The year was 1947. The location, New York City. The event, a funeral—or, rather, a celebration of life, according to the late Spinnerelli brothers' grieving sister.
Personally, Zuriel preferred the term "funeral". It was far more straightforward, in his opinion.
The massive man sat in the back row with six others, his cyan eyes glowing faintly in the darkness of the overcast day. He was not very familiar with the deceased, and had only agreed to come at Molly Spinnerelli's request. It was only natural that he pay his respects, she'd said—after all, he and the other heads had done a fair amount of, shall we say, business with the family.
Respect was something Zuriel took very seriously. But even though he'd shown up, he did not believe the dead brothers were worthy of it.
And apparently, his fellow Malakhite, Daniel Armand, felt the same.
"Why are we even here?" Rosh Shlishi grumbled under his breath. "The boys weren't worth our respect, much less their family's. Their just another pair of fools lost to the false bliss of drugs."
Zuriel—also known as "Rosh Rishon"—let out a long sigh. "Be that as it may, brother... I still felt it would be rude to deny Molly's request," he muttered.
"Be that as it may, brother, I think this is a waste of my time," Rosh Shlishi hissed back. "We could be studying texts, searching for artifacts, or even breeding! Instead we're here, 'celebrating' the lives of a couple of worthless peons!"
"Would you stop complaining?" Rosh Shniya snapped quietly. "The uncle is in the middle of a eulogy!"
"Gadriel is right," Rosh Shishi agreed, glancing over at Daniel. "If you won't show respect for the fallen, at least show some for tradition."
"Whatever," Rosh Shilshi mumbled, crossing his arms and scowling.
Zuriel glanced into the sky, which was steadily becoming overcast. "As soon as it ends, we leave," he told the others. "Our private jet departs for the Giza dig site in four hours."
Suddenly, one of the people in the row in front of the Malakhite Heads looked over her shoulder, smiling as her gray eyes twinkled. "Actually, I was hoping you all would stay just a bit longer," she remarked.
The heads blinked at her in surprise. "Erm... and you are...?" Rosh Chamisi asked, confused.
"Quiet," the woman shushed him. "They're praying." She winked and added, "I'll explain afterward. Trust me—you'll want to hear what I have to say."
Zuriel raised an eyebrow as the woman turned back around. Interesting, he thought, rubbing his jaw. Who on Earth is she, and what could she possibly have to say?
-
Once the coffins were lowered into the ground and attendees began to file away in black cars, the Heads remained standing around the graves despite the rain that was beginning to fall.
"Well! That was fun, eh?"
Zuriel and the others turned as the woman from before approached them, a black umbrella in her hand. She was slim and petite, with a perpetual smirk and a face that placed her age anywhere between 20 and 50. "I'm sorry—do we know you?" Zuriel asked, giving the woman a dubious look.
"Of course you do! Well, actually, no, you don't," the woman admitted. "But you do know my dear cousin, Henry. You know, the father of the deceased?"
"We're... familiar with him," Zuriel replied cautiously. "But we don't know you."
The woman burst out laughing at that. "Heavens! Where are my manners?" She extended her hand, saying, "Claire Walden. It's a pleasure to finally meet the First Head of the Malakhite Families."
"...Charmed." Zuriel reluctantly shook the woman's hand. "What business have you with our order?"
"That is the question, isn't it?" Claire remarked. "Well, let's not stand around in this dreadful rain to discuss it. I'd prefer a glass of champagne by the fire, wouldn't you?"
The Heads looked at each other in confusion.
-
Thirty minutes later, the six Heads and their odd host were seated around the fireplace in Walden's home, each with a glass of champagne that they would never drink from.
Claire, on the other hand, sipped from her glass freely, letting out a blissful sigh. "Now that is what I'm talking about," she declared.
Zuriel sighed as well, although his was considerably less blissful and more on the "annoyed" side. He leaned forward, his hands clasped together, and asked, "Drinks aside... would you like to explain what's going on now? In case you weren't aware, we're on a tight schedule."
"Of course, of course," Claire replied, waving her gloved hand dismissively. "Your private jet and the Giza dig site and all that. Rest assured, you'll get there on time. I promise." She grinned widely—and rather unnervingly.
"Let's just get this over with," Daniel growled. "Why did you want to talk to us?"
"Ah! I like you," Claire said, pointing at Daniel. "Short and to the point! Of course, I mean 'short' in terms of height. You're rather small."
"I'm taller than you, woman!" Daniel spat, standing sharply. "Now stop wasting our time!"
"Calm yourself, Daniel," Zuriel said, not moving but issuing a clear warning through his tone.
"It's alright," Claire told him. She met Daniel's eyes, scanning them for a moment. "Please sit back down, Daniel," she said eventually.
Daniel slowly did so, the impatient glare still on his face.
Claire swirled her glass, turning her gaze upon the fire. "My family has done quite a bit of research into the endeavours of the Malakhites," she stated as flames flickered in his silver eyes. "Of course, most of that research has been done by our internal informant."
"Internal informant," Zuriel repeated, his voice blank with disbelief.
"Mm." Claire nodded. "I won't give them away—Lord knows what you'd do to them if I did—but suffice it to say that we are aware of every exploit you've undertaken."
"And to whom does the 'we' in this situation refer?" Gadriel inquired.
Claire smiled slightly. "That would be the Walden family." She turned back to the Heads, her smile growing. "Like you, we have the blood of men and angels flowing through our veins," she told them. "And that's not diluted angel blood, either—that's pure. We've, er... preserved the bloodline, if you will."
"You've committed incest," Rosh Revi'it translated.
"Ah! You make it sound so wrong," Claire scoffed.
"It is," Rosh Revi'it snarled.
"Hmph. Perhaps." Claire raised an eyebrow. "But is it really any different from what you six have done? Your families are so intertwined that everyone must be related by now."
"What is the point of all this, Ms. Walden?" Zuriel asked curtly. "Are you making a proposition?"
"Indeed I am, Rosh Rishon," Claire confirmed, addressing Zuriel by his Malakhite title. "I am proposing that you introduce a seventh family to your order: the Walden family."
The Heads fell silent.
"Oh, come now," Claire pressed. "You have been searching for that 'perfect number seven', haven't you? And as I've said, we've kept our bloodline intact. We would be the perfect addition—if you'll forgive the pun."
At that, the other Heads turned to look at Zuriel, waiting on his impending comment.
Zuriel stared directly at Claire, his gaze unwavering. A long moment passed, during which neither flinched. Then, at last, Zuriel leaned back in his chair and said, "You should accompany us to Giza. I'm sure what our archaeologists have discovered at the dig site will be most enlightening... Rosh Shvi'it."
Claire gasped excitedly and put her hands over her heart. "I would love nothing more!"
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21. M A L A K H I T E S : Fallen
Fantasy"There were Nephilim in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown..." - Genesis 6:4 The children...
