"
"January fourth, two-thousand - "
"Ah, right, sorry. Of course you know the date, you know everything." It's dry sarcasm, and Leroy is holding back irritation.
"Indeed, sir. As this is the last box, you'll want to dash outside and lock up your vehicle before some addled prankster thinks to check inside and find that you've left the keys in it. It's cold enough to risk that sort of thing, after all."
"That had better be a joke," Leroy snaps, and he runs out of the little shop, making a beeline to where his car is parked. He retreives his keys (thank god they are still there) and locks up quick, already shivering in the cold. "Need a new jacket," he mutters to himself, and he turns to run back to the relative warmth of his Assistant's shop.
The snow isn't kind, however. He trips in the slush and thank god he wasn't carrying anything. Instead of focusing on how the slush and snow is soaking his pants and coat and freezing his hands, he scrambles up, thankful that he doesn't need to run and pick up damaged books out of the snow.
He freezes, suddenly aware that he's not alone. It's a sidewalk, it's a public space, but there - were they there before? - are two men standing barely a foot away, looking steadily at his Assistant's shop.
"It's closed today," he offers by way of greeting, deciding not to be miffed that neither one had offered him a hand to help him up. "He's doing some remodeling."
"You know the inhabitant?"
Odd phrasing. Leroy doesn't ask. "I do." Wary, guarded. These two: they're tall, both of them. Dressed in sharp black suits, and both of them without a coat. One's a redhead, and the other's blonde, and Leroy needs to decide if he's going inside now or waiting around to talk to them. Trouble is, they look like security goons or business execs, or even bloody mafia, and he doesn't want to tangle with those types, period.
The redhead looks at him, eyes unreadable. "Let us in." It's an order, not a request, and Leroy looks between them both before going to the door.
"The door's unlocked," Leroy says, pulling it open. "He'll throw you out if he doesn't want you here."
He doesn't wait to see if they take the door or not, and heads for his boxes, counting them again.
"Stay right there, sir. This is going to be unpleasant."
"What?" Leroy looks up and over at his Assistant. It occurs to him in the back of his mind that he's wearing the same kind of suit (but it's the same suit he always wears) as the two oddballs outside, but any implications from that are disrupted and lost when he hears the door open.
In come the two (no snow on their shoulders, they were standing outside long enough for some snow, surely?) and Leroy frowns. Why is his Assistant pale? He's never seen the man look afraid before.
"It is a rare honor to serve you, kind sirs. I trust the journey down here has been pleasant?"
"We were sent to you." The red-haired one seems to be the spokesperson for the duo. Leroy frowns, paying attention. Usually his Assistant would give him warning before odd business entered his shop, but not this time. Why?
"You were indeed directed in the correct direction. I will serve as oracle and I know just where to send you."
"We are not going to follow your directions blindly."
"Of course." The Assistant puts a finger to his lips. "Your quarry is accompanied by another of her ilk and a demon. Will that do?"
"No."
"The numbers are correct," says the blonde. "Ha - "
"We will require more proof, oracle."
Leroy hms and renames the redhead in his name to H. He's aching to scoot behind the counter and elbow his Assistant for names, but he knows better than to interrupt. Not yet, in any case.
"Sir, do you want to know their names?"
"Ah..." Leroy stiffens as the two strangers turn to study him. "It'd be better manners to ask them directly. I mean, I can ask when you're done."
"They require proof, and as it would discomfort them for me to name sensitive information so baldly, I must give them enough tidbits. Their names would serve as partial proof. Do you want to know their names?"
Easy enough, then. "Yes."
"Haniel and Kazfiel. They are on a mission to capture two fallen angels and destroy the demon that accompanied them when they escaped from Hell. I assure you that I haven't gone crazy, simply that this is more unusual business than my typical fare. You could consider this living proof that your studies are more than simply intellectual."
"Parlor tricks," says Haniel. "The last one we consulted told us that much."
"Yes, I know. I was simply placing myself on her level before I went further. Your own suspicions have brought on the rest."
Leroy almost smirks to hear the note of arrogance in his Assistant's voice. This is his element: being smarter than his customers and lording it over them. It's almost annoying sometimes, but he forgives that on the virtue of his Assistant learning early not to play such games with him.
"Neither one of you will like the results of this hunt, and it would be in your best interests to inform Michael that he must send another. But as that is a useless warning that will go unheeded, then I will proceed." He puts his hands together, collecting his thoughts. "Haniel. You had a close encounter with that mighty angel Lucifer before his Fall, and out of fear for your new charge you made a bargain with him - "
"That's enough," Haniel interrupts, voice low. Leroy shivers involuntarily at the sudden tension in the air, how dangerous this man (angel?) seems now.
