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Pentious kept his eyes trained on Emily and Abel as the three of them flew through the clouds. For the umpteenth time, he made the mistake of glancing down and almost fainted. He was a decent enough flier, but was unaccustomed to being this high up. He much preferred slithering.
“Miss Emily, would you remind me where we’re going?” he hedged, as much to distract himself from the staggering height as to gauge how close they were to being back on solid ground.
Emily, who was flying in loop-de-loops so both Pentious and Abel could keep apace with her, flapped down to his level.
“Abel’s going to meet with Elder Cynthaeis. It was my idea for you and me to come along for moral support!”
“Why? Who is this ‘Elder Cynthaeis’?”
“She made the exorcists,” Abel explained. “The army has never had to appoint a new general, so there isn’t really an established passing-the-torch procedure. To start, Sera thought it’d be a good idea for me to square things with Cynthaeis.”
“Yeah, especially considering. . .” Emily trailed off, and her smile wavered. She and Abel shared a sober glance.
At Pentious’s inquiring look, Abel sighed and said, “She and my dad. . . kinda famously didn’t get along. Let’s just put it that way.”
That didn’t clear much up, but Pentious didn’t ask further questions on the matter.
This was the first he’d ever heard of the exorcists’ maker. He’d always assumed they simply spawned into being when Heaven needed them, armored and ready for battle. He racked his brain to recall if Vaggi had ever mentioned the name Cynthaeis; he didn’t think she had. Come to think of it, she never spoke about her life in Heaven if she could avoid it.
On they flew, until they passed over the gates and left the city behind. Pentious anxiously glanced back, wondering if this was permissible, but neither Emily nor Abel appeared to share his nervousness.
“Where exactly does this Cynthaeis live?” he asked.
“She has her own private sphere. She set it up herself when she retired. It’s not far from here,” Emily replied.
“Retired? Angels can do that?”
“Well, typically, no. But she did.” Once again, discomfort shadowed Emily’s merriment, although she was quick to shrug it off. “One of the other seraphim helped her set it up, so it’s not like she did it without permission. It wasn’t wrong, just an exception. Plus, her leaving made room for another angel to take her place at the head of bioengineering, and they’ve been responsible for some incredible innovations!”
So Cynthaeis was a bioengineer. Pentious supposed that made sense, if she’d created the exorcists. Was she anything like Baxter? Hopefully not. The thought made Pentious shudder.
Soon enough, a golden dome came into view, rising up from the cloudy expanse. When they were close enough that Pentious began to fear they might crash, Emily shot a jet of bubbly magic from her fingertip. A portal opened in the wall of the dome, sending ripples across the smooth, gleaming surface. They flew inside, and Pentious gasped when he saw the new world they’d entered.
A forest of colossal trees arose from a sea of silver grass. The trees, pink and barkless, grew in tall spirals, sprouting whip-thin branches all the way up the trunk. Bluish, glassy leaves, with a shape akin to that of an hourglass, formed a netted canopy. Individual leaves turned completely invisible when the light struck them at a certain angle. When a gentle breeze blew by, the entire forest swayed to its command like a great wave. In the distance, the trees thinned, and a meadow filled with flowers in colors and shapes Pentious had never seen before took the place of the forest. A paved walking path snaked across the landscape like a grey ribbon.
Most stunning of all was the night sky overhead. Countless stars twinkled high above the forest and meadow, easily lighting the way. It was nigh impossible for Pentious to tear his eyes from the swathes of colorful nebulae rolling across the infinite expanse.
Whether the walls of the dome ceased to exist as physical barriers on the inside or were merely cast with an illusion of an open world, Pentious couldn’t tell. Both the landscape and the sky appeared to stretch on forever.
“What is this place?” he breathed. It had none of the eyewatering brightness or chrome perfection that he’d grown accustomed to. There was a serene, natural beauty to it that made it feel more like Heaven than anything else he’d seen.
“It’s modeled after a forest in Kabora. Cynthaeis designed it.”
“Kabora?”
“It’s a planet in the Brontova system. You wouldn’t know it, it’s in the Andromeda Galaxy,” Emily said with a casual flap of her hand. “Cynthaeis designed most of the life forms there, and set up a whole bunch of different ecosystems. Oh, there are these little squirrel-ish things that were designed specifically to live in these trees! I got to cuddle one once. They’re so cute! They’re only on Kabora, though. I don’t think Cynthaeis brought any here.”
“Ah,” was all Pentious could say. That was quite a lot to process at once.
They drifted lower, and the shimmering canopy automatically parted for them. Emily led them along a thin dirt road, to one massive tree that stood out from all the others. It was taller than a skyscraper and thick enough to encompass Heaven’s high courtroom. Small gouges peppered the trunk in spiraling lines, like creeping ivy, and Pentious realized they were windows. This tree was hollow.
They alighted on the footpath at a branching point, where it expanded into a small veranda. A series of steps led to a porch, which in turn led to a tall, arching door that blended almost seamlessly into the trunk.
