When Angels Fall

Chapter 20

Apparently, this newcomer is highly respected by everyone else. They all stay dutifully quiet as he moves to take his seat. Kuzo gently tugs me with him, and we sit down together. I'm on his left, a younger boy with kinky blond hair, crazy amber eyes, and tawny wings on his other side. The angel notices me, and reaches past Kuzo to offer his hand. He looks like he'd be about thirteen.

"I'm Maxmillian," he says quietly, a smirk on his lips. Kuzo huffs in annoyance as I shake his hand, and the new, older angel starts speaking. His wings are a light tan with flecks of gray, the feathers seeming to almost meld together.

"That's Iathoth," Kuzo whispers to me, nodding to him. "He's one of our oldest siblings: he's almost two hundred thousand years old." My eyes widen as I watch him.

"Really?! How old does that make you?" I ask Kuzo, a touch of humor in my voice. He smiles and shrugs.

"Seventy-five thousand, give or take."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You look good for your age," I mumble, and Kuzo covers his mouth to keep from snickering, before whispering a thank you as Iathoth continues talking. His voice is deep, booming, demanding attention, and there's almost absolute silence. I take a moment to look at the other angels here.

The girl directly to my left looks young, upper twenties, with soft black hair and honey-colored skin. Her wings are a deep red, almost brown, and she's probably naturally quiet, her perfect lips pursed together and her hands folded neatly in her lap, atop a long red dress almost the same color as her wings. She offers me a polite smile before turning her attention back to Iathoth.

To her other side sits a woman who looks my age, with wavy dark brown hair, brown eyes, and ivory skin. She's much more casual, leaning back in her chair and wearing jeans and a jacket. She's watching Iathoth intently, though her eyes occasionally drift away, like she's thinking of something. Her wings are a light brown, occasionally flashing a honey color in the light.

The next girl is Azi, with her usual angry expression, and beside her is a middle-aged African American woman with curly black hair, a red leather jacket, and an expression like she wants to strangle whoever took Mara. She probably could, too, muscles coiled and visible through her jacket. Her wings also appear strong, short and thick with black and white colorings.

Iathoth marks the break in the divide; to his right sits Abel, in his usual attire, but with a very worried expression. He's fiddling with his fingers and biting his lip. I didn't know he could be so jittery. To his other side sits Adriel, who I completely avoid, and beside him is a younger man in a tuxedo and white undershirt, with slicked back black hair and a blank expression, his wings white and brown speckled. I'll have to ask Kuzo for their names later. If I have time.

Iathoth's voice rings clearly through the room, and probably the whole Nexis, and there isn't a single person who stands against what he's saying.

"Taking Mara was a low blow," he says, his voice carrying a light British accent. "We must retaliate, we must do everything to get her back. She is not just a human, she is our friend, part of our family. And we will retrieve her at all costs."

I sigh tightly, squeezing Kuzo's hand. He's leaning forward, completely absorbed in what Iathoth is saying, but he squeezes my hand, too. I hear whispering to my side, and glance over to see the two girls there talking in hushed tones to each other. The language is strange, very flowing and light, with lots of rolled r's and flicked t's. I don't expect to understand it, but I do.

"Why would the demons take Mara?" the one closest to me asks. The other shakes her head lightly.

"They are demons, we have something they want, and they do not play fair."

"But Mara is human, she isn't at all powerful. She has nothing to give them."

"I was not speaking of Mara."

They glance at me, and I quickly look away. But they caught me watching, and they fall silent. I'm more than confused. The demons want me, I know that already. But I'm not worth anything, either. At least, I don't think I am. Not to demons.

"What are they talking about?" I mutter to myself, trying to puzzle through it. Kuzo glances over at me.

"Hm? What did you say?" he asks quietly, turning his attention my way and dipping his head closer. I hesitate, then decide to just be truthful.

"Uh, I heard those two talking," I say softly. "About Mara, and I think about me, too." I expect Kuzo to smile, to kiss my hand and tell me not to worry, that it's fine. But he doesn't. He frowns, looking confused, before glancing at his sisters.

"They were speaking English?" he asks. I shake my head.

"No, it was something else. I don't know why it made sense to me..." I slow to a stop, and Kuzo's eyes widen.

"I'll be back," he murmurs, kissing my cheek before standing. Iathoth keeps talking of strategy, but stops when Kuzo approaches him. I strain to listen, but can't make anything out as Kuzo leans closer and whispers in his ear. Iathoth's eyes widen, and he looks at me. I hesitantly wave, and he smiles and says something to Kuzo. Kuzo looks over and gestures for me, and I slowly stand. Everyone is staring at me as I stride over to them. Iathoth stands, several inches taller and broader than Kuzo, and excuses us from the table. He rests a hand on my shoulder as he leads us away from the table, and the talk starts up again.

"What's going on?" I ask a bit fearfully, glancing between Kuzo and Iathoth. "Did I do something wrong?"

Iathoth chuckles soflty, shaking his head. His next words sound strange, like they carry an odd, unnoticeable accent. "You did nothing wrong, my dear. Your name is Paris, as I recall, correct?" I nod. "What is your father's name?"

"Michael," I say slowly. "But...I haven't seen him for years. He left when I was seven." Iathoth smiles slightly and glances at Kuzo.

"Who else do we know named Michael?" he asks. Kuzo smirks, giving me an encouraging nod.

"What is it?" I ask, fear building up in my stomach. Iathoth crosses his arms.

"Tell us of your father. What did he look like? Do you look like him?" he presses. I nod, wrapping my arms around myself.  I'm increasingly worried now, afraid of what will come next.

"Yes, I do, more like him than my mother. Why?"

Iathoth and Kuzo share a look, and Kuzo gently takes my hand, holding it in both of his own.

"Your father," he breathes quietly, "was our friend, the archangel Michael."