2 – An Archangel in a Nightclub

11 pm: Eden Nightclub, Downtown Rumon

Barachiel was one of the oldest angels left on Earth. He’d served long and he’d served well. With his cultivated Father Time beard that was whiter than his grey wings, Barachiel’s chiselled features had been softened by age; now wrinkles were engraved on his face and veins pushed against his thinning skin. Once a towering figure, he had shrunk into an apology of his former self, but still immaculately dressed in long flowing silk robes that dated from the turn of the last millennium, he sat in a dingy private room in a grimy backstreet nightclub where the strip lighting jarred against the black walls. On the small table in front of him, his trademark china pot of freshly boiled tea waited patiently to be poured.

The door opened. Barachiel shuddered at the racket coming from the main room in the club. I hate that music. I should have bought my radio so I could listen to Beethoven or Dvorak. When you reach the age of 8850, musical innovation just becomes noise. His mind returned to serious matters; his guests had arrived.

Uriel, one of the four Archangels, had requested this meeting, though not here. She did not like these tawdry surroundings. Hers was a more upmarket world. He could have picked a wine bar at least. Millenia of years old, Uriel could be mistaken for a woman in her late forties, fashionably allowing flecks of grey to show in her hair. She didn’t wear wake-up; she didn’t have time to apply it given her all-consuming job. Uriel wasn’t the tallest angel, but the authority she calmly exuded made her the strongest presence in any room. Her sleek platinum suit, tailor-made, woven by Heaven’s best, could never crease. Uriel proudly wore trousers; she was the trouser Archangel. She saw Barachiel and was saddened that he was showing the signs of age. I might be older by five hundred years, but I have the benefit of aging more slowly. He must be near retirement. She sat down, crossed her legs, ready for business. ‘Why here of all places?’

‘No one expects angels to be in such a place,’ Barachiel answered with a satirical smile.

Uriel ruefully smiled back. It wasn’t in her nature to question such trivial things. She just accepted. Barachiel poured some tea. Uriel took a sip and found its fruity aromas surprisingly refreshing. Oh, how delightfully mundane!

‘I’m surprised by your meeting request, Uriel,’ Barachiel remarked. ‘I’ve been asking for one for years to no avail.’

‘Well, you’ve got my undivided attention now.’ Uriel shifted in her seat. ‘I too am worried about Rumon’s escalating demon activity. So, you’re getting more help.’

‘How many angels are you sending me?’ Barachiel asked, trying his best to hide his delight.

‘Two,’ Uriel answered. Barachiel outstretched his bottom lip. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought it would be just the one. ‘The first is a young angel named Haniel. She’s a graduate Missionary Angel who’s only just turned one hundred and fifty. Seemingly average by all accounts.’

Barachiel raised his right eyebrow. Seemingly? Uriel smiled. He hasn’t lost his insight with age. ‘She’s like us.’ Uriel chose her words diplomatically. ‘That is, Haniel appears to have the same capabilities as us.’

‘I see.’ Barachiel was intrigued.

‘She’s an interesting potential; one you can help realise.’

‘When does she arrive?’

‘She will be at St Denys when you return.’

‘That hardly gives me time to prepare, Uriel.’

‘Then you’d better be efficient with your time.’

Barachiel laughed, shaking his head. Uriel grinned. Barachiel’s one of the few who would be so open with an Archangel. Well, he has earned that privilege. Barachiel leant over to grab the teapot. ‘And the second angel?’

‘I’m dispatching Seraphiel to help you with the Saleos investigation. She rivals Zera.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ Barachiel poured more tea.

‘She wields Arakiel,’ Uriel answered sharply.

Barachiel stopped pouring. He glared at Uriel, his concern tangible. He placed the teapot on the table. She cannot be serious. ‘You think placing Ramiel and Arakiel together wise?’

‘Ramiel and Arakiel aren’t enemies and Seraph is one of my best.’

‘Then why send her to me?’

Uriel was ready for the obvious question. ‘Seraph had a recent bereavement. A new mission would help her greatly.’

‘Who died?’

‘I cannot say.’ Uriel didn’t bother to dodge the question. Barachiel would see through any attempts anyway. ‘Seraph is a handful and more than a little unorthodox. You’re ideal for her, Barachiel, considering you handle Zera.’

Barachiel rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I’m concerned about putting Ramiel and Arakiel together. Zera hasn’t recovered from the last time he encountered such a sword.’

‘I’m aware of the Valafar incident, Barachiel. But those blades are game changers. You of all angels should know that.’

Barachiel’s unease didn’t melt away, but Uriel’s word was final. Her word was law. He sipped his tea. I’m getting too old for this. ‘Has Seraph already arrived?’

‘She arrived this morning.’

‘Then I shall accommodate her.’ Barachiel bowed his head, acknowledging his superior.

Uriel understood Barachiel’s concern. I know it’s a lot to ask, but Seraph needs this. Who knows? Zera and Seraph can help each other out. ‘If things go wrong, I’ll pull Seraph out upon your request. You have my word.’

‘Thank you.’

Uriel nodded, allowing Barachiel to depart, his tea unfinished.

She sighed. This was her personal experiment. If Zera and Seraph can maximize their potential together, then it might finally push Hell out of Rumon. I appreciate Barachiel’s concern, but we need every advantage we can get.

Click here for Chapter 3:

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