As they approached, Abel recited under his breath, “ ‘Hello, Elder. The stars find you well.’ Wait, do I still call her Elder if she’s retired? Maybe I should just call her Cynthaeis. ‘I’m pleased to introduce myself as Archangel Abel, newly appointed general of Heaven’s exorcist army.’ That seems redundant. We all know it’s Heaven’s army. Should I just say ‘the exorcist army’? Maybe—”
“Abel, it’ll be fine, I promise,” Emily said gently, looping her arm through his. “We’ll be right there the whole time. I know Cynthaeis can be a little grumpy, but she’s not scary. She’s just an angel.”
“Right. Just an angel. Not. . . not scary at all.” Abel didn’t seem to fully believe that, but took comfort in Emily’s steadfast optimism. Without further ado, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
Another gust of wind rolled through the trees, making the leaves rustle like millions of tiny bells. The door did not open. No sound could be heard inside.
A nervous sweat broke out on Abel’s forehead. He glanced unsurely between his friends and mopped his brow with his sleeve.
Emily refused to let her enthusiasm be dampened. Her cheery smile remained fixed as she stepped up to the door herself and gave a loud, rapid knock. Her efforts proved more fruitful than Abel’s, as the thumping of footsteps sounded inside. Pentious thought he heard two voices, one harsh and one soft. Then the noises ceased, and quiet fell again. The door did not open.
Movement drew Pentious’s gaze upwards, and he glimpsed a pale face, like that of a ghostly child, peering down at them through a window. In the blink of an eye, it was gone. Pentious shivered. Even now, he remembered well the frequent rumors in London of a tiny face glimpsed in the window of an abandoned house, or an infant crying inside a closed orphanage. Other Londoners seemed to find such rumors thrilling, but Pentious always found them disturbing.
“She does know we’re supposed to meet today, right?” Abel asked.
“Of course. Sera sent a memo last week, and it was marked as received.”
“But did Cynthaeis actually reply?”
“I don’t know. I don’t handle the mail.”
“How do you know she’s on board with this, then? Maybe she doesn’t want to see us.” Abel slumped in defeat, but there was also a measure of relief in his voice. Pentious couldn’t help feeling relieved as well.
Emily would not suffer the same relief, and knocked again. This time she kept knocking, gradually louder and faster.
“Trust me, she wants to see us,” she said. In a singsong voice, she called, “Cynthaeis! We’re here!” The pace of her knocking increased.
The door was abruptly yanked open. Emily pulled her hand back, surprised and a bit guilty, as she almost knocked on the knees of the angel who’d answered.
Cynthaeis towered over them all; she could easily stand eye-level with Sera. She had the appearance of a dragon with her blunt snout, long neck, oxlike horns, and two snaky tails. She looked like some mythical creature made of pure silver—leathery silver skin, lush silver plumage, four silver eyes gleaming beneath a spiny ridge of a brow. Her halo sported a set of prongs mimicking the curve of her horns, and her four large wings indicated her higher rank. Elegant white robes shrouded her body, flowing and shapeless except where they were tied at the waist with a woven belt.
Pentious had anticipated some family resemblance—at the very least a human-ish form, like what Emily and Sera had—but Cynthaeis looked nothing like Vaggi. The one scant commonality was the unapproachable countenance. The sour curl in her mouth and grouchy squint in her eyes made it clear before any words were spoken that, as Abel had guessed, she was less than pleased by their visit.
“What do you want?” she snapped. Her voice was a cold, growly rasp.
“Um, hello, El—Cynth—Elder Cynthaeis. The stars are nice. Shit, I mean, they. . . the stars are. . . they sure are up there. I’m the son of Abel. I mean, Adam. I mean, I’m Abel, and I’m the son of Adam.”
“We’ve met before.”
“Right, yes, obviously. We, uh. . . we have. I’m not technically introducing myself, this is more like a reintroduction, given. . . I mean, since I’ve been. . . you know. Promoted. My promotion. Because of my dad. Adam. Who’s dead.”
Abel was sweating profusely and wringing his hat in his hands. Cynthaeis looked like she was seriously considering shutting the door on their faces.
Emily came to the rescue. She grabbed one of Cynthaeis’s long, spidery hands, pointedly ignoring the way Cynthaeis grimaced and tried to take her hand back, and exclaimed, “It’s wonderful to see you again! It’s been a while, hasn’t it, since you came to the capital? I feel like I haven’t gotten to talk to you in ages! How are you doing?”
Cynthaeis wrested her hand away and said with the thinnest veil of propriety, “If I must repeat myself, I’d like to know why you all are here.”
“Well, Abel,” Emily grabbed Abel’s shoulders and planted him front and center, much to his dismay, “wanted to meet with you to talk about the exorcists! I believe it was in the memo we sent? You did receive that, right?”
Cynthaeis’s glower deepened.
“I did,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I assume you received my response, wherein I declined visitation and asked to remain undisturbed?”
Emily’s smile faltered. Abel and Pentious shared an uncomfortable look.
“Oh. Well, uh, no, I don’t think I saw that,” Emily said quietly. She cleared her throat, leaned around Cynthaeis to peek inside the tree, and prompted, “So, can we come in?”
Cynthaeis scrutinized her for several long seconds, then started to close the door.
