Fic: A History of Heaven (Gabriel/Various Angels, PG-13 for this chapter) 38/59
For full notes and other chapters, please see the Masterpost.
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 2,462
Chapter Summary: Gabriel finds Cariel in Alistair’s hands, but did he come in time to save his lieutenant?
CHAPTER 38:
Interrogation
All angels instinctually knew how to veil their grace. It wasn’t easy or pleasant, much like wearing a jacket too tight in the shoulders, but they could all do it. Cherubim had the easiest time, with the least amount of grace of any angel, but even an Archangel could pull their massive grace around them tight enough to hide almost completely from their brothers’ perception. Their sheer power could still shine through a vessel, or catch in the corner of a brother’s eye, but it was much easier for them to go unnoticed while veiled. Veiling was necessary on Earth, useful in the Borderlands, and almost never done in Heaven.
Gabriel veiled himself now as he flew toward the nearly-abandoned southern tower of Heaven. After Lucifer turned his back on Heaven and his choir was reassigned, his angels left their icy offices for the towers of their new choirmasters. Only Alastair’s garrisons remained, because only Alastair’s garrisons required special workplaces.
There were no elements in Heaven to ravage the architecture, and even time was largely powerless in the celestial realm, but the tower of ice had suffered anyway. Without an Archangel’s radiance constantly filling its walls, the ice had cracked and settled, collapsing in on itself. The top ten floors had crumbled away completely, and the whole tower leaned six degrees to the side. Alastair alone might be enough to keep it from falling completely, but without a choir, the tower was dying.
Near the center of the tower was a large expanse of smooth walls. No windows or doors marred the shining ice. There was no direct way in (and more importantly, no direct way out) of Alastair’s floor.
Gabriel knew the secret to entering Alastair’s workrooms. His brother had shown him, thousands of years ago, when he was still Sammael and Gabriel was still his favorite. From the thirty-second floor, Gabriel slipped through a thin door and flew up, straight up, through another eighty floors. From there, he squeezed himself along a narrow tunnel and dropped down a shaft to the fifty-ninth floor. A door in front of him opened onto a staircase with a low ceiling to keep him from flying. The stairs gave him entrance to the sixtieth floor, the one Alastair called home.
The sixtieth floor of Sammael’s tower was a maze of misshapen rooms all furnished identically with white chairs, engraved straps, and shining steel workbenches. Half of the walls were mirror-bright, reflecting the light of an angel’s grace, while the other half were clear glass, angled together in such ways as to disperse grace into distracting rainbows. No two rooms were shaped the same, making it all too easy to lose track of your position in the tower. Alastair’s floor was as dangerous as it was beautiful, a labyrinth designed to confuse even the Archangels. Sammael had shown Gabriel how to access it, but not how to maneuver through it.
Gabriel closed his eyes and double-checked to make sure he was absolutely veiled. His grace wasn’t bright enough to reflect through these walls and warn Alastair of his impending arrival, though he had to be careful so as not to be noticed by the angels immediately around him. He needed to find Alastair before Cariel could be declared a traitor and executed for false memories of lying with a human woman.
Unlike Gabriel, Alastair was not attempting to hide. The light of his grace bounced through the glass walls, reflecting off the mirrors and filling the entire floor with his presence. His angels were here as well, studiously working on extracting memories from those angels suspected to have created the Nephilim.
How many were innocent?
Gabriel could not, in good conscience, leave his brothers here to be tortured. If they were guilty, they would be executed, but if Alastair was framing innocent angels…
The Archangel set his wings back and strode toward the nearest Angel bent over a chair. “Sleep,” he murmured, pressing two hidden fingers against the Angel's forehead. The Angel collapsed over the Cherub he was questioning. Gabriel hauled him off and dropped him to the floor, leaving only a thread of grace behind to keep the Angel from waking prematurely. The Cherub struggled against his bonds, a silver spike in his head keeping him from crying to the Host for help, but his terror was obvious in his bound grace.
Gabriel didn't stop to explain. He kept moving through Alastair's floor, knocking out every one of the rogue Seraph's angels with his own grace. He didn't free any of the captives-if they were guilty, he didn't want to give them a chance to run-but he didn't allow any of Alastair's angels to escape either.
Gabriel heard Cariel before he found him, the Seraph's furious rant a beacon for the Archangel to follow. Cariel was shouting at Alastair, every word echoing off the polished walls.