"Really?" Kazfiel asks, but Haniel raises a hand and he closes his mouth before he asks more questions.
"You've proven your worth. Consider yourself fortunate that I am not authorized to destroy more than is necessary to bring down my quarry."
"Indeed, indeed. Ask your questions now." The Assistant has a benevolent smile on his face, and seems completely unconcerned about his safety.
"Their names?"
"Suphlatus. Flauros. The Harlot. Her original name is masked to me."
"Acceptable. How are we to destroy their wards and protections?"
It's all business now, with Haniel asking numerous questions about this Harlot and her companions and with the Assistant evading certain questions without offering a reason why but answering the rest of them thoroughly, and all the while Leroy can see curiosity building in Kazfiel. Unlike before the angel is nearly fidgeting now, and Leroy knows that he's eager to evict Haniel from the premises and ask him for answers at length, but - Leroy finds himself pitying the poor thing, because he knows that look Haniel's wearing. He's seen it on his father often enough. It means Haniel won't answer any personal questions, full stop.
"Leroy, I will address your concerns at a later date," his Assistant speaks, interrupting his thoughts and Haniel's latest question. "Rest assured that they will be handled soon."
"Of course. You know you're creepy when you do that, right?"
"I do, sir. Now, as you were saying?" He turns back to Haniel with that same benevolent smile, the one that's guaranteed to grate on nerves. Leroy almost snickers to see it again. (Let him laugh where he can, especially when it comes to fellows like these two.)
Haniel frowns, but continues.
---
It's not long before they've left the shop to its usual silence, and Leroy lets his Assistant have a few minutes while he gets some of the books placed on their new homes on the shelves. It's a comfortable silence, one he's used to - for as long as he's known the Assistant (and considered him 'his') it's been a mutual understanding that neither one of them pries into matters that are personal and private ones without good reason. Leroy doesn't ask what his Assistant writes in that book he keeps by his cot, he doesn't get asked about what he really thinks of the partner he brought back to his flat the other night, nor about his relatives or why cigarettes can cause him nightmares.
And because his Assistant claims to know everything (except when he doesn't, by his own admission) including details about his personal life, Leroy takes it upon himself to nose into the mundane aspects of his Assistant's life in his free hours. Hence his presence here today, with the boxes of books and the already-set-up coffee maker. ("If you won't drink coffee out of it, just use it to heat the water and I'll bring by boxes of tea, got it?")
A thought occurs to him. "Hey, Assistant. Were you trying to talk me out of this whole thing so I wouldn't be here today?"
"That was not - " when Leroy looks over the Assistant is looking at once outraged and amused. "It was not my primary reason for protesting."
"Ah-ha, then it was one of your reasons."
"A small one, sir. Barely worth considering."
"Mmhm. Care to give me the low-down on those angels now, or do I have time to sort out another box?"
"It is quite easy to do both, sir. The box to your direct left with the green design on it has those foreign titles, and I believe you wanted them grouped together on the bottom shelf. That is simply busywork and you are more than capable of listening to me while doing that."
"It never fails to amaze me when you do that," Leroy says as he bends to shift that box over and open it up - yep, the foreign titles are there, and he had never intended to sort them in with the others. "Okay, go ahead."
"I will offer you a warning, sir, as I am not inclined to give this information freely regardless of audience, and so while I may be made to regret this mode of telling everything I will not hesitate further." And before Leroy can ask, the Assistant launches into his explaination.
Spoken rapidly, with the words barely distinct from one another: "I was only peripherally aware of that meeting, and thus unable to arrange for more convenient circumstances for us both. I would have preferred it if you had not been present but as you can see that did not work out and so here we are. As you are interested I will answer that yes I do occasionally act as oracle for otherwordly agencies, but entities seeking me out have become fewer and fewer in recent ages. My prices are usually high as well, as only the Dalliard family - your family - commands me at will. You are the first Dalliard in several hundred years to discover this side business of mine, but I trust that it won't be a problem provided I give you details and information about it. As you are about to interrupt and ask me to explain this method of speech I will answer that I have commonly used it to distract and otherwise befuddle my listeners, and you could call it a form of stream of consciousness but in the spoken word and quite frankly I enjoy it, as it allows me to - here I must break off to mention that I have abstained from it for quite a long period as it over-amused your predecessor to confine me to this style except when he required information and then I was to stay strictly to business. Quite frustrating but his years were difficult in general and I would prefer that this not be the last sentence you focus on, so I will inject some vital information into this paragraph. Haniel is an archangel, Kazfiel is at once his partner and charge, and he sees to it that Kazfiel behaves properly in all things. Nevermind that it has been several thousand years since they first met and that he can trust Kazfiel to most things by now. But angels are unchanging and difficult to deal with at the best of times. If I am permitted, I may interfere in their business."