“Wait!” Pentious cried. He darted forward and wedged his arm between the door and the frame. Cynthaeis looked affronted. Pentious wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t have tried to break his arm off if Emily hadn’t also blocked the door with her foot.
“Who are you?” she demanded, as if she was only just noticing him.
“Er, hello, Madam.” Pentious wasn’t certain it was correct to address her that way, but figured backpedaling would only make things more awkward. He tipped his hat with his free hand, bowed as low as he could, and said, “I am the great redeemed Sir Pentious! I am here for, ah. . . moral support. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”
Cynthaeis didn’t reply, just stared down at him with a vaguely disgusted look. Emily used the moment of distraction to force the door open.
“That’s right, this is Sir Pentious. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Now, we made an appointment, we’re here, and. . .” She trailed off, and unease showed on her face. Pentious gave her a thumbs-up, so she flapped a few feet into the air and boldly declared, “I order you to let us into your home as visitors. And to treat my friends nicely, like proper guests. Please.”
For a few frightening seconds, it was unclear if Cynthaeis would bend. She stared Emily down until the latter gulped and started fidgeting with her skirt. This exemplified something Pentious had noticed in Heaven, in the limited time he’d spent around angels: rank was technically important, but age was what garnered real respect. Emily might be seraphim, but she herself admitted she was the youngest of that circle, whereas Cynthaeis was old even before the creation of Earth.
The tension diffused when Cynthaeis rolled her eyes and stood aside.
“As you wish, Seraphim,” she grumbled, disdain dripping in every syllable. Emily took the win and tugged Pentious and Abel forward.
Just before the door shut, Pentious thought he heard a noise nearby—the rustling of leaves, not caused by wind, and the snap of a branch. But when he glanced back at the woods, he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Emily gave his arm another tug, so he dismissed the concern and slithered into the great tree.
The entire ground floor made up a wide, luxurious solar. A sitting area furnished with laying sofas and divans was arranged on one side of the room, and on the other side was a crafting nook. A massive standing loom was threaded with a half-finished tapestry, and a ways behind it was a tidy worktable, where other projects—more weaving, needlepoint, even some partially sculpted clay pieces—were housed in transparent drawers.
The landing of a staircase was straight ahead. To the right, one set of stairs spiraled up along the wall until they disappeared into the high ceiling. To the left, identical steps descended into what was presumably a basement. On all sides of the solar, the walls were honeycombed with inset shelves. Books and scrolls were stuffed into each cubby. Pentious recognized a few languages, and even some titles, but most were written in a stylized alien script.
Cynthaeis gestured to the sitting area, so the trio made their way over to it and sat down. A constellation of silvery orbs hovering overhead served as mood lighting, giving the space a cozy, enclosed feel.
Cynthaeis strode through with sweeping elegance and sat across from them. She held herself rigidly, as if the couch were made of stone.
Before anyone could speak, a second angel descended the stairs. They were around Vaggi’s height and close to human in appearance, but for their elongated ears and pupilless dark eyes. They had fluffy violet wings, and curly hair of the same color tied back with a kerchief. Only their bone-white face and hands were visible, the rest of their body clothed in a simple grey gown.
This second angel crossed the solar with the grace of a specter, carrying a tray with a tea set. They placed cups for everyone on a low table between the sofas and poured sweet-smelling tea.
“Hi, Jasper!” Emily whispered enthusiastically in what might’ve been an attempt to be subtle. “Hi! Thank you!”
“You’re very welcome, Seraphim,” Jasper said in a soft, smooth voice. They gave each of the guests a polite nod, then drifted back up the stairs from which they’d arrived.
Now that everyone was settled, silence fell. After a brief eternity, Abel stated, “You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you.”
Pentious piped up, “You know, a former lab partner of mine is a bioengineer. I’m no biologist, but I picked a few things up from him. Perhaps you and I could. . . talk some science?”
“I very much doubt that.”
“Ah. Alright, then.”
The silence resumed. They sipped their tea. It was very tasty, and the best thing about the visit so far.
Cynthaeis was clearly impatient to send them away. She set down her cup and prompted, “Just give me whatever documents you need me to sign, so I can sign them and we can be done with this.”
“D-Documents?” Abel sputtered.
Emily and Pentious shared a look of awkward sympathy. Abel was no connoisseur of paperwork, and they knew he had nothing prepared.
Cynthaeis shut her eyes and sighed deeply. Her voice trembled with contained frustration as she explained, “Adam and I had an exchange of forms when I gave him guardianship of the exorcists. A copy of their making certificate, confirmation of legal advocacy, pledge of responsibility for training, housing, and general care—documents of that nature.”
“Oh. All that. Wow.”
Cynthaeis was beginning to look more weary than irritated.
“Shall I draw up copies of those forms for you and me to negotiate?”
“Yes, please,” Abel exhaled.
“Paperwork! Yay!” Emily cheered with forced enthusiasm.
Pentious dreaded the thought of having to sit by while Abel carried out tedious legal proceedings with someone who plainly detested him. He hastily drained his teacup, then gasped and said, “Oh, look at that, I’ve finished my tea! It was most delicious, thank you very much, Madam. I do believe I’d like some more! I’d better go and get some!”