“…asinine twit! Do you actually think you'll get away with this?”
Alastair's response was too quiet for Gabriel to hear through the rooms, but Gabriel didn't care. Cariel was talking, which meant he was alive. Gabriel wasn't too late. He moved faster, drawn toward the sound of his lieutenant, sending out a wave of grace to pull all of Alastair's angels into a deep sleep as he flew through the rooms.
“It doesn't matter what happened to me, moron! You stole me from him. That's enough to incite Gabriel's wrath. I'm invaluable to him. You kill me, and you're dead. Eventually. If you're lucky.”
Gabriel pressed his hand against the next door, feeling Alastair's grace thick and heavy on the other side. Smothered by the younger angel's presence, he could just make out Cariel's grace, tightly restrained. Carefully, Gabriel eased the door open.
Alastair's back was to Gabriel. He stood at his workbench, fingers lovingly caressing over a variety of sharp and spiky tools. To his left, Cariel was strapped in to the white chair, a silver spike thrust entirely through his head. Crimson lines of pain stretched through his grace, focused on that injury, but the Seraph was pushing past the hurt to struggle against his bonds, his face contorted in rage as he continued to rant at his younger brother.
“Gabriel won't believe you for an instant. He knows I'm innocent. He knows-”
Cariel cut off, distracted by the open door. For the briefest second, Gabriel saw a flicker of genuine fear spark within his second's grace, deep in Cariel's core.
Gabriel was veiled even from Cariel like this, but he winked at his Seraph anyway before stepping up to Alastair and releasing his veil all at once. His grace slammed out, spreading to fill the room, relieved to be freed from the constricting hold. Alastair spun around quickly, a sword materializing in his hand, but Gabriel moved faster, grabbing his wrist and slamming it against the workbench. “Hi!” he chirped, a manic grin on his face. “I think you have something of mine!” His wings stretched wide, wrapping around Alastair, confining him against his workbench.
Cariel laughed. He sagged back against the chair, twisting his head to the side to watch as Gabriel slammed Alastair's wrist again, making the interrogator drop his sword.
“I'm acting on Michael's orders!” Alastair insisted, trying to shrink away from the Archangel. “You can't punish me for obeying him!”
“Not for obeying Michael.” Gabriel closed his other hand around Alastair's throat, lifting the younger angel off the ground and squeezing hard. Fire burned through his grace, a golden glow that suffused his spirit with heat and power. “But the drooling mess that used to be Azazel says otherwise.”
Alastair clawed at Gabriel's hand, choking as Gabriel's fingers alone cut into his brother's grace, sinking in toward his spirit. Gabriel had never killed an angel before. Not directly. Alastair would be his first.
Alastair couldn't be his first. Gabriel stopped, still holding the Seraph in the air by his throat but no longer squeezing tighter. Alastair had hurt Cariel, had hurt God only knew how many others of their brothers. Alastair had been acting as a double-agent for Lucifer ever since the Archangel's fall. By all means, Alastair deserved to be executed for a whole list of crimes against Heaven… but Gabriel couldn't be that executioner. Alastair was his brother. His family.
“Today's your lucky day,” Gabriel growled, spinning around and throwing Alastair. The Seraph's wings flailed, but he couldn't check his flight in time to avoid crashing into a mirror and sliding to the ground, wincing from the impact. Gabriel stalked toward the Seraph, drawing his own sword as he approached. The silver felt familiar in his flame-wreathed hand, warm and comforting. “I'm not going to kill you.”
“My apologies, Archangel,” Alastair’s voice was slippery-smooth, and he was forcing an oily smile on his face, trying to worm his way beneath Gabriel’s grace. He held empty palms toward the Archangel, his posture open and disarming. “I think we may have had a little misunderstanding...”
“I don't think so.” Gabriel pressed the tip of his sword against Alastair's exposed spirit. His grace was trying to close the gashes left by Gabriel's fingers, but holes were always slow to mend. Gabriel's sword easily slipped through the gap and pricked his brother where he was the most vulnerable. “Azazel sent you to frame Cariel and have him executed for treason. Is there some subtlety here that is escaping my understanding?”
“I did not realize-”
“You did not realize that you were implanting false memories into the lieutenant of an Archangel? It somehow slipped your comprehension that this wasn't kosher?”
