The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(46)

“He hasn’t turned up yet?”

“No. But I’ve received some further information. It seems Cherub Marius was the last celestial being to see Fortunato. They were playing a game on Earth and became separated. He’s been searching for him ever since.”

Michael frowned. “On his own? All this time?”

“I know. He should have informed me directly. But Fortunato’s sense of direction is, shall we say, as deficient as his intelligence. Marius didn’t want to get his friend in trouble. He thought he’d turn up.”

“Where did he see him last?”

“In Paris. They were playing some human amusement called hide and seek. Fortunato hid, Marius sought. He looked all over the city and couldn’t find him. He decided Fortunato must have wandered outside the boundary of the game, so he widened his search. A few kilometers outside the city, he found this.”

From a fold in his robes, Raphael produced a feather.

Michael eyed the wispy bit of incandescence. “Fortunato’s, I assume?” Among angels, the color and design of wings was as individual as a human fingerprint.

“Yes.”

“Well. Good thing Marius found it, before it fell into the wrong hands.” There was no telling what mischief that could cause. “Where was it, exactly?”

“Reims.” Raphael slipped a hand into his robe. More feathers emerged, one by one. “Luxembourg. Frankfurt. At the German-Czech border.”

Michael’s brows rose. “Blessed be. How many feathers did Fortunato shed?”

“Five, that we’ve found. This last one was recovered in Prague.”

Michael let out a low whistle. “From Paris to Prague? That’s taking getting lost to a ridiculous extreme.”

“Believe me,” Raphael said sourly, “Fortunato is nothing if not ridiculous. He hasn’t the sense God gave a flea. But that’s not the worst of it.”

“What is?”

“The last feather was found on the doorstep of the Prague Institute for the Study of Man.”

Michael was sure that name sounded familiar, and not in a good way. “Isn’t that place run by a Nephil?”

“Yes,” Raphael said. “Professor Vaclav Dusek. Alpha of the Alchemist clan.” He began pacing, golden robes swirling at his ankles.

Michael let out a low whistle. “Azazel’s progeny.” Azazel had been the most devious of the Watcher angels, the one who’d convinced his brother angels to rebel against Heaven.

“Yes. Azazel. The no-good troublemaker who taught mankind the art of war.” A mottled red flush invaded Raphael’s golden complexion. His voice rose. “The depraved scoundrel who taught womankind the art of harlotry.” His fingers closed on the hilt of his Righteous Sword of Vengeance. “The disgusting degenerate whom I battled during the Flood.”

Sklink! The blade scraped from its scabbard, and erupted in flames. “THE ACCURSED SINNER WHO—” Right arm outstretched, Raphael lunged.

“Whoawhoawhoa!” Michael jumped, barely escaping the righteous sweep of his brother’s sword. “All right, all right, I get the picture. No need to start slicing up the clouds. Or me, for that matter.”

Raphael froze, eyeing the sword in his hand as if wondering who’d put it there. With a sheepish expression, he straightened and sheathed his weapon. “Um...sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re obviously carrying a bit of emotional baggage where Azazel is concerned.”

“Yes, well, even Hell was too good for him. I sealed him into the foulest corner of Dudael instead. As for the Nephilim...the Flood was supposed to wipe out every last one of them. But somehow, it didn’t.”

“The Almighty’s loopholes,” Michael said. “Very frustrating they are at times. But that’s neither here nor there at the moment. Tell me more about this Institute for the Study of Man. Is it simply a front for Nephil crimes?”

“No. Much as it pains me to admit, the Institute is a bona fide international center of learning and research. Ancient archeology, anthropology, that sort of thing. But I don’t trust it. There’s always been too much of an air of normalcy about the place.”

“You do realize that makes no sense, right?”

“It makes perfect sense for a place founded and administered by a Nephil.”

Michael supposed his brother had a point.

“And now this,” Raphael continued. “An innocent cherub, vanishing into thin air, right on the Institute’s doorstep. A Nephil getting his hands on an angel feather is bad enough. For him to kidnap the entire angel—”

“Aren’t you jumping the gun a little? A single feather in the vicinity doesn’t prove anything. Fortunato might’ve been merely passing overhead when he lost it. The whole thing could be a coincidence.”

“Coincidence? There is no such thing,” Raphael declared. “Marius searched high and low for more feathers. He found nothing. “I have a very bad feeling about this, Michael. I need you to investigate.”

“You might’ve sent Gabriel and left me in Devon.”

“I might have.” Raphael’s golden gaze narrowed. “If I didn’t think you were enjoying your duties in England far too much. If you catch my meaning.”