Leroy raises his hand, then lowers it, and sighs. "You're nuts."
"Quite, quite. A happy state of affairs comes out of such a state of sanity especially when I cannot help but be able to name you a complete list of murders and victims within the last six years and if I were not so selective in my focus I could tell you almost anything about anything. You are quite lucky that - "
"Right. How do I turn this off again?"
"You don't, sir. Once provoked I am - "
"You're upset, got it. So if I make you happy - " It's futile bargaining, and Leroy knows what always comes next. Damnit, but he hates it when his Assistant gets like this.
"I would be much obliged if you would stop interrupting. Some of my words may be important, for example: the angel Kazfiel will return within half an hour to ask me some questions and clarify what he heard about the secrets in Haniel's past. Quite unbecoming conduct for an angel of his stature, but I personally find it fascinating."
"Excuse me!" Leroy slams his hands down on the counter, effectively silencing his Assistant.
"...I apologize."
"Great, but that's not what I want. Talk however you want when I'm not asking you for explanations, got it?"
He's fed up with it. It's all well and good to be addressed as 'sir' and it's great to have information that no one else can possibly give him, but there's something he's always noticed about the Assistant's behavior that needs to be corrected if they're to continue working together, and soon: too much passive-aggresive behavior, too many reminders that Leroy's not all-knowing like his Assistant. Problem is, the Assistant is a servant. The terms of the relationship were spelled out as master and servant, and unless the Assistant was lying to him when he originally introduced himself and described what his function was, Leroy needs to apply some corrective measures and fast.
"Are you going to use a whip?"
"No, I am not." Leroy rubs his forehead, briefly. He doesn't have time to go into discipline issues right now, but it's on his agenda now. "Exactly when is this Kazfiel arriving?"
"Twenty-three minutes, fourteen seconds. Thirteen. Twelve."
"I like you, Assistant. And not just as a resource. But unless you really want me to start treating you like a friend and dragging you out for drinks - permitted to leave or not - then I suggest you stay in line. Don't look like that. I can't see the future and I don't know everything, but I can cut phonelines as well as anyone else."
"Your threats are unnecessary."
"Are they?" A blatant challenge.
"Yes."
Leroy holds back an irritated sigh and steps back. "Write down a brief summary of what those angels are doing here, and what they're hunting. And the books I can use to verify at least some of your information."
"Human lore is notoriously full of holes - "
"You've told me before. Get to it." Leroy turns back to his books, ending the conversation. So that angel is coming back. Right. He needs to clear his head, before anger overwhelms him again. As he said, (and thought so many times) he's not Jack, and while he will insist on obedience he will not resort to cruelty. So: "I'm taking a walk, and I'll be back for that angel gets here. Got it?"
"Take care not to slip."
Leroy glances back at his Assistant, then sighs and lets himself out into the cold.
---
The heavenly library; that majestic archive full of the great extents of Heaven's knowledge. It is Kazfiel's newest assignment and joy in one, as here he is freed to learn as much as he can. His endless questioning of Haniel was initially welcomed, but now Haniel is eager to set his charge to the books and scrolls so that he may ask everything he wants without troubling the clearcut lines of his own existance.
The walls of books go up and up and up, and at first all Kazfiel does is fly along and through the bookcases, taking in the immense quantity of them. He's paying attention to where certain books are stored with more security than he can see at first glance, and he's noting the locations of interesting titles (when the books have titles) and the first thought that is at once a sentence and in his head fully formed is this: I have eternity and I'll need it.
The rest of his thoughts are quick, rapidfire questions: What's missing? Who writes these? Can I write one? Can I read them? Is there anyone who has read all of them? Can I meet them?
"Curious," murmurs an angel from above. "Are you Kazfiel?"
"I am."
Kazfiel flies up, to see this angel eye-to-eye, and he bows his head briefly in a gesture of respect. He does not know this angel's name yet, but it is easy enough to see the trappings of rank. An archangel, and while he could guess at its identity with some confidence, it would be safer not to. (He thinks with shame of the day he guessed at an angel's identity and guessed wrong. Haniel had not been pleased.)
For a long minute the archangel says nothing, and Kazfiel looks away from him, waiting for instruction. He nearly fidgets, urged by the ever-present tug in his mind to move, to descend through the layers of Heaven to seek out something (he knows not what) but Haniel has impressed into him the importance of suppressing this urge until the proper time.