He slid off the couch, hesitated until Cynthaeis gave a dismissive wave, then made a beeline for the stairs. Emily seized his arm as he passed and whispered, “Please don’t leave me here.”
“Every snake for himself, I’m afraid,” Pentious whispered back, and slithered away.
He paused when he reached the landing and glanced back. Cynthaeis had manifested some paperwork, and Abel was sweating again. Pentious almost felt bad for dipping out—almost.
Jasper had come from upstairs, so presumably that was where the kitchen was. However, as Pentious started to go up, he stopped. His gaze was drawn to the lower stairs. The space below was ominously dark. He couldn’t deny the sense of curiosity that arose.
Just a peek, perhaps, to allot the paperwork more time. If asked, he could say he got lost in his search for tea.
It occurred to him that this might be one of those Hellish impulses which he was getting better at identifying and ignoring, but he dismissed the thought. If Cynthaeis was bothered by a soul roaming her house, she could’ve told him to stay on the couch and called Jasper to fetch more tea. Would it be so terrible if he explored a bit?
He glanced back one last time to ensure he wasn’t being watched, then slithered down the steps. He gripped the railing with one hand and braced the other on the wall, until he eventually arrived at another landing. There were no more stairs.
A narrow corridor stretched before him, branching off into different rooms along the sides and ending at a blank wall. More of those silvery orbs hovered throughout, offering minimal light.
Pentious scooted down the hall, intent on trying each door. The first was unlocked. Inside, he found a room full of specimens locked away in glass-front pods embedded in the walls. A few animals he recognized from Earth, but most were utterly foreign. He at first thought their metallic grey coloration was due to some kind of preservative, but realized that that was what they were made of. They were not true specimens, but models. He dearly wanted to touch them, but was unable to open the pods. His desire to see the other rooms eventually drew him back out into the hall.
To his dismay, all the other rooms were locked. He was ready to call his exploration a mere partial success until he arrived at the last door and found it ajar. There was a light on inside.
When he peered in, he saw that the light came from a chamberstick resting on a footstool. The candle in the dish looked freshly lit; perhaps Cynthaeis had been down here when they arrived. The flame flickered merrily as Pentious picked up the chamberstick, as if welcoming him.
With the candle as his guide, he made his way into the room. It was empty except for an altar on the far side. A few more candles flickered on a ledge above it.
Pentious slowly drew closer. The altar wasn’t really an altar, he saw, but an ovular pod like the ones in the specimen room, only much larger, roughly one meter wide and two long. The sheet of glass covering the top was so perfectly clear, Pentious didn’t realize it was there until he tried to reach inside and accidentally bashed his fingers. He lowered the chamberstick and bent down to get a good look.
Inside the pod was another grey model, but this one was no animal. It was an angel.
It lay on its side, curled in a fetal position. Almond-shaped eyes ringed its head in a staggered line, all glassy and half-shut. The model was vaguely humanoid, but the proportions were all wrong, the torso too long and segmented, the limbs extended with an extra joint, the feet and hands resembling talons.
It was naked, so Pentious got an unobstructed view of its sinuous, angular body. It had no nipples, no genitalia, no navel; it had no nose or mouth, just a set of narrow orifices resembling a barred microphone; it had no hair or fur, but a thin layer of downy feathers on its back, neck, head, and upper arms. Two tails tipped with sharp spines were curled around its feet, and its wings were folded in a neutral pose. Most striking were the horns—curled, like the horns of a ram, but with the sharp tips jutting forward. A headbutt could serve to both bludgeon and gore.
Pentious straightened and looked up and down the length of the pod. The angel was nearly two meters long curled up, so it had to be huge standing upright. There was nothing beautiful, cute, or familiar about its appearance, as there was with most other angels. Rather, it had a subtle menacing quality. Pentious suspected that was an intentional design choice.
He stayed as long as he dared to admire it, wondering what sort of angel it was, if it was the only one of its kind or part of a whole class, and if this model represented a particular individual. If so, what was their name?
He eventually tore his attention away from the pod and slithered back to the doorway. He returned the chamberstick to the stool where he’d found it and made to leave, but couldn’t help casting a long look over his shoulder. He wanted to stay with this thing a while longer, to study it. Baxter would’ve liked to study it, he thought.
He almost jumped out of his scales when a hand touched his arm.
Jasper had arrived in complete silence. Their face was chalk-white under the dim lights, their eyes like pools of black water. Like one of those ghost children, Pentious thought again.
It clicked that Cynthaeis’s attendant—or servant, or protégé, or whoever they were—had just caught him sneaking around in the basement when he was supposed to be looking for tea.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I was. . . I was just looking,” he said lamely. He felt a strange urge to keep his voice down, as if the model might awaken and rise from its pod.
“There’s more tea upstairs,” Jasper said. They kept their grip on his arm, but didn’t pull him away, instead waiting for him to come along. He couldn’t resist looking back one final time.
“Who’s that in the pod?”
“No one.”
The way Jasper said it, it didn’t sound like a dismissal of the question. It sounded like the answer. Pentious didn’t quite know what to make of that, so he allowed Jasper to guide him back up the stairs.
