Sigillum ex Fatum [UNDER EDITING]

Chapter 34

"Let me see him."

"You are not well enough."

"Let me see him or I will smite you."

Raphael crossed his arms and pursed his lips.

I let my angelic essence pour out of me. My eyes glowed—I glowed. I heard the unmistakable snapping of lightning. "Try me."

Raphael rolled his eyes heavily and scooted his stool off the side. He continued to glare at me.

"Just remember, Seraphin, you are my friend too, and I am the one who is going to have to heal you."

"Fine," I gritted.

As I got out of bed I was unsteady on my feet. To prove his point, he didn't even move to help me. When I didn't fall over, I looked at him.

"I'm going to need supplies."

Raphael cocked his eyebrow.

~

"What are you doing?"

I ground the ingredients in my mortar and pistol. I frowned and didn't respond.

"You know, I actually have better things to do than babysit you."

Ignoring the sweat on my face just from the exertion of remaining upright, I still didn't respond.

"Why don't you just let the medics take care of this?"

"They can't," I replied.

It was perfect timing. Technically, yes, I could have just told the medics what to do. However, this was a powerful binding spell. It strengthened if the person whose ingredients were needed did the physical act of making the potion.

So I calmly picked up the knife I had requested and sliced my palm open. It was a deep cut, deep enough so I bled freely.

"Sera!" Mikha'el said.

I ignored him once more, clenching my hand so a steady stream of blood poured into the mortar. Once done, I felt like I might pass out. I held out my fist to my friend. "Heal me, please?"

He hesitated, but then did. I think he put a little extra behind it, for I felt briefly revitalized. I nodded, though didn't look at him as I began smashing the ingredients together. "Thank you."

I caught Mikha'el looking at me in genuine curiosity. "What are you making?"

"Healing spell, out of that book Metatron gave me."

"All those years ago?"

I nodded. "Ingredients required are basic herbs for healing, the feather from the angel that has wounded you—" I took one of my molting feathers, held it up to show him before dropping it down into the blood and herbs. "And the feather of the wounded angel—"

I looked down at Auriel. Truthfully he looked dead, and I understood why Mikha'el had insisted the medics focus on me. His face was still and ashen. Every few minutes he gave a short, little gasp of breath; besides that he didn't move. So, with that in mind, I didn't feel bad when I plucked one of his feathers out. I watched; sure enough he didn't move. I didn't want to reveal how upsetting that was to me so I just threw myself into the spell.

"What's the apothecary reasoning behind this?"

"The herbs for healing—"

"Obviously."

I picked my head up and glared. Mikha'el held up his hands.

"The feather of the angel who wounded you so the spell knows what it's binding to. The feather of who needs to be healed because angel feather's, as you know, are the most concentrated area of angelic essence, second only to angel tears. But, since our friend here—" I smiled at Auriel, " isn't awake to give us his tears, his feathers will do. "