"You resemble..." the archangel begins, then silences itself. "Perhaps that was intentional. Kazfiel, come with me."
Abruptly the archangel turns in the air, and Kazfiel hurries to follow it, curious. They ascend through the spiral bookcases of mahogany and marble, and wind through a land-bound section of books, walking over carpetted floors and past tall rows of scrolls, and Kazfiel does his best to memorize the locations of these scrolls, fully intending to return later and read them. They pass several angels that Kazfiel identifies as thrones, but before he can identify their tasks he has to hurry on in order to keep up with the archangel.
Finally they come to a room lit by candles, where a desk sits against the wall, and Kazfiel studies the numerous stacks of parchment in the room, and the rows of inkwells and quills, ready for writing. He opens his mouth to ask why there aren't windows or any place for open air to come in (as is usually customary in the architecture of Heaven) but the archangel indicates the ceiling.
The dome, to be correct. A dim blue glow emits from its surface, and he must ask:
"Stars?" Kazfiel asks, preventing himself from frowning. It's a glorious recreation of the night sky, but he doesn't see its use. "Why - "
"Earth has clouds, and while some nights are perfectly clear and bright, some nights are completely dark," says the archangel. "One day humans will fashion rooms such as this, and this is how they will view the stars on those nights."
"You have no need of this," Kazfiel says before he can stop himself from offering his opinion.
"One day I will be sent down to Earth, to walk it as men do and to learn everything about it and its inhabitants. It pleases me to design this, and there is another reason besides."
"What is that?"
"The book I am writing isn't to be seen by any eyes except my own until it is done or unless I offer someone the chance to read portions of it. While I could write it in the busiest portions of Heaven and trust that no angel would read it, it suits me to work in an enclosed space."
Kazfiel doesn't entirely understand, but now he knows who the archangel is: "Raziel," he breathes. The entire library is his domain, and all of the secrets in creation are his to know.
"Yes," Raziel says, a smile on his face. "I appreciate curiosity, especially in places where I am unlikely to find it."
"You mean me?"
"Angels, by definition, are messengers; soldiers; tools. The vast majority of our kind knows exactly what is expected of them and will fulfill that role to the best of their ability. Only the oldest of angels, the archangels (myself included) and certain exceptions are given a semblence of free will. I cannot say if it is true free will or not, as the hand of our Father is in all things and we may simply be blinded to our true purpose. In other words," here Raziel pauses for effect, "Yes, I mean you. You are curious and desire to learn things both above and below your station. Poor Haniel is and has been unprepared for this, and I will attempt to remedy this soon."
Kazfiel blinks, taking all of this in, then nods. He doesn't entirely understand, but then he may not be meant to, and regardless he keeps returning his attention to Raziel's words: 'unless I offer someone the chance to read portions...'
As if reading his mind: "Yes, I am." Raziel puts a hand on the desk. "I've prepared the pages for you."
Kazfiel moves closer, hesitating. Can he really? He looks at Raziel again, wondering if this is a test, perhaps something to do with free will, but curiosity overrides his concerns, and he sits, bending in to read...
---
Leroy shakes snow from his hair as he turns the corner, ready to get back inside the warm shop as soon as possible - it's cold out, and he still needs a warmer jacket - but he stops when he spots the angel. It's the blonde one, Kazfiel, and he gives him a cautious smile when Kazfiel looks in his direction.
"Back so soon?"
"I have questions," Kazfiel says, and to Leroy's surprise he turns away from the shop and walks over to him. "You can answer some of them."
"Can we at least get inside? I'm freezing." Leroy asks, gesturing not to the shop but to the little cafe on the corner. It's open, it's private, and he's not ready to deal with his Assistant yet.
Kazfiel tilts his head, looking him over, then nods. "I apologize. I had not realized..."
"Just come in, alright?" Leroy opens the door. "I'll pay, so order whatever you want."
There's a small part of his brain that's screaming 'what are you doing, you have no idea what he's capable of, you don't know what he wants, if he tries anything the lady inside won't be able to do anything' but he overrides it by ordering himself some hot chocolate and getting the little table by the window. Kazfiel sits down a minute later with a cookie and hot chocolate, and it's easy enough to silence his nerves with the image of an angel eating a cookie.
Leroy sips his chocolate for a minute before raising his cup. "So, Kazfiel. What do you say to a trade?"
"A trade?"
"It's simple. You ask me a question and I answer as best I can, and then I do the same to you. Repeat until we're out of questions."
It's a gamble, one he's pretty sure he wouldn't have a chance of winning with the other angel, but Kazfiel eventually nods and sets his cookie down.