When they returned to the landing, a fresh tea kettle was waiting. It floated patiently on its own until Jasper grabbed it out of the air. To Pentious’s immense relief, Abel, and Emily, and most importantly Cynthaeis were still focused on the paperwork. They were wrapping it up, by the looks of it. Pentious’s detour had gone unnoticed.
They returned to the couch, where Jasper refilled everyone’s tea. When Pentious accepted his, he met their eyes and firmly said, “Thank you.”
The message got across. Jasper bowed their head.
“Okay,” Abel sighed as he scribbled his signature at the bottom of the final document. He stacked them, returned them to their compressed holographic tube, and tucked them into his sleeve. “Man, it’s a relief to have all that done. I didn’t even know all that procedural stuff was. . . you know, procedure.”
“Your business here is concluded, then?” Cynthaeis prompted with the closest thing to excitement she had shown thus far.
“I guess. I mean, unless you want to talk more, or—”
“I don’t.”
“Oh. Okay.” Abel patted his knees awkwardly. He leaned forward, making to stand, but his face suddenly lit up and he exclaimed, “Wait, that’s right! I was going to ask if you want to come to the retreat.”
Cynthaeis paused mid-sip.
“A retreat,” she echoed.
“Yeah! I was brainstorming ways to bond with the girls, and Emily suggested a group retreat. We’re gonna play games, do trust exercises, share our feelings, the works. I booked this cute little campsite for a whole week. Would you want to come? I’m sure they’d love to have their maker join them for some family bonding.”
Cynthaeis stared hard at him. Abel gulped, but was too excited to back down.
“Family bonding.”
“Yeah, basically. Tell you what: I’ll reserve a tent for you. If you decide you want to come, it’s yours; if you don’t, no sweat. You have plenty of time to think about it between now and then, so—”
“No.”
“N. . . No?”
“No.”
“Aw, how come? It’ll be so much fun!” Emily complained.
“My reasons are my own,” Cynthaeis informed her stiffly. She turned back to Abel and stated, “Do as you like with the exorcists; they’re yours now. But do not put it upon me to indulge this farce.”
She gave a cold, breathy laugh of disbelief and turned her eyes to the ceiling, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. She seemed to be speaking more to herself as she muttered, “Even your father had the sense not to bother me with such nonsense.”
Strangely, the mention of his father calmed Abel. He straightened his robe, cleared his throat, and said, “I know you and my dad weren’t exactly on the best terms when he. . . passed.”
Cynthaeis scoffed quietly. Abel chewed his lip and continued, “Look, I didn’t just come here for tea. I really want to make this work. I want to get to know the girls, and you, and I just. . . I don’t want to do things the way he did.”
“That should be easy enough. I can’t imagine it’s difficult to avoid being a slavering, space-wasting shamble of carbon and lipids.”
Pentious and Emily’s jaws dropped. If Cynthaeis noticed their reactions, she didn’t care. Her eyes were focused on a point in the middle distance above their heads, and her face was twisted into an expression that conveyed nothing less than unfiltered contempt.
Abel’s cheeks yellowed. His hands clenched on his knees.
“He was my dad,” he whispered. There was a hard cut to the words, a note of dissent Pentious had rarely, if ever, heard from him.
“And you have my deepest sympathies for that. But I despise dishonest speech, and so I will not lie to you. I can’t recall of a single quality of your father’s that didn’t lie somewhere between inadequate and abhorrent.”
“He was my dad!”
Abel shot to his feet in a movement that took Pentious, Emily, Jasper, and even himself by surprise. Cynthaeis stood as well, rising with ethereal fluidity to scowl down at him.
“He was a failure. A boorish, arrogant failure of a creation,” she hissed. Her halo threw off sparks, making Abel shrink. “He was a vile human and an unworthy archangel, and when I heard the news of his death, I felt true joy for the first time in millennia.”
The tension was palpable. Pentious reflexively got ready to flee as he waited for one of them—most likely Abel—to back down.
Abel did not back down. He took a deep breath and said, “I know about the first army. I saw the files when I was going through the records in my dad’s office. For that—and for him in general, honestly—I’m sorry.”
Cynthaeis stiffened. Her face morphed into a stony, emotionless mask.
Abel went on, “I know he didn’t let you see the exorcists. Granted, you never expressed much interest in seeing them, but still. Anyway, I meant what I said: I’m not going to do things the way he did. You can see them whenever you want. You can come to the barracks, or they can come here and visit you—whatever’s easiest. Point being, I won’t get in the way.”
Cynthaeis drew a short, hitched breath.
“That isn’t necessary,” she said gruffly.
“I know. I get that. But if you ever change your mind. . . the door’s open. Just give me a call. Or don’t, if you don’t feel like it. You can just show up. Or not. Whatever you want.”
Cynthaeis recomposed her features and folded her hands.
“Very well. Will that be all?”
“Yeah, I guess. Sorry. We’ll, uh—urk, table—we’ll get out of your hair. Er, feathers,” Abel mumbled. His earlier awkwardness returned as he bumped into the table whilst trying to navigate out of the sitting area.
Cynthaeis escorted the trio to the door and held it open for them. Pentious lagged at the back of the procession, and when Emily and Abel were out of earshot, piped up, “I was wondering if you had much contact with an exorcist called Vaggi?”
