Quatrain (4 page)

It was a big house and a lot of people lived there. More than once in my previous midnight forays, I had encountered someone in the kitchen ahead of me. Thaddeus was the one I came across most often, and we had shared some companionable late-night conversations over cold meat and warm milk. The housekeeper, who was twenty-five years older than I, and so restless that I sometimes thought she
never
slept, could also frequently be found eating a midnight meal. So I wasn’t surprised, as I drew close to the kitchen, to see a fan of light spilling out from beneath the door.

I was surprised, as soon as I entered the room, to see who was there before me.

“Salome,” the Archangel greeted me in his warmest voice. “I thought you must be here somewhere.”

For a moment I stood frozen on the threshold, staring at Raphael. He had lit only three or four candles, and their soft, buttery light lavished him with adoration. He absorbed that light and burnished it and exuded it back again, redoubled in intensity and tinged with gold. He was wearing practically nothing—snug leather trousers and his magnificent wings—and it was impossible to look at him and not be staggered by his sheer male gorgeousness. He was literally the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

And I quite simply hated him.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said, taking a step backward.

“Don’t go,” he said sharply, and I froze to the spot. He smiled and repeated his words in a more caressing tone. “Don’t go. I would so much enjoy a chance to talk to you.”

“
I
don’t want to talk to
you
,” I said, but I didn’t move. It was hard to do anything else when Raphael issued a direct order. So I stayed.

He glanced around the kitchen as if assessing the worth of the whole compound from this one room. “So this is where you went to ground,” he said. “Have you been in Jordana all this time? At this very farm? What a very bucolic lifestyle for such a cosmopolitan girl.”

“I’ve been here the past ten years,” I said.

“And before that?”

I shrugged. “Different places.”

“I would have expected to find you in Luminaux,” the Archangel went on. “Indeed, I
did
expect to find you there. I looked for you every time I was in the Blue City, but I always came up empty. But a farm? You never struck me as the agricultural sort.”

“Maybe you never knew me as well as you thought,” I answered.

He laughed at that, a low, indulgent sound. “Oh, I think I knew you very well indeed,” he replied. “And the instant I saw that girl’s face tonight—what’s her name, by the way?”

“Sheba,” I said, my throat suddenly tight. Of course he had recognized Sheba. I should have thought of that before now.

“The instant I saw Sheba’s face, I knew you must be nearby,” he continued. “Never did a girl look so much like her mother.”

I took a short, swift breath. “She is my sister’s child, not mine,” I replied.

He looked unconvinced. “How old is she?”

“Seventeen.”

“Yes, and seventeen years ago—I remember quite distinctly!—you were pregnant with an angel’s child.”

“It was eighteen years ago, and my baby died,” I said flatly. “Don’t you remember? A stillborn angel boy. I gave birth to him at Windy Point.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Of course I remember. But I thought you managed to get pregnant a second time.”

“No,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Right after that, I gave up on angels altogether.”

He responded with a light laugh. “And what a loss that was to all three angel holds!”

“I’m sure you could find plenty of other angel-seekers to take my place.”

“Oh, dozens of them—hundreds of them,” he agreed negligently. “But there was always something about you, Salome. A brilliance. A hard shine. I always thought you would have made a spectacular angel, if the god had thought to give you wings.”

“From what I know of angels,” I replied in a polite voice, “I am pleased that he chose to make me mortal instead.”

Raphael laughed again. “So this Sheba—this niece, as you call her—she was your sister’s child? Was I acquainted with your sister?”

“Sheba is not your daughter, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said.

He looked amused. “Well, it would be helpful to know that in advance,” he said. “In case, for instance, certain circumstances ever arose.”

“If you ever try to take Sheba to your bed, I swear I will make you regret it.”

Now he laughed even harder. “I don’t think it’s very wise of you to threaten the Archangel,” he said.

“Sheba is going to stay clear of angels forever. She’s not going to make the mistakes that I made.”

“And that her mother made? Am I right in guessing that her father was an angel—even if that angel was not me?”

I was silent.

“So it’s true,” he said. “And your sister—what was her name? I simply cannot place her. Does she look like you?”

“She’s dead.”

“Very well, then,
did
she look like you?”

“Somewhat. Ann was more fair in coloring. A little shorter. Her eyes were brown.”

“And was fair Ann an angel-seeker as well?”

I was silent for a long moment, but he waited with unshakable patience, obviously determined to learn the answer. “Ann wasn’t an angel-seeker, haunting the holds to find a lover,” I said at last. “As far as I know, she took only one angel to her bed. Sheba was his child.”

“And the name of Ann’s angelic paramour?”

I had to whisper. “Stephen.”

Raphael threw his head back and laughed. The sound was so loud that I expected half the household to wake and come running to the kitchen. Little though I wanted to be caught having a private meeting with the Archangel, I thought I would relish the interruption. I wanted out of this conversation
now
.

“Oh, but that’s rich,” the Archangel exclaimed. “Your sister stole Stephen right from under your nose! And bore his daughter! If Sheba had been an angel child, your humiliation must surely have been complete.”