"He referred to you as sir. Why?"
"The Assistant? The exact nature of our relationship is complicated, but simply put he works for me. In detail, he's been bound to my family line, and I'm the latest Dalliard in the line. Don't ask me how that got started, or how we have him bound, as I don't know and I haven't asked." Leroy makes a mental note to himself to pry into that later. He's always meant to, but there's something to be said of his Assistant's abilities to deflect or distract questioners, and he's never gotten around to it.
Kazfiel seems to take this in stride, taking his own drink and tasting it. For a moment Leroy just watches him, bouncing around ideas for a question, and beyond that he's not one to deny anyone a chance to enjoy some good hot chocolate.
At last Kazfiel sets down his cup, and Leroy leans forward. He has something non-threatening to ask, just to test the waters and fish out some information he might be able to use later.
"Alright. You two mentioned that you were referred to my Assistant. Who referred you?"
"Haniel negotiated access after I convinced him that it would be easier to move in these lands without antagonizing the local Pagans, and we consulted Mimir under Odin's watch. That creature sent us here."
Leroy nods, raising a finger as he pulls a pen out of his pocket and scribbles down notes on his napkin. "I don't have as perfect a memory as you probably do, so I'm taking notes for later." He says by way of explanation. "Go ahead, it's your turn."
"I doubt you have much information I can use," Kazfiel says. "If you don't know what your Assistant is."
"He's not a demon or a spirit, and he's no God." Leroy says. "Pagan or otherwise. If that helps narrow it down for you. And may I mention that I'm the best source of information you have on his habits and so on. And if you two are planning an extended stay on Earth, I can give you primers on how not to stick out like a sore thumb."
He tries a smile, aware that in the end he's not as useful as his Assistant is, at least not without a lot more study and experience. Still: he's not willing to let Kazfiel go just yet, as this is exactly the sort of thing he needs to gain that experience he's looking for.
"You act above your station, mortal," Kazfiel comments. He picks up his cookie. "But it is your turn to ask a question, and I am willing to continue."
Leroy nods, sipping his drink. What to ask, then...he doesn't bother to hide his relief at Kazfiel's words, or his curiosity. He's never been addressed like that before, and it's a curious sensation. "What would I have to do to convince you to let me ask you a bunch of probably stupid questions, and then get answers for them?"
"Your Assistant knows everything, or so he claims. Couldn't he answer those questions?"
"Hey, you need to answer my question before it's your turn again. Remember?"
Kazfiel frowns at him, then takes a bite of the cookie, finishing it. Leroy watches him chew and then swallow, absently wondering if angels need to eat. Absently wondering if angels look like men in suits when they're in Heaven. A whole list of stupid questions to ask Kazfiel springs to mind, but he can't and won't ask them yet. Not when Kazfiel could just get up and go, getting on with his (its? Do angels have gender?) business.
"Remain curious," Kazfiel says at last. "And assist us when we next question your Assistant, so that he does not aggravate Haniel as he did. I will endure your questions in exchange for that. Is that fair?"
He can't stop the grin, so he doesn't. Instead he holds out a hand, and after a moment where Kazfiel looks utterly confused, Kazfiel hesitantly takes his hand. Leroy shakes it once, then pulls back. "We're shaken on it: it's a deal, Kazfiel."
"I comprehend," Kazfiel says, and gets up. "I have no need to eat but I like to. Does that answer the first of your questions?"
"You can read minds?" Leroy asks, not really surprised. He gets up too, pulling out his wallet and counting out the pounds and change for the drinks and cookie.
"I choose not to in most cases," Kazfiel says as they exit, but it's not exactly reassuring.
"You're still less creepy than my Assistant," Leroy says, raising a hand to shield his face from the sudden wind. "...still need a new jacket," he mutters to himself, shivering. It's too cold out, and he hurries ahead towards the shop and - and slips.
It's not helping that his jacket is getting even wetter from the slush, and he's getting tired of seeing angels from down here, but he accepts the hand Kazfiel offers gratefully and brushes himself off.
"Thanks... He warned me to watch my step," Leroy mutters, carefully picking his way over to the Assistant's door. "Great."
"He is a fine oracle," Kazfiel says neutrally, and holds the door open for him.
---
"Demon."
Flauros turns, back stiffening at the word. "I don't like your tone," he says by way of warning, but it's Suphlatus (Fallen angel of dust; he fears her) and he knows he'll never act on it. From her smile, she knows it, too. "What do you want?"
She seats herself on the counter, fingering the little bell. "They're here. Keep an eye out for suits and let me or Kaz know if you spot 'em."