It was hard to tell, but he could’ve sworn Cynthaeis’s eyes softened.
“That one’s still alive, hm?”
“She is, yes. Alive and well. See, I only ask because. . . if you do decide you wish to see your soldiers, and you’d like to talk to dear Vaggi as well, Miss Emily and I would be happy to pass on a message. We both have the honor of calling her a friend.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Cynthaeis nodded outside, where Emily was darting around the veranda in excitement and showering Abel in praise for how he handled himself. “I believe they’re waiting for you.”
“Yes, of course.” Pentious bowed low, sweeping his hat across the floor, and said, “Farewell, Madam! Thank you for your hospitality, and for the tea. It was excellent.”
“Please leave.”
“Right, leaving now! Goodbye!” With that, Pentious slithered away to join his friends, and they took off into the air together.
What started out as an unpleasant visit for all parties had ended on a somewhat higher note, but Pentious understood now why Vaggi had never wanted to talk about her maker.
*****
Lute crouched in the branches, motionless, hardly daring to blink for fear of sabotaging her watch on the giant tree. She thought she could hear the murmur of voices inside, and occasionally a grey-clad figure passed by a window on one of the upper floors, but other than that, the tree was silent, a looming fortress.
She felt Adam drift down to hover over her shoulder, but still jumped a little when he whispered in her ear, "Do you think they're having a foursome?"
Without answering, Lute growled, "How long is this going to take? What the fuck are they doing?"
"Fucking, obviously. Jerking each other off. Scissoring. Well, maybe not Cynthaeis. That crusty old bitch is probably drier than Paran."
Lute snickered. Adam grinned, pleased to have made her laugh.
Lute's good humor didn't last long. She resumed her eagle-eyed watch, hardly hearing Adam’s next few quips.
There was a strange buzz in her body, in her blood, as if an invisible hook was drawing her towards the tree. She knew why. She hadn't been this close to her maker in. . . well, she didn't know exactly, but it’d been a long time. She hated the feeling, hated the giddy hope that danced in her heart, hated the fantasies that arose of knocking on the door and being warmly greeted. She knew how pointless those feelings were, but something deep inside wouldn’t let them go.
She couldn’t help wondering how it might feel for Cynthaeis to wrap her wings around her, embrace Lute the way makers were supposed to embrace their made.
As if that would ever happen. Cynthaeis was more likely to shut the door on her face than hug her.
"Maybe it'll be different this time. Maybe she'll be different."
Lute looked at Adam in surprise. He shrugged and added, "Your brain's words, not mine."
She heard the door open, and almost fell off her branch as she whipped around to see what was happening.
The dumbass crew shuffled out onto the porch one by one. Cynthaeis stood in the doorway, watching them. It was hard to tell, but her scowl didn't look as deep as before.
That awful, instinctual love swelled in Lute’s heart. She wanted to fly into Cynthaeis’s arms and curl up under her wings. It was humiliating.
The dumbass crew exchanged a few parting words with their host, then took off. Lute shrank into the shadows of the branches, flattened herself against the trunk. Neither Abel nor Emily noticed her, but the snake cast an uneasy glance in her direction. Could he sense a vessel of divine justice nearby? Was a part of him instinctively waiting for an unseen warrior to slice off his slimy head? Was he afraid? Lute hoped so.
"Tch, look at that fucking thing, fluttering around with a seraphim and my pussy of a son. Bunch of fucking losers."
"Tell me about it."
"That fucking worm is probably staring up Emily's skirt right now, thinking about eating her ass. Can't say I blame him for that one, though. I bet her cotton candy ass tastes great."
Lute gaped at Adam.
"Sir, you can't—you can't just say things like—”
"What, I can't say things like 'I want to fuck that six-winged bitch until she passes out'?" Adam grinned at Lute's flustered stammering and teased, "Then why were you thinking it, you dirty dyke?"
Lute shook her head, letting her bangs fall forward to hide her blush. She wasted no more time crawling to the end of the branch she was perched on.
"Forget it. Come on, we've got a mission."
"You've got a mission, maybe. I'm just along for the ride, babe."
Lute launched into the air, navigating stealthily through the glistening leaves. She alighted on the giant tree without a sound, at one of the upper windows. There was no glass, so she hoisted herself through. She briefly panicked at the thought that Adam might not fit, but found that he was already inside, waiting for her.
They were on a narrow stairwell that jutted off the wall. Lute briefly debated whether to go up or down first, and decided on the former. She soon came to a landing, where the tight passage opened up into a large but minimalistic kitchen. No one was there, so she continued.
As she approached the next level, she froze at the sound of someone humming a soft melody. She cautiously peeked over the edge of the stairwell.
This floor encompassed a massive bathing chamber. The whole middle of the room was taken up by a bath the size of a small swimming pool. Medicine cabinets, shelves packed with jars and bottles, and racks of towels lined the round wall.
An angel dressed in grey—Cynthaeis’s attendant, Lute guessed—knelt beside the bath, pouring a powdery mixture from a vase into the steaming water. It turned the pool foamy and green, and threw off a sharp herbal scent. They twirled one finger in the air, and the water lazily stirred itself.
