The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(99)

“The pair of you are idiots,” Raphael ranted. “Idiots, I tell you. I give you one simple task: watch Arthur Camulus. Keep him out of trouble. And what happens? What happens? Trouble doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Michael stopped himself from pointing out that watching Arthur and keeping him out of trouble were, in fact, two tasks. As it had turned out, two impossible tasks. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and exchanged glances with Gabriel instead. Gabe, he noted, was once again in possession of his walking stick. Leaning on it, he rolled his eyes. A daring bit of insolence, but luckily Raphael was too agitated to take note.

“And now,” he continued, “because of you two, Earth is going literally to Hell.”

Gabriel cleared his throat and bravely ventured into the fray. “With all due respect, Raphael. It was bound to happen at some point anyway. The human race is a collection of sinful sots.”

“That,” Raphael snapped, “is neither here nor there. Certain events have been preordained by the Almighty. A hellfiend invasion is not one of those events. Demons streaming in the sky, blotting out the sun. Nephilim running amok.” He gave up pacing, in favor of glaring daggers at Michael. “What in Heaven’s name were you thinking, pulling Arthur from the wreckage of his own villainous folly?”

Michael’s chin jerked up. “Um...you saw that?”

“I did.” His brother’s voice was cold enough to freeze the fires of the Eternal Inferno. “Explain, please. If you can. Which I doubt.”

“I...um...” He stiffened his spine. “The Druid Merlin gave his life in that cave, in defense of humanity. He—”

“Merlin caused the portal to be opened in the first place,” Raphael pointed out. “And he only died there because I sealed him in.”

“Yes. Well. That’s all true enough, I suppose. But that doesn’t negate the fact that Merlin killed Nimue and used his staff to send the hellfiends back through the portal. Arthur is Merlin’s heir, and he—”

“Has unleashed calamity a second time. Even worse than before.”

Blessed Heaven. Michael had had it up to here with Raphael’s one-note, bigoted bias against the Nephilim.

“Would you please stop interrupting?” he snapped. “If you want a conversation with yourself, go find a mirror.”

Raphael’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword. “Why you insolent—”

“You want to fight?” Michael flicked his wrist, dropping his knife into his palm and springing the blade, all at once. “All right, I’ll give you a—”

“Boys!” Gabriel sprang up between them, hands upraised. “Please. Fighting amongst ourselves is no solution.”

“Maybe not,” Michael muttered, “but I’m not averse to giving it a try.”

Gabriel glared at him. “We’re all on the same side here. I suggest we act like it.”

He was right, of course. Michael sighed and slipped his switchblade up his sleeve.

Gabriel’s head swung toward Raphael. “And you?”

Raphael made a show of sheathing his Sword of Righteous Vengeance. He straightened his robes, turned his back, and let out an irritated huff.

“Maybe,” Gabriel said cautiously, “it’s time to wake the Almighty.”

“I already suggested that,” Michael said.

“Wake the Almighty?” Raphael’s head whipped around. “Wake the Almighty? Are you out of your blessed mind?”

“Raphael,” Gabriel pleaded. “Be reasonable. Hell is open. Earth is a mess. Our options are limited. The Almighty is, by definition, all mighty. He can fix this with a snap of his fingers.”

Raphael’s voice vibrated with terrible force. “The Almighty entrusted me with humanity’s welfare. Me. There is no way—no blessed way—I’m going to wake Him up and tell him I’ve mishandled the assignment.”

“They say confession is good for the soul,” Michael said in a low voice.

Raphael spun about. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“None of this would have happened,” Raphael said dangerously, “if not for the Nephilim.”

Cybele’s face appeared, uninvited, in Michael’s brain. “It’s not really the Nephilim’s fault,” he told his brother. “They’re just living their lives.”

Raphael’s golden eyebrows lowered. “Living their cursed lives. What do you mean, not their fault? Everything is their fault.”

“But is it really fair that their lives are cursed?” Michael asked. “The current Nephilim, I mean. The sin was committed by their ancestors. They had nothing to do with it.”

“Have you gone insane?” his brother exclaimed. “The Nephilim are unnatural, hybrid creatures. They shouldn’t exist. That is why they’re cursed. Their lives of sin only prove the curse was valid.”

“Um...that seems awful self-prophetic, don’t you think? If they weren’t born cursed, they might not grow up to embrace vice and evil. Maybe Heaven has made them into what they are.”

“What?” Raphael was regarding him with such a horrified expression that Michael wondered if his head had suddenly sprouted a mass of serpents. “What kind of logic is that?”

“I believe,” Gabriel offered, “that on Earth it’s called ‘political correctness.’”