Ahri Arete
Half an hour later we were sitting in a secluded alcove, a cleverly restored remnant of the Middle Ages, nowadays less known for its notorious tête-à-têtes and more for its delicious cakes and freshly ground coffee. To guarantee our privacy I had even hidden my flaming tresses under an illusion of much more normal red hair. Not that it mattered. The goddamned monk still stood out like a sore thumb. Hardly surprising since a cup of cappuccino went for about twelve Euros and consequentially suits were much more common than threadbare, orange robes. Not to mention the hideous sandals and crooked toes. Or his blind eyes. Like I said. Sore thumb. The waitress was still surprisingly professional with barely a glance spared for the breathing relic form the holy mountains. Either that or the black credit card one of the girls had handed over had convinced her to keep her mouth shut and a dull smile on her face.
"Ah, I've never liked travelling much, but there definitely are some perks to it," the monk admitted while he raised his cup to his nose. His wrinkly cheeks quivered and with a raptured expression he began sipping on the admittedly excellent brew.
"And I always thought my family was eccentric," I mumbled, entirely captivated by his almost serene demeanour.
"You try living on herbal teas and bread for years. And then you waltz down the mountain for the first time in ages and the first thing you can nibble on is airline food. They do serve cakes here, don't they?"
"They do, but I'm not sure if we should give you any more sugar," the marchioness of Montrose shot back. "Honestly, if I wasn't afraid of her," she jerked her head in my direction, "I'd get you a bib and make you order from the children's menu."
"Age and youth are surprisingly similar," he nodded sagely. "People like you always seem to think that's because we lose or haven't yet gained our grip on reality. Let me tell you a secret, that's not the case. In reality we've just learned to not give a shit about the opinions of idiots and enjoy life to the best of our ability."
"Did you just call me an idiot, gramps," the English noble woman flared up.
"I did. Glad you're managing to keep up… I wasn't sure." Of the people here he had probably spent the most time with Lucifer, at least if his ability to get under anyone's skin was any indication at all.
"Stop," I sighed, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a hidden knife sliding from its sheath. "Jane, you're only going to embarrass yourself if you try to stab him and I'm not in the mood to watch you two bicker. There's only one thing I want to know and then I'm out of here. Why? Why has he sent you?"
"To make sure you won't do anything stupid," the monk suggested seriously. "From what Lucifer has told me you're a bit… shall we say hotheaded? And there are better ways to spend your time than mourning what might have been or chasing after dreams that can no longer come to fruition. There's this ancient, Chinese story about…"
"Spare me the analogies," I snarled, "chances are I've witnessed your legend with my own eyes. I want a simple answer. What has he told you?"
"Well," the presumable leader of the witches' coven, or at least the only one of them who had uttered more than a handful of words in my presence, spoke up while she carefully placed her cup back on the tray, "I can't speak for him or the marchioness, but we're here because he asked us to look after you for a while. And maybe, if you're willing to listen, tell you a story. The last time we saw him was in Athens a few years ago. Before he left us in the ICU with severe poison burns, I might add. We had flown there from Rome. He had used my families influence to get into the Vatican and hide something. According to him he… she, as far as we know, won't be able to get it back. But you will. Don't ask me what it is or why…"
"Bollocks," Jane interrupted her angrily. "That's why he told me…" she blinked and a faint blush rose to her pale cheeks when she felt my unwavering attention on her. "I met him on the same day, I think," she explained breathlessly. "One of my… clients wanted me to… acquire an artefact from the catacombs. Lucifer made sure I wouldn't try, but he also told me in great detail why it'd have been a very bad idea. Immortal magic and all that. Back then I didn't understand why he hadn't simply commanded me to leave instead of spending half an honour with a description of the spells he had used, but now… it surely looks like he meant for you to get it." Silence settled in as the humans began to realise what might be hidden on their world. Something powerful enough that it could matter to angels. But for now that wasn't what I was struggling with:
"She," I finally stammered, my mind entirely filled with strange, distorted images of what he might have turned into. The most stubborn, unyielding, inflexible angle I had ever met in the skin of a woman? I felt a pinched smile creep across my face. Oh boy, if she ever got the chance to grow up, Michael would come to rue her very existence, of that I was sure.