“If I could just-”
“You are so very lucky that I'm saving my first fratricide for when Raphael seriously pisses me off.” Gabriel dragged his sword up Alastair's face and touched it to his forehead. “You sleep now.” He shoved the blade in as he shoved his grace against Alastair, blasting consciousness away from him.
“I knew you'd come.”
Cariel was still watching from the chair, his dark eyes fixed on Gabriel. “I knew you wouldn't let them get away with this.”
“Liar.” Gabriel left his sword where it was, turning his back on Alastair in favor of attending to Cariel. He smoothed his hand over his second's cheek before curling his fingers around the spike and pulling it carefully out of Cariel's head. The Seraph grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut, but he sagged back in relief once the spike was out. Already, his grace was flowing in to heal. “You were scared.”
“Was not,” Cariel insisted.
“I saw it,” Gabriel said, rubbing his thumb over the hole in Cariel's head, pushing enough of his grace in to start the healing of his second’s spirit before reaching for the straps that bound him to the table. “You didn't think I'd actually rescue you.”
Cariel sighed. “I didn't know if you'd come in time,” he admitted, cracking one eye open to peer up at the Archangel. “But I knew you'd make Alastair pay for this. I'm just glad I get to watch.”
“I didn't know if I would either,” Gabriel admitted, unbuckling the last strap. He couldn't just rip them free-the Enochian sigils carved into the leather protected against even Archangelic strength. “I couldn't feel your grace. I was afraid I was too late.” He pushed the straps aside and reached out to help Cariel sit up. Cariel curled his fingers around Gabriel’s arms, leaning forward to press his injured head against Gabriel. Gabriel blanketed Cariel in his wings. “I was afraid I lost you,” he whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek to the top of Cariel’s head.
Cariel tucked himself against Gabriel’s chest, drawing his legs up and folding his wings tight against his back. Gabriel held his Seraph close, indulging in a rare moment of comfort for both of them.
“What now?” Cariel asked quietly, eventually relaxing his grip on Gabriel, his fingers stroking lightly over the older angel’s spirit. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel reluctantly answered. “I’d say go to Michael, but he’s still a mess. And Raphael might not be understanding enough.”
“What happened to Azazel?” Cariel lifted his head to look at Gabriel, his composure reforming around him even quicker than his grace.
“I… ripped his mind apart.” Gabriel tried to look at least a little contrite, even though he still felt Azazel fully deserved worse than what Gabriel had given him. “He wouldn’t tell me where you were, so I took that knowledge from him.”
“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Cariel teased, drawing away from Gabriel and pushing himself back to his feet with only a small wobble. “Right. We need to deal with Alastair.” He looked over at the unconscious angel crumpled on the floor. Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck ruefully.
“Er… I may have been a bit enthusiastic in my run here.”
“Good enthusiastic or bad enthusiastic?”
“Half the angels on this floor are… asleep.” Gabriel gave a light tug on his grace, feeling out the strands he had left with every brother he had knocked out. They were all still unconscious, crumpled where they fell, their captives still bound to their chairs and terrified. “I didn’t want Alastair calling for backup. He and Azazel are the top of a ring of corruption.”
“I figured as much when they took me.” Cariel flapped his wings, stretching them out. “I’ve done nothing against the orders of Heaven, despite Alastair attempting to convince me I had bedded Sorcha, your vessel.” He fell silent, looking away from Gabriel, apparently distracted by his reflection in one of Alastair’s mirror walls.
Alastair called you my lover, Gabriel thought, watching the Seraph. Alastair had stolen Cariel’s memory of a stolen kiss from him, and Gabriel’s less-than-upset reaction to it. It made sense that he had shared it with Azazel and that the Seraphim had extrapolated more of a relationship there than there was. But Cariel had never spoken of his feelings again, and Gabriel hadn’t wanted to bring it up first. It felt inappropriate to even think about initiating a relationship with his lieutenant.
Gabriel sighed, rising to his own feet and crossing the room to Alastair. “We should take all of these angels into custody until we can sort out the innocent from the corrupt. Do you think Naomi has fallen prey to Lucifer’s temptations?”
Cariel shook his head slowly. “Naomi is selfish, but she genuinely does wish to see the Host succeed. Lucifer’s… this sort of corruption would rub her feathers the wrong way. If she knew about it, it would absolutely sicken her.”
