A Terrible Fall of Angels (Zaniel Havelock #1)(72)

“I do not take my clothes off for strange women.”

“Pity,” Minis said, softly.

“So, do you take them off for strange men?” Lila asked.

“Are you talking to me?” Harshiel asked.

“I am,” she said, but this time she wasn’t smiling. She gave him a look as straight and unflinching as Suriel usually did.

“Stop picking on our guests,” Charleston said.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” she said, still giving Harshiel serious eye contact. She wasn’t smiling now, as if the teasing was over and she was on to something more solemn, but what? If she had had her own magic and not been a null, I might have worried that she was going to use a spell on him; if she’d been better at hand-to-hand, I’d have accused her of trying to make him fight her instead of me, but as it was, I had no idea what she was thinking.

Apparently Charleston didn’t know what she was up to either, because he said, “Bridges, back away from the Sentinels. They’re going to escort Havoc’s friend Suriel here back to the College, and we’re going to let them do that unless she says she doesn’t want to go.”

“Master Suriel is expected back at the College,” Turmiel said.

“I am expected,” Suriel said, folding her hands in front of her.

“She must come back with us now,” Harshiel said, and he was finally standing up straight and tall again, and not like he was about to participate in training.

“I am a master, you are not, Harshiel; you do not dictate to me,” Suriel said.

“Of course, we do not dictate to you,” Turmiel said.

“Are you refusing to return to the College?” Harshiel demanded.

“No, but I will return because I wish to and because it is my home, not because you drag me back like some runaway child. I did healing work on someone who had been demon touched, which is my job as one of the Chief Infernalists of the College of Angels.”

“It is customary for such work to be done in pairs even for the Chief Infernalist himself,” Turmiel said.

“How could you risk yourself by doing such dangerous work on your own, Suriel?” Harshiel said.

“She wasn’t alone,” I said.

“The angels do not speak through you anymore, seducer,” Harshiel said.

“The angels do still speak to Zaniel, and do not call him that again,” Suriel said.

“He is corrupt and separated from the grace of God,” Harshiel said.

“God still hears my prayers, and the angels still know me,” I said.

“The enemy tricks you into believing that, but it is not angels that sing to you, but demons,” Harshiel said.

“I swear by the angels themselves that they know Zaniel as they always did,” Suriel said.

“You know that cannot be true,” he said.

“I came to test the truth of it for myself, as is my right as a master teacher at the College,” she said.

“Why would you risk yourself, Master Suriel?” Turmiel asked.

“Yes, Suriel, why would you risk yourself for someone that you haven’t seen in so very long?” Harshiel asked. He studied her face as if he was trying to read past the passive expression on it now.

“If you would use the gifts that God gave you instead of letting your prejudices blind you, Harshiel, you would know that it was not a risk to work angel magic with Zaniel.” She looked past him to the other Sentinel.

“Turmiel, look at Zaniel with something other than your physical eyes,” she said.

“Why should he do that? Why should Turmiel care about Zaniel’s powers or lack thereof; why should you?” Harshiel asked.

“Turmiel,” she said again, ignoring Harshiel.

I felt a warm wind against my skin like the perfect breath of spring. I looked at Turmiel—he was still the tallest Filipino I’d ever met in all my years on the outside. He towered over Master Donel. When I was at the College, I hadn’t questioned that Turmiel would specialize as a Sentinel like his uncle, but over the years I had rethought a lot of things about those years, and with Turmiel’s magic blessedly gentle I realized I had been right in one thought: He should have specialized in something else. He was no warrior, no bringer of death. He should have been a healer, a bringer of joy, but like most of us he hadn’t argued with the path the College chose for him.

“It’s considered rude to peek at someone’s magic without asking permission first,” Lila said.

Turmiel’s magic began to fade like a wind dying away. “It’s all right,” I said, “let him look.” I smiled at him. “It’s all right, Turmiel, do what Suriel says.”

Turmiel smiled and it was as gentle as the springlike wind that danced over my skin. It brought my Guardian Angel shining at my back like an all-body halo in a medieval painting of a saint.

“Wow,” said Young MacGregor, “do you feel that?”

“Feel it, no, but I see it,” Minis said.

“He always did shine pretty like that,” Turmiel said, his voice almost dreamy with the power.

“No,” Harshiel said, “no, it cannot be.”

“He partnered me in healing the injured police officer as of old,” Suriel said.

“There is nothing wrong with Zaniel’s angel,” Turmiel said, his voice still dreamy. “He feels sadder like he has seen and done things that hurt him, but he has done nothing to make the angels turn from him. In fact, when I think that, they hover closer and want to offer comfort.” As if his words made it so, I felt the brush of wings, and if I hadn’t known it was angel wings, I’d have said birds, because they felt smaller than the angels that came when I called, but there were no birds to see and the touch was more wind and thought than physical feathers. The touch of them opened something inside me and began to heal it. I didn’t even know what it was, only that it hurt and if I and my angels allowed it, Turmiel’s angels would make it better.