The witches exchanged a glance and a tall blonde fumbled with her designer clutch. "I… I have a photo on my mobile, in case you want to see," she stammered, unable to meet my eye. The next second a blurry picture of the inside of a limousine was shoved into my field of view. On a hand I knew all too well the image of a painfully beautiful beast kin girl was slowly rotating around itself, her huge eyes closed, her wings shimmering in the darkness.
Without realising I had reached out and taken her phone. A sneer tugged on the corners of my mouth when I saw the amount of changes and filters she had applied to the photograph, but I didn't comment. I was much too absorbed in the alien, yet familiar features I already found enchanting despite the abysmal quality. "A fox," I breathed, "the Arete family… Gaya… he must have known for years…"
Scenes from the past turned into a blur of colours as I revisited a few of my more recent memories. Ever since I had chased Lucifer away I had run across mementos from the First War for one reason or the other. First it had been Michael and his zealots, trying to make me cough up one secret or the other, but I had remained silent, pretending my memories had been sealed in their entirety as well. But that wasn't the case. I remembered the Arete family and I remembered my promise to them. I remembered where I… where Lucifer and I had carried them. And then I had received a gift. It hadn't been much. A crude cherrywood box carved with the words mirror, mirror and a single, red fruit inside. A note had laid underneath the cherry which read: deadly I might be, but a wish I still grant thee. A single, snow white fox hair had been attached to it. At the time I hadn't thought much of it, but now… Snow White had been poisoned. Without the evil stepmother's intervention she wouldn't have found her prince again, would she?
"That artefact you mentioned," I asked hoarsely, "do you know what it is?" The Brit shook her head energetically until a few raven black strands came loose from her bun.
"I only know what it looks like. Supposedly it is a white, fist sized gem that burns with its own light. I had almost forgotten the thing until Lucifer's letter arrived."
"He sent you a letter? When? How?"
"I… I don't know? But how else did you think I got here? Here it is." She produced a folded parchment from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it over. "I was in Mexico when it arrived. When I got back to my suite it laid in front of the bathroom mirror, as if it had fallen straight through the glass." With trembling fingers I reached out, hesitant to touch the yellowed hide.
"I've already told you that you're forgiven, haven't I," the monk said quietly. With a self deprecating nod I shrugged, but as soon as my fingers brushed over the warm note a single spark escaped my grasp, as if it had been coaxed from my core, and crimson flames consumed the parchment in the fraction of a heartbeat. I gasped, but before I could do more than stare the flames had grown and acrid smoke started to rise. Tiny sparks danced among the dust and in the growing, dark cloud before they collapsed into a mosaic picture, hazy and full of glaring holes.
"Your letters," I hissed urgently, "if you have them, take them out." While they fumbled with purses and the tiny excuses that went for pockets on modern Earth I spread my awareness through the room and made sure the other patrons, as well as the zealous staff, could enjoy their morning coffee without an unwanted display of the supernatural on the side. Not that the sparks were overly eye catching, but better safe than sorry.
A series of crumpled parchments landed on the table and as soon as their owners retracted their fingers the letters went up in flames. A tiny, swirling whirlwind consumed the glowing embers, converting them into magic. It flickered once, twice and then it disappeared, neatly filling the holes in the spell.
Lucifer's presence suddenly filled the room, muted and weak, but unmistakable, and, as if a door had been opened, tiny parts of our minds were transported to another place. I could still see the antique table, feel the delicate chinaware when I extended my hand and smell coffee, perfume and freshly baked cookies, but it seemed and tasted somewhat hollow, distant, like an illusion on the verge of breaking. On the other hand the cozy room with a single armchair in front of a crackling fire I suddenly saw was entirely imaginary, but still appeared much more real to me.
Lucifer was reclining in the chair, his legs crossed, his hand wrapped around a crystal glass, generously filled with an amber liquid. He was relaxed and his eyes again sparkled with hope and anticipation, something I hadn't seen in centuries. To me it seemed like we were alone, but I was still willing to bet that each and every one of his human friends was experiencing the very same thing at the moment. Which meant he didn't want me to know what he was going to tell them. And it also meant that he didn't want them to know what he was going to tell me. Holy hells, whenever he had chosen a less blunt approach, it had usually collapsed around our wings at the very first opportunity. Hopefully he had learned a thing or two since then.