"It worked, then." Flauros keeps his tone neutral, hiding his disappointment. As much as he craves resolution, and as much as he supports his angels, this little mockery of a human life has been pleasing. Another few days...another week...
"Is that a problem, Flauros?" She rings it, once, and raises her hands from the counter.
"No." It's not unreasonable for him to loathe and fear angels, even those he works for. In fact, it's unusual that he would even consider being loyal to them for any reason other than fear, but then again the reason he is here - the angel he is loyal to - is an unusual one.
He almost asks for details, for anything else to watch for, but no. That would be beyond his station, and Suphlatus has never been patient with demonkind. She'll offer details if she's so inclined, and he will strive to obey to the best of his ability.
He holds still as Suphlatus leans forward, reaching out to trail her fingernails over the skin of his neck, and tells himself that this gesture should frighten him more. This form is vulnerable, and unlike in Hell he must worry if his neck is injured. Yet.
"Corruptor," he rumbles, and bares his teeth when she looks at him. Weakness or not he will not bend any further than required for this angel.
"What she sees in you I will never know," Suphlatus murmurs, and pulls away. "Keep an eye out."
"I will," he says, and resumes his post, wrapping the guise of humanity completely around him once more.
---
"My information was accurate, but I regret to tell you that I will not divulge the secrets of Haniel's past without his consent. There are some boundaries I simply will not cross, not even for angels."
"Had he not stopped you - "
"Ah, but he did! And therein lies the problem. He means for that information to be secret, and I see no reason to expose him at this time."
Leroy takes a deep breath, urging himself to calm down before he steps in. Now that he actually likes Kazfiel, it's harder to be as amused when his Assistant plays this game, and he's ready to step in and demand answers himself. The trouble is, he doesn't want to risk a power struggle yet, not over this, and certainly not with company.
It's an unpleasant change from their friendly company earlier, but a necessary one if he is to prevent troubles in the future.
"Is it truly necessary, sir?" His Assitant looks over at him, cordial. "The circumstances are thus: if not for a mismanaged argument you would be continuing on with your life unharried and our relationship would remain the same. It is simply now that you are intruding on affairs that I have been - "
"You're doing it again," Leroy says. "And yes, I know that you have your secret meetings. But unless you lied to me...listen. Either call me sir or not at all. Understand?"
"Ah," his Assistant says, and, "Point taken. Sir."
"Thank you. Now, tell Kazfiel this secret of Haniel's. And if you can't tell him, tell me."
He affixes his Assistant with a long stare, waiting, and for a moment neither one of them backs down. Until, at last, his Assistant looks away and says, for once with slow, measured words: "Haniel was still uncertain of his position with regards to you," he nods to Kazfiel. "And Lucifer, being aware of the situation and in preparations for a war he knew he might not win, decided to take advantage of it, and potentially gain himself yet another edge over the forces of God. He approached Haniel discreetly, and made plain his terms: either Haniel would carry out some small tasks for him, or he would destroy you. He intimated that he would not be adverse to taking you for his own as well, and left Haniel to brood over this."
"I remember nothing of this," Kazfiel cuts in. "Haniel was - "
The Assistant interrupts. "You were engaged in your studies with that angel, and as Haniel was already accustomed to shielding you from his doubts about the upcoming war...the combination of your inattention and his discretion left you in the dark. As Haniel intended."
"So what exactly did he ask Haniel to do?" Leroy asks. He'll keep them on topic if for no other reason now than his own curiousity.
"Ah, but you may be more interested to hear that he did not do most of them. Haniel was forced to submit to a few indignities, but in the end committed no crime worthy of mention. As an added bonus, Michael was made aware of this plot of Lucifer's and put an end to it."
"Assistant."
"Yes?"
"Answer the question."
"Ah. Yes." A sheepish smile, one that Leroy doesn't buy for a minute. "He was required to give Lucifer some of his own essence. Thus strengthened Lucifer had hoped that an unsubtle edge would be helpful. He was marked in the process, and quite frankly you do not want to know."
Here, here is where Leroy gets a whiff of exactly why his Assistant is skirting around the subject. He nods, finally understanding at least a portion of this, and turns to Kazfiel.
"Is there anything else you want to ask him?"
"I want to know how Haniel was marked."
"Kazfiel...in this case, I can see why my Assistant's being so circumspect. You really should let it go."
"Why?"
Leroy rubs his forehead. "Listen. He let Lucifer hurt and mark him to protect you. He's obviously embarrassed of it, and quite frankly? We don't need details. Do you understand?"