"Pretty thing like that, all alone? Too easy," Adam chuckled. Lute shushed him and crept out of the stairwell.
The attendant didn't see her. They stood and carried the vase to a nearby counter, where they placed it in a cabinet and bolted the door. Before they could turn around, Lute, who had crossed the room in silence, grabbed a fistful of their velvety purple curls and slammed their face down on the countertop.
The attendant cried out. Their hands flew back to pry at Lute's fingers. Lute shoved them forward, this time slamming their face into the cabinet door. Their nose broke, and blood splashed across the clean wood.
Lute seized the collar of their robe, dragged them to the wall, and shoved them up against it. They started to scream until she drew her sword and pressed it to their delicate throat.
"Where is she?" she demanded.
"Please don't hurt me," the attendant whimpered. Desperate tears rolled down their face. "Please, please don't hurt me."
"Where the fuck is she?" Lute snapped, pressing closer.
"Downstairs," the attendant sobbed. They turned their eyes upward as if in prayer and tearfully whispered, "She's downstairs, at her loom."
Lute held them there for several long seconds, studying them. Their perfect lips hung open as they drew shallow, panicked breaths. Their beautiful curls hung messily around their face. They were so pale, their blood almost blended into their skin. They were pretty, Lute realized. She was struck by the sudden urge to kiss them.
"You could probably get away with it," Adam chuckled. "Look at this fucking thing: completely at your mercy. Cynthaeis doesn't give a shit about her own made, so why would she care about a glorified slave?"
Lute's cheeks grew hot with anger—not for Adam, but for this bumbling, whimpering angel who'd made her even consider such things. She grabbed them by the hair again and walked them to the stairs, keeping them bent double. They squealed pathetically as she tightened her metal claws and gave their curls a vicious yank.
Lute dragged them downstairs, past the kitchen to the ground floor, which was furnished as a solar. There were steps leading to a lower level, but Lute ignored them when she spotted the aforementioned loom. She brought the attendant over to it, then flung them roughly to the floor and brandished her sword.
“Where is she?” she demanded.
“She was here, I swear she was just here!” they cried. They cast a helpless glance at the loom. The bench was unoccupied, the weaving untouched.
“Jasper?”
Lute rounded to face the stairs. The glow of a halo appeared, rising from the basement. Lute moved so Jasper was between her and the stairs, but she was careful to keep her blade where they could see it.
Cynthaeis took her sweet time ascending the steps. When she reached the landing, she stopped and took in the scene.
That feeling again—the involuntary love, the instinctive pull. It was sickening. It was infuriating.
“Lute,” Cynthaeis said. She folded her long hands and studied her for a moment. Without looking away, she asked Jasper, “Are you hurt?”
“M-My nose,” Jasper choked out. Lute thought they were overreacting, since their nose had stopped bleeding and the damage wasn’t bad enough to ruin their beauty.
Jasper gingerly pushed themself to sit up, flinching when Lute jerked her sword closer, and pleaded, “Forgive me, Cynthaeis, I didn’t—I didn’t hear her. I was prepping the bath, and then she grabbed me. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright, Jasper. You have nothing to apologize for.”
Cynthaeis turned her full attention back to Lute, looking moreso annoyed than wary. Her snout wrinkled, and she said, “Abel claimed he’s made it a priority to provide for you lot. How often are your uniforms washed? One would think it’d be done regularly.”
“This fucking bitch,” Adam gasped, affronted on Lute’s behalf.
Lute ignored the jab and demanded, “What did they want?”
“Pardon?”
“That smiley bitch, the fatass, and that fucking demon! What the fuck did they want? What did you give them? Tell me!”
Cynthaeis raised an eyebrow.
“Abel is your commanding officer. I don’t believe it’s appropriate for you to be spying on him.”
“Oh, so you wanna do this the hard way, huh?” Lute hissed. Her lips spread into a maniacal grin. “Alright. Let’s do it the hard way.”
She spun around and swung her sword at Jasper. They screamed and raised their arms to cover their face.
The blade didn’t get close. A shield materialized, and Lute’s strike rebounded hard enough to send her staggering. She shot a murderous glare at Cynthaeis, who had one hand raised, magic sparking around her fingers.
In a voice cold as ice, Cynthaeis said, “You will not harm my attendant.”
Lute roared and launched herself across the room. She stopped directly in front of Cynthaeis, flapping in midair, the tip of her sword quivering inches away from the bitch’s four-eyed face.
“How about I harm you instead? How about I take out one of your fucking eyes, so you and your favorite can match?”
“I’m your maker. You couldn’t harm me if you tried.”
Lute’s arms trembled. Her face was livid. Cynthaeis glared right back, implacable.
“Do it,” Adam hissed. Lute could hear him prowling around behind her. “One eye—just one—to teach her a lesson. She has three others, doesn’t she? It’s not like she’s using them for much.”
Lute ordered herself to move, ordered her arms to thrust forward. Just one quick, precise strike, and it would be done. Jasper was still shielded, but Cynthaeis made no attempt to shield herself, nor to restrain Lute. There was nothing stopping her.
She tried. She couldn’t. Some deep-rooted part of her refused to carry out her own will. Cynthaeis reached up to nudge the sword aside, and Lute found herself helpless to resist.