“Good.” Gabriel picked up Alastair and heaved his brother over his shoulder. “We need one interrogator still on our side.”
Next...
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 2,462
Chapter Summary: Gabriel finds Cariel in Alistair’s hands, but did he come in time to save his lieutenant?
CHAPTER 38:
Interrogation
All angels instinctually knew how to veil their grace. It wasn’t easy or pleasant, much like wearing a jacket too tight in the shoulders, but they could all do it. Cherubim had the easiest time, with the least amount of grace of any angel, but even an Archangel could pull their massive grace around them tight enough to hide almost completely from their brothers’ perception. Their sheer power could still shine through a vessel, or catch in the corner of a brother’s eye, but it was much easier for them to go unnoticed while veiled. Veiling was necessary on Earth, useful in the Borderlands, and almost never done in Heaven.
Gabriel veiled himself now as he flew toward the nearly-abandoned southern tower of Heaven. After Lucifer turned his back on Heaven and his choir was reassigned, his angels left their icy offices for the towers of their new choirmasters. Only Alastair’s garrisons remained, because only Alastair’s garrisons required special workplaces.
There were no elements in Heaven to ravage the architecture, and even time was largely powerless in the celestial realm, but the tower of ice had suffered anyway. Without an Archangel’s radiance constantly filling its walls, the ice had cracked and settled, collapsing in on itself. The top ten floors had crumbled away completely, and the whole tower leaned six degrees to the side. Alastair alone might be enough to keep it from falling completely, but without a choir, the tower was dying.
Near the center of the tower was a large expanse of smooth walls. No windows or doors marred the shining ice. There was no direct way in (and more importantly, no direct way out) of Alastair’s floor.
Gabriel knew the secret to entering Alastair’s workrooms. His brother had shown him, thousands of years ago, when he was still Sammael and Gabriel was still his favorite. From the thirty-second floor, Gabriel slipped through a thin door and flew up, straight up, through another eighty floors. From there, he squeezed himself along a narrow tunnel and dropped down a shaft to the fifty-ninth floor. A door in front of him opened onto a staircase with a low ceiling to keep him from flying. The stairs gave him entrance to the sixtieth floor, the one Alastair called home.
The sixtieth floor of Sammael’s tower was a maze of misshapen rooms all furnished identically with white chairs, engraved straps, and shining steel workbenches. Half of the walls were mirror-bright, reflecting the light of an angel’s grace, while the other half were clear glass, angled together in such ways as to disperse grace into distracting rainbows. No two rooms were shaped the same, making it all too easy to lose track of your position in the tower. Alastair’s floor was as dangerous as it was beautiful, a labyrinth designed to confuse even the Archangels. Sammael had shown Gabriel how to access it, but not how to maneuver through it.
Gabriel closed his eyes and double-checked to make sure he was absolutely veiled. His grace wasn’t bright enough to reflect through these walls and warn Alastair of his impending arrival, though he had to be careful so as not to be noticed by the angels immediately around him. He needed to find Alastair before Cariel could be declared a traitor and executed for false memories of lying with a human woman.
Unlike Gabriel, Alastair was not attempting to hide. The light of his grace bounced through the glass walls, reflecting off the mirrors and filling the entire floor with his presence. His angels were here as well, studiously working on extracting memories from those angels suspected to have created the Nephilim.
How many were innocent?
Gabriel could not, in good conscience, leave his brothers here to be tortured. If they were guilty, they would be executed, but if Alastair was framing innocent angels…
The Archangel set his wings back and strode toward the nearest Angel bent over a chair. “Sleep,” he murmured, pressing two hidden fingers against the Angel's forehead. The Angel collapsed over the Cherub he was questioning. Gabriel hauled him off and dropped him to the floor, leaving only a thread of grace behind to keep the Angel from waking prematurely. The Cherub struggled against his bonds, a silver spike in his head keeping him from crying to the Host for help, but his terror was obvious in his bound grace.
Gabriel didn't stop to explain. He kept moving through Alastair's floor, knocking out every one of the rogue Seraph's angels with his own grace. He didn't free any of the captives-if they were guilty, he didn't want to give them a chance to run-but he didn't allow any of Alastair's angels to escape either.
Gabriel heard Cariel before he found him, the Seraph's furious rant a beacon for the Archangel to follow. Cariel was shouting at Alastair, every word echoing off the polished walls.
“…asinine twit! Do you actually think you'll get away with this?”