There's anger there, a flash of stubborn irritation, before it's smoothed over with calm. Kazfiel nods, unreadable now.
"If it is any consolation," his Assistant says. "Someday (I cannot say how soon) Haniel will show you that mark. Do not press him on it until then."
"...Then I have one other question to ask of you." Kazfiel says, quietly.
Leroy studies him, and studies his Assistant, and waits for the question. He's not sure why his Assistant is tense again, but then - is the question difficult? He doesn't know yet.
"I want to know the location of the archangel Raziel," Kazfiel says in a clear voice. He nods to Leroy and adds, for his benefit, "After the wars and debacle with the Grigori, the archangel Raziel descended to Earth in order to learn more of the secrets he was trusted with. He has not returned, and Heaven..."
"You knew him?" Leroy asks, surprised. He shouldn't be, but then again with words like 'archangel' floating around he can't help but think of unapproachable figures, distant in a way reminding him of deities.
"He was my primary teacher," Kazfiel says. "He extended the breadth of my knowledge in ways Haniel could not. I was...eager for his return."
"Then...Assistant? Do you know where he is?"
"That angel is gone." The Assistant says in a flat tone of voice. "Destroyed by an errant human."
"Only the sword of an archangel can slay an archangel." Recitation, with the tinge of denial. Leroy winces at the sound of it. "He is not dead."
"No, that angel is not dead." The Assistant says. "However. Beyond your reach, and gone."
For a long moment Kazfiel moves to ask a question but no sound reaches his lips, and Leroy wants to reach out to him, offer some sympathy. For a long moment the Assistant is stone, not saying or showing anything.
Leroy thinks: There is more going on here.
But before he can act on that thought, the door opens and in comes Haniel with the cold winter winds.
---
There is an odd sort of pleasure in crafting wards; in crafting sigils and complex markings empowered with the ability to bind angels and creatures Raziel tells him are going to be called demons, once they are created. The wards aren't always symmetrical but they are always crafted with patterns in mind, and it isn't long before Kazfiel can see the shape of the pattern, find what is missing and correct the wards accordingly.
He works with chalk on a rough stone floor, unable to test the wards by using them, but able to trust that they are well-designed and would work, if he activated them. He can see how the lines of power flow through the patterns and how the bindings light up as he tests them, trapping himself in slightly broken circles, testing all of the layers except for the one he left open so that he could leave when finished.
Raziel seems to delight in showing him new creatures, new forms of demons with new ways to circumvent the wards and break the cages created for them, and Kazfiel rises to the challenges, crafting new circles of power and new sigils meant to confine and tame and more.
"Have you given much thought to using sound, Kazfiel?" Raziel asks him on a quiet night. "It adds yet another layer to the trap."
"I have not," Kazfiel says as he wipes the floor clean and restores his chalks to their original state. "Tell me."
"Then come with me," Raziel says. "I have yet another place to show you."
Kazfiel takes to wing when Raziel does, abandoning the chalks and instead flying up through the overturned bookcases, sprawled in mid-air over this pit, books held eternally half open, pages suspended in time. Kazfiel takes care not to ruffle those frozen figures, following the course Raziel sets. The library of Heaven is a maze, and the darker portions of it tense up Kazfiel's nerves in odd ways, but he is never afraid. There are no dangers, and Raziel has often told him that they could let children run through here unsupervised, provided they were able to fly.
As he follows Raziel he distracts himself with the thought of a being that wouldn't be able to fly - what a funny and pitiable thing, he thinks! - and so nearly loses sight of Raziel as they wind their way around a tower.
Raziel halts in his flight, wings beating a steady tempo as he waits, and Kazfiel offers a sheepish smile at the delay.
"I was thinking," he says once he catches up to him. "And I was wondering...what would it be like if I couldn't fly?"
"There are ways to experience that," Raziel says. "But I doubt you would want to at this time. The ground is a long way down."
"I can see that!"
"Indeed - follow me and keep up this time, Kazfiel. I don't want to wait for you to catch up again."
"Yes, Raziel," Kazfiel says, and he follows more closely this time, letting his thoughts wait for a better moment.
The opening into the top portion of the tower is a round portal, edged with white wooden borders and leading into an empty space. There are windows, tall ones that extend up and down for long stretches, ones that are filled with blue-tinted glass.
The top of the tower, small as it is, is peppered with small holes, and sunlight streams down through the air, and Kazfiel must pause to admire the sight.
"Warded against sound, and warded to contain power." Raziel comments, raising a hand to point out the white lines of wards that lace around the windows and across the walls. "This is an ideal location to explore the strength of these form of wards, as there is no way to leave them half-constructed. You bind completely or not at all."