“Trust me, Raphael,” I said grimly, “it was complete nonetheless.”

“We miss Stephen, at Windy Point,” Raphael said.

I tried not to let my sudden sharp interest show on my face. I had had no news of Stephen for eighteen years. It had not occurred to me he might have relocated to some other hold. But I knew Raphael would withhold details if he thought I wanted them, so I pretended that I was not eager for every scrap of information he might let fall.

Raphael continued, “He left for Monteverde—oh, twelve or fifteen years ago. Practically an insult, Saul says. I can understand wanting to join Gabriel at the Eyrie, for there is some honor in being in the Archangel’s entourage. But what is there to draw anyone to Monteverde?”

“It is pretty enough,” I said, my voice indifferent. I had spent less time at Monteverde than at the other two angel holds, because I agreed with Raphael on this point. It was a much less exciting place, far from the exhilaration and commotion that swirled around any venue that the Archangel called home.

But I rather thought Stephen had had his fill of excitement and commotion. I sometimes thought he would have been glad to leave Samaria altogether, if such an option existed.

“It is pretty and dull and overrun with petitioners who find Monteverde entirely too easy to access,” Raphael replied. “Any petty Manadavvi landowner with some imaginary grudge can stride up to the hold and demand Ariel’s attention, and she has no choice but to listen politely. At least at Windy Point, we are safe from the intrusions of mortals. No one steps inside the hold without an angel’s invitation.”

Very true—Windy Point was one of the most inaccessible settlements in all of Samaria. The hold was nestled inside an inhospitable mountain peak; if anyone had ever climbed it on his own two feet, I had never heard the story. An angel must fly you up there if you wanted to get in—and an angel must fly you down if you wanted to get out. When I was younger, it had never occurred to me that the second situation might someday be more urgent than the first.

“You might have been a different kind of Archangel altogether if you had ruled from Monteverde instead of Windy Point,” I said. “I don’t think it would have harmed you any if you’d been forced to develop a common touch.”

He seemed genuinely amused. “My dearest Salome, no accident of geography could ever have rendered me common,” he replied. “And I always had as much
touch
as I needed.”

Suddenly I was so weary I didn’t think I could continue this edged conversation for another minute. If he was not going to talk about Stephen, and he was not going to promise to keep his distance from Sheba, there was nothing else Raphael could say that held any interest for me whatsoever. Stepping carefully, so I did not brush against those silky golden wings, I pushed farther into the kitchen and grabbed the food items that were closest to hand. A half loaf of bread and a handful of dried fruit. You would have thought the conversation had turned my stomach, but I was still hungry. I had long ago been forced to give up the luxury of squeamishness.

“I’m sure Thaddeus would tell you to make free of anything in the kitchen,” I told him. “Breakfast is always served very early in the morning, so you won’t have to linger long before setting off for Windy Point.”

He was still smiling. “I hope we see you in the morning before we go. No doubt Saul would like to renew his acquaintance with you.”

“No doubt he would,” I said dryly. “Good night, Raphael.”

“Good night, Salome. I have enjoyed our little visit.”

He probably had, I reflected, as I escaped out the door and up the stairs, munching as I went.

If I had any control over the matter, it would be the last conversation I would ever have with the Archangel.

With
any
Archangel.

In the morning, trying to be unobtrusive about it, I lurked in the kitchen and the gardens, once again avoiding the dining area where everyone else gathered to make a fuss over the angels one last time. There was a great deal of laughter and excited conversation over breakfast, interspersed with snatches of song as our visitors offered prayers and praise for the meal. The weather, as one would expect after angels had been called in specifically to control it, was glorious—full sun, deep-dyed blue sky, the faintest whisper of wind.

Perfect weather for flying. The sooner, the better.

Finally the meal dragged to a close, and essentially the whole household emptied onto the front lawns to see the angels off. I crept around the side of the house and stood in the shadows, impatiently waiting for the angels to take wing and actually
leave
this place. I was pleased to note that Sheba was behaving extremely well this morning, standing a little apart with Eve and the older women, smiling at the visitors but not looking devastated at the thought they were about to depart. Ruth, on the other hand, was clinging to Hiram’s arm, practically forcing him to drag her through the mud as he strode to the middle of the field, looking for enough room to launch into flight. She was weeping; her face was blotched with what had to be a couple hours’ worth of tears. Neri, though she displayed a bit more decorum, also ran after the angels, calling out some final farewell. Saul turned to her and made a laughing reply, but he did not slow down or stop.

Raphael didn’t even seem to notice that half a dozen women trailed behind him, inches from the feathers sliding so sinuously over the matted grass. He simply marched on a little faster, achieving a half run. The great wings spread, then began to flutter, then drove down hard in a swift, powerful spike. Suddenly he was airborne. For a moment, the sun was filtered through his golden wings and the whole world took on a delicious brightness; then he rose higher, and the sky was once again a stiff and empty blue. Shapes circled around him as Hiram and Saul flung themselves aloft, and the three angels quickly fell into a triangular flying pattern.