“If you’re finished, let us sit. I’ll answer whatever questions you have. Come.” Cynthaeis turned on her heel and strode to a nearby sitting area, beckoning for Lute to follow.
Lute’s face burned. Her stomach was in knots. She dropped to the floor, sheathed her sword, and stomped over, where she plunked down on an annoyingly comfortable couch. Cynthaeis dismissed Jasper, leaving the two of them alone.
While Cynthaeis stirred the dregs of a teacup, Lute sneered at the surrounding room and prompted, “So, this is where you’ve been squatting all these years? In a fucking tree? Hell of a place to retire.”
Cynthaeis pursed her lips, but didn’t deign to reply. She instead gave answer to Lute’s earlier question.
“Abel wanted to finalize the transference of guardianship for the exorcists. Emily and Pentious joined him, although their reasoning was unclear. I believe they cited ‘moral support’. I offered them tea, as convention demands; Abel and I went through the necessary documentation; and when there was nothing that warranted further discussion, I sent them on their way.”
Lute huffed and crossed her arms. As bland as that answer was, she felt inclined to believe it. Even Adam rolled his eyes and shrugged.
She tried to keep it in, but when she opened her mouth to respond, she blurted a question—a selfish, childish question—that had been gnawing at her for the last several minutes.
“Did they mention me?”
“No.”
“Did they mention Vaggi?”
“Sir Pentious did. He considers her a friend.”
“And you believe that horseshit?”
“Should I not?”
“He’s a demon!” Lute screeched, shooting to her feet.
Cynthaeis raised an eyebrow. Lute paced in front of the couch like a caged lioness and ranted, “He’s a demon, and she’s fallen! They don’t have friends! They don’t have fucking feelings!”
“Is that so?”
“Yes!” Lute hated herself for the hot tears that sprang up in her eyes. She wiped them away and growled, “Of all the exorcists you could’ve chosen to finally give a shit about, you picked her. That scum-sucking, demon-fucking traitor. Why not anyone else? Why not all of us?”
“Why not me?” she just barely stopped herself from adding.
“Fuck yeah, tell that cunt what’s what!” Adam cheered.
Cynthaeis was silent. Her expression was unreadable.
Lute sat down and wiped her eyes again. Her voice warbled as she said, “I heard what happened with the smiths. You saved her. You didn’t have to.”
“I was put in a position where I had little choice.”
“You didn’t have to, but you did,” Lute insisted. “Why? Don’t tell me you actually care about her.”
“I am intrigued by her,” Cynthaeis admitted after a moment of thought. “Despite her strict biological coding, she’s thriving in Hell. She’s formed new relationships, developed her own goals and needs. She’s found a new purpose. That level of independent will in a creature optimized for obedience and conformity. . . it surprised me.”
Lute’s heart sat in her chest like a lead weight. She stared down at her hands, clenched into tight fists in her lap.
“Wow. Talk about favoritism,” Adam snorted. “She’s not even trying to deny it. Rotten old bitch.”
Lute almost jumped out of her skin when sharp fingers pressed on her head. Magic buzzed against her scalp, and she smacked Cynthaeis’s hand away with an indignant squawk.
“What the hell?” she demanded, leaping to her feet.
Cynthaeis cocked her head, studying her with fresh interest. Her expression made Lute feel like a specimen on a dissecting table.
“Your brain activity is unusual. I don’t suppose you’ve experienced any visual or auditory stimuli that don’t conform to reality of late?”
“What?”
“Hallucinations, Lute. Have you had any?”
“Fuck you.” Lute’s face grew hot while Adam cackled uproariously behind her.
“You are the lieutenant of an army. If you’re mentally compromised, you could be a liability.”
“Fuck you! What do you even know about me? Nothing! You stupid cunt, fuck you!” Lute screamed.
She grabbed the low table and flung it against the wall. It broke apart with a delicious crash. She expected Cynthaeis to scold her, yell at her, maybe hit her. A part of her hoped for it. But Cynthaeis just watched with a look of cool neutrality.
Lute wanted to hit her. She wanted to kill her. She wanted to burn this fucking tree to ash.
She flew across the solar to Cynthaeis’s loom, spitting every horrible word she could think of, and drew her sword. She slashed wildly at the half-finished weaving, shredded the delicate fibers, ripped out any that escaped the assault with her hands. Once the project was thoroughly destroyed, she seized the loom and smashed it on the floor.
She stood over the mess, seething, fingers trembling on the hilt of her sword. She looked back, eager to see Cynthaeis’s reaction.
Cynthaeis gave no reaction. She remained seated, her expression unchanged.
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” she said quietly.
“I hate you,” Lute said in a low voice.
Cynthaeis’s face tightened. For the first time, a flicker of real emotion appeared. It faded just as quickly, however, and her countenance reverted to a stony mask.
“I can live with that.”
There was nothing more to be said or done. Lute sheathed her sword and left, slamming the door as hard as she could. She leapt into the air and flew—away from the tree, away from the forest, away from the golden dome. She didn’t look back as she left her maker’s joyless, loveless hovel behind.
She prayed she would never have to see her again.