"How does it work?" Kazfiel asks.
"Observe," Raziel says, and he speaks a string of syllables that light up the room and Kazfiel can feel the rush of power as something attempts to happen.
Raziel lets it fade, and smiles thinly.
"The thing I attempted to summon doesn't exist yet." He turns to Kazfiel. "Try repeating what I did."
Kazfiel nods, and does. He fails in his first attempt, and in the second, but by the third he is beginning to understand what Raziel shows him, and the fourth attempt brings a rush of power with it.
---
"I need your expertise," Haniel says to Kazfiel by way of greeting. "I have found them and verified his information. Getting in will be difficult, as their defenses are formidable."
"Sir," The Assistant says, eyes on Leroy. "Reconsider you opinion of me. You truly did not want to be here today."
Before Leroy can ask why, Kazfiel shakes himself and takes a step towards Haniel.
"Are they prepared for us?"
"Overly so."
Leroy doesn't like the way Kazfiel turns then, or the look he is given. He doesn't like how he's being appraised all of a sudden, nor does he like the sudden warning his Assistant is giving him. If it is a warning. (Bit late for a warning, too.)
"You will be of use to us," Kazfiel says. There is no trace of emotion in his tone, no trace of humanity. It is flat; robotic. The hairs on the back of Leroy's neck go up, as do his arms when Kazfiel moves towards him, walking into his personal space. Leroy backs up, and again, and again until he bumps back into the counter, Kazfiel following his every step.
"Assistant - " Leroy starts.
"Agents of fate," The Assistant mutters, before he is sliding around the counter - a first for Leroy, as he has never seen the man come any closer than that - and inserting himself between Leroy and Kazfiel. "There are other humans you can use. This one is mine."
Except that it's the other way around, Leroy thinks, but Kazfiel's eyes are still on him, and he knows that he's going to get dragged into this, if only because they have already made a deal.
"Tell me what you plan to do," he says, hiding any fear as he puts a hand on the Assistant's shoulder.
"They intend to use you as a walking shield. A sacrifical lamb, send to the Harlot for sacrifice." The Assistant says. "Sir. You will not acquiesce to this demand. Nor will I allow you to go without protest."
"Then we will find another," Haniel says, voice equally as cold. "Come, Kazfiel."
"Sacrifice. You're going to let someone else die." Leroy manages. "I can't let you do that."
"Then you will go."
"No," says the Assistant. "Absolutely not."
Leroy knows very little about the situation, even less about why they want him. He can guess, and his mind is racing, looking for a way out that won't leave someone else in danger, looking for more information than he has. This isn't good, this isn't working -
"Sir." The Assistant glances back at him. "The Harlot is capturing and sacrificing men primarily for the purpose of luring these two down here. They are lying in wait to trap the two angels sent for them, and you would simply be a tool that would be used and destroyed by either side."
"Tell me how to change the situation, so no one has to die."
"I..." Here the Assistant hesitates, uncertainty showing.
"We're going." Haniel says. "Kazfiel."
Leroy reaches out to grab at Kazfiel's shoulder, almost, fingers halting when he spots something go sharp in his Assistant's eyes; sees his shoulders stiffen.
"If either of you leave now I will immediately call the Harlot and her entourage and warn them of your approach!" The Assistant says, quickly. "My master has asked me to change the situation and so I shall. Kazfiel, the tug you feel will lead you directly to the Harlot, to your twin, and thus to unending darkness. Due to Suphlatus' presence the power granted by your union would be warped in undesirable ways. Haniel! Are you willing to violate those orders granted to you by Michael so long ago?"
Leroy pulls his hand back, surprised at the sudden hope and frustration Kazfiel is showing. Twin? He shouldn't be focused on that, but that's what his mind has landed on. He doesn't know enough to participate in the conversation, not now, not yet.
"You would fail to inform of us this?" Haniel asks, and there is an audible wave of power coming off of him, a tangible sign of rage. "When we come to you for information - "
"My business is in knowing the future as well as everything else, not in changing it. That is the purview of humanity, and without the intercession of my master then nothing would have changed."
"Destruction," Haniel says flatly.
"You don't even know why you're to keep them separate." The Assistant says softly. "I suggest that you turn and take Kazfiel back to Heaven and inform Michael the truth behind the identity of the Harlot."
"We cannot violate our orders."
"Indeed not. Fortunately for us all, neither can I." The Assistant puts his hands together, speaking quickly in a language Leroy doesn't understand, and then - Haniel steps forward, speaking a word of warning - a great flash of light -
and they are elsewhere, in a place Leroy does not know.
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[ Continue]