Alastair's response was too quiet for Gabriel to hear through the rooms, but Gabriel didn't care. Cariel was talking, which meant he was alive. Gabriel wasn't too late. He moved faster, drawn toward the sound of his lieutenant, sending out a wave of grace to pull all of Alastair's angels into a deep sleep as he flew through the rooms.
“It doesn't matter what happened to me, moron! You stole me from him. That's enough to incite Gabriel's wrath. I'm invaluable to him. You kill me, and you're dead. Eventually. If you're lucky.”
Gabriel pressed his hand against the next door, feeling Alastair's grace thick and heavy on the other side. Smothered by the younger angel's presence, he could just make out Cariel's grace, tightly restrained. Carefully, Gabriel eased the door open.
Alastair's back was to Gabriel. He stood at his workbench, fingers lovingly caressing over a variety of sharp and spiky tools. To his left, Cariel was strapped in to the white chair, a silver spike thrust entirely through his head. Crimson lines of pain stretched through his grace, focused on that injury, but the Seraph was pushing past the hurt to struggle against his bonds, his face contorted in rage as he continued to rant at his younger brother.
“Gabriel won't believe you for an instant. He knows I'm innocent. He knows-”
Cariel cut off, distracted by the open door. For the briefest second, Gabriel saw a flicker of genuine fear spark within his second's grace, deep in Cariel's core.
Gabriel was veiled even from Cariel like this, but he winked at his Seraph anyway before stepping up to Alastair and releasing his veil all at once. His grace slammed out, spreading to fill the room, relieved to be freed from the constricting hold. Alastair spun around quickly, a sword materializing in his hand, but Gabriel moved faster, grabbing his wrist and slamming it against the workbench. “Hi!” he chirped, a manic grin on his face. “I think you have something of mine!” His wings stretched wide, wrapping around Alastair, confining him against his workbench.
Cariel laughed. He sagged back against the chair, twisting his head to the side to watch as Gabriel slammed Alastair's wrist again, making the interrogator drop his sword.
“I'm acting on Michael's orders!” Alastair insisted, trying to shrink away from the Archangel. “You can't punish me for obeying him!”
“Not for obeying Michael.” Gabriel closed his other hand around Alastair's throat, lifting the younger angel off the ground and squeezing hard. Fire burned through his grace, a golden glow that suffused his spirit with heat and power. “But the drooling mess that used to be Azazel says otherwise.”
Alastair clawed at Gabriel's hand, choking as Gabriel's fingers alone cut into his brother's grace, sinking in toward his spirit. Gabriel had never killed an angel before. Not directly. Alastair would be his first.
Alastair couldn't be his first. Gabriel stopped, still holding the Seraph in the air by his throat but no longer squeezing tighter. Alastair had hurt Cariel, had hurt God only knew how many others of their brothers. Alastair had been acting as a double-agent for Lucifer ever since the Archangel's fall. By all means, Alastair deserved to be executed for a whole list of crimes against Heaven… but Gabriel couldn't be that executioner. Alastair was his brother. His family.
“Today's your lucky day,” Gabriel growled, spinning around and throwing Alastair. The Seraph's wings flailed, but he couldn't check his flight in time to avoid crashing into a mirror and sliding to the ground, wincing from the impact. Gabriel stalked toward the Seraph, drawing his own sword as he approached. The silver felt familiar in his flame-wreathed hand, warm and comforting. “I'm not going to kill you.”
“My apologies, Archangel,” Alastair’s voice was slippery-smooth, and he was forcing an oily smile on his face, trying to worm his way beneath Gabriel’s grace. He held empty palms toward the Archangel, his posture open and disarming. “I think we may have had a little misunderstanding...”
“I don't think so.” Gabriel pressed the tip of his sword against Alastair's exposed spirit. His grace was trying to close the gashes left by Gabriel's fingers, but holes were always slow to mend. Gabriel's sword easily slipped through the gap and pricked his brother where he was the most vulnerable. “Azazel sent you to frame Cariel and have him executed for treason. Is there some subtlety here that is escaping my understanding?”
“I did not realize-”
“You did not realize that you were implanting false memories into the lieutenant of an Archangel? It somehow slipped your comprehension that this wasn't kosher?”