"Hello Aurora," he began confidently and raised his glass. "You can save your questions, I can't hear you. The amount of magic it would have taken to make this into a two way street might have alerted our siblings to the remnants of my presence and I'm not going to risk that. Which means you can scream at me all you want and I'm simply going to smile and sip on my drink. If that isn't a dream come true…"
"You goddamn, condescending son of a…"
"I was being rhetorical," he continued with a frown, "but I assume you've taken it literally. Embarrassing, isn't it? I'm dead and I can still read you like a book."
"Bitch," I finished stubbornly. A genuine smile formed on his face.
"That was the best way I could come up with to convince you that I'm over our… let's call it a quarrel. I can't be sure, but chances are you'll be… you have been around when I've saddled my steed for my last hurray and rode into the sunset. Hopefully I'll manage to leave our dear siblings with more than a bloody nose to remember me by. But that's in the future… or the past, depending on which side of the conversation you're sitting on. What matters now is the present. First things first. I've never touched a single one of the girls and I swear, if you so much as singe a hair on their heads I will find out, that is, my next incarnation will find out, and I'm going to pluck your feathers one by one. They're good people, Aurora, leave them be, even if you feel like smashing something beautiful right now."
"Did I already mention that you're a condescending son of a bitch," I grumbled, but there was no real heat behind my words. He wasn't angry, he wasn't even disappointed. We were fine and we'd be together again. Provided this all worked out like I expected it to. Which is to say with me booking a one way ticket to Gaya. Probably through a glaringly red cherry. Mirror, mirror on the wall… who's the most infuriating angel of them all?
"Now that that's out of the way there are two things I want to tell you. One… I guess you've already figured out that I've hidden something important on Earth. I'm going to tell you what it is and why it's here. And also why I won't be able to use it again." He sighed and placed down his glass on a cedar table that had materialised from thin air.
"Memories… they can be tricky. Especially when you're starting to or have been forced to forget fragments. Take the First War for example. We all know it happened, but yet we can't seem to figure out why it ever stopped. Most of us, that is. I'm sure you have your own ideas, considering your still keeping tabs on the Arete family. Yes, I know who they are and I even know where they are. Did you seriously think I'd willingly forget someone who's important to you? But that's not the point. They can tell you themselves when you meet them again. For now, all that matters is, that our family never willingly laid down their arms. Someone had to force them. And when I say someone I mean you… Amazeroth and me. But Lucifer, you paragon of virtue, two angels and a demon against the entirety of heaven and hell I already hear you exclaim. What kind of lunacy is this?" He was right. What he was hinting at wasn't even lunacy, it was a pipe dream.
"And right you would be, but like every people we have our secrets, our treasures, our Achilles' heels. Two in our case. One… it doesn't matter, that's a story I have to figure out for myself, but should you ever see me wearing a black ring, make sure I don't lose it, would you? It's pretty important and if Michael gets his hands on it I'll truly be at his mercy. Provided the arrogant asshole actually has the guts to realise what it is. And the power to not turn into a torch as soon as he tries to use it. The other, though… it's our way home. Or rather back. I, for one, am quite content with calling the mortal world home, but you know as well as I that immortals are different. That's because we don't actually belong here." He sighed again, picked up his glass and took a generous sip.
"Our presence facilitated creation, but we aren't a part of it. That's also the practical reason why our magic leaves scars, corrupts reality. It simply doesn't belong. Wait too long and it even corrupts us. Like always, every force produces a reverse reaction of equal strength. Simply put, the pieces of corruption you and Michael have been hunting, yes I know about your little deal, are a cancer but there is also a counterweight, a growing piece of our origin that thrives the more we mess up reality. It's what we used to end the First War and now I've hidden it on Earth. Why Earth, you might ask. That's simple, because it was here that we crossed over for the first time. Every speck of dust, every tiny atom on Earth still carries traces of our descent. It's like hiding a grain of sand in the desert. As to why I've even bothered … the shard can grant power to immortals. It can set us free of aeons of prejudice and make belief and turn us back into what we truly are. Which is also the reason why I can't use it again. I'm not a pure immortal anymore. And neither are you."