“If I could just-”
“You are so very lucky that I'm saving my first fratricide for when Raphael seriously pisses me off.” Gabriel dragged his sword up Alastair's face and touched it to his forehead. “You sleep now.” He shoved the blade in as he shoved his grace against Alastair, blasting consciousness away from him.
“I knew you'd come.”
Cariel was still watching from the chair, his dark eyes fixed on Gabriel. “I knew you wouldn't let them get away with this.”
“Liar.” Gabriel left his sword where it was, turning his back on Alastair in favor of attending to Cariel. He smoothed his hand over his second's cheek before curling his fingers around the spike and pulling it carefully out of Cariel's head. The Seraph grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut, but he sagged back in relief once the spike was out. Already, his grace was flowing in to heal. “You were scared.”
“Was not,” Cariel insisted.
“I saw it,” Gabriel said, rubbing his thumb over the hole in Cariel's head, pushing enough of his grace in to start the healing of his second’s spirit before reaching for the straps that bound him to the table. “You didn't think I'd actually rescue you.”
Cariel sighed. “I didn't know if you'd come in time,” he admitted, cracking one eye open to peer up at the Archangel. “But I knew you'd make Alastair pay for this. I'm just glad I get to watch.”
“I didn't know if I would either,” Gabriel admitted, unbuckling the last strap. He couldn't just rip them free-the Enochian sigils carved into the leather protected against even Archangelic strength. “I couldn't feel your grace. I was afraid I was too late.” He pushed the straps aside and reached out to help Cariel sit up. Cariel curled his fingers around Gabriel’s arms, leaning forward to press his injured head against Gabriel. Gabriel blanketed Cariel in his wings. “I was afraid I lost you,” he whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek to the top of Cariel’s head.
Cariel tucked himself against Gabriel’s chest, drawing his legs up and folding his wings tight against his back. Gabriel held his Seraph close, indulging in a rare moment of comfort for both of them.
“What now?” Cariel asked quietly, eventually relaxing his grip on Gabriel, his fingers stroking lightly over the older angel’s spirit. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel reluctantly answered. “I’d say go to Michael, but he’s still a mess. And Raphael might not be understanding enough.”
“What happened to Azazel?” Cariel lifted his head to look at Gabriel, his composure reforming around him even quicker than his grace.
“I… ripped his mind apart.” Gabriel tried to look at least a little contrite, even though he still felt Azazel fully deserved worse than what Gabriel had given him. “He wouldn’t tell me where you were, so I took that knowledge from him.”
“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Cariel teased, drawing away from Gabriel and pushing himself back to his feet with only a small wobble. “Right. We need to deal with Alastair.” He looked over at the unconscious angel crumpled on the floor. Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck ruefully.
“Er… I may have been a bit enthusiastic in my run here.”
“Good enthusiastic or bad enthusiastic?”
“Half the angels on this floor are… asleep.” Gabriel gave a light tug on his grace, feeling out the strands he had left with every brother he had knocked out. They were all still unconscious, crumpled where they fell, their captives still bound to their chairs and terrified. “I didn’t want Alastair calling for backup. He and Azazel are the top of a ring of corruption.”
“I figured as much when they took me.” Cariel flapped his wings, stretching them out. “I’ve done nothing against the orders of Heaven, despite Alastair attempting to convince me I had bedded Sorcha, your vessel.” He fell silent, looking away from Gabriel, apparently distracted by his reflection in one of Alastair’s mirror walls.
Alastair called you my lover, Gabriel thought, watching the Seraph. Alastair had stolen Cariel’s memory of a stolen kiss from him, and Gabriel’s less-than-upset reaction to it. It made sense that he had shared it with Azazel and that the Seraphim had extrapolated more of a relationship there than there was. But Cariel had never spoken of his feelings again, and Gabriel hadn’t wanted to bring it up first. It felt inappropriate to even think about initiating a relationship with his lieutenant.
Gabriel sighed, rising to his own feet and crossing the room to Alastair. “We should take all of these angels into custody until we can sort out the innocent from the corrupt. Do you think Naomi has fallen prey to Lucifer’s temptations?”
Cariel shook his head slowly. “Naomi is selfish, but she genuinely does wish to see the Host succeed. Lucifer’s… this sort of corruption would rub her feathers the wrong way. If she knew about it, it would absolutely sicken her.”
“Good.” Gabriel picked up Alastair and heaved his brother over his shoulder. “We need one interrogator still on our side.”
Next...