Page 129 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

“Excuse me?” Angela arched her eyebrows at both men. Was this now going to be some sort of an arranged marriage?

“A marriage would give you both more control over the Claiming’s influence before it escalates further,” explained Father Michael.

“Ignore him,” Angela said to Zarek. She could feel the difference in him, now that his staves were gone. “Hey, are you all right?” she asked quietly.

Zarek nodded. But he didn’t look away from Father Michael. “Are you?”

No, she wasn’t, because all her beliefs and disbeliefs were being tested. Especially when she’d spent thirty years not believing in magic, or in angels, and systems that claimed to protect her. Maybe it was time to try something different.

“We did the dreamscape for answers, and I got one.” She just hadn’t expected the answer to be Father Michael in his black suit and white collar, who again held out his hand to her.

So this time, she wasn’t negotiating. She was deciding for herself and took it. Standing here, in Paradox, holding the hand of Archangel Michael, that may be the beginning of finding out who she really was underneath.

FORTY-FOUR

“By Citlabeng’s blade, Angela’s father is the Archangel of Death.” Rocharde’s eyes followed the archangel walking off with Angela—the non-mortal—across the lawns. “Bengarro.” The rrr’s rolled like a curse they all felt, as if watching history rearrange itself.

“That’s some serious power walking around with your lady there.” Martar nudged Zarek with his elbow. The grin was present, but his eyes showed his worry.

“I’ll say.” Condorr surveyed the devastation with something resembling professional appreciation. “These rooms are protected. Warded to the foundation stones.”

“Just think, her father could remove you from existence if you upset him, Zarek,” Martar added cheerfully. “Something to consider.”

“I didn’t think angels could do that,” Bellus said, more to himself than anyone, his brow creased as if he was already composing a long list of research questions. “Have children. And I thought they weren’t permitted to interfere.”

“Not sure about the children part, but the rest—angels do not get involved,” Gellar said gruffly. “It is written in the Accords. Otherwise, they’d have been a considerable ally in our war with Katarra long ago.”

“You know…” Bellus rubbed the bridge of his nose as if missing his glasses. “The dreamscape is a liminal space, a threshold realm that belongs to no single world, and therefore no single law governs access to it. Which means someone like Father Michael, or the Archangel Michael, can enter with no need to explain, which he did, obviously, as Angela’s dream guide. It’d be his way of interfering without interfering.”

“Like a loophole?” asked Rocharde.

Bellus nodded.

Zarek frowned at the word. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Did her father create those nightmares? Or did he just show up in the dreamscape?

Gellar stroked his beard, no doubt coming to the same conclusions. “Perhaps we ask the Sleep Wizard for a way to ward against such unwarranted visits.”

“Agreed.” Zarek kept watch over the garden. The way Father Michael tilted his head when Angela said something that caught his attention, was exactly the same way Angela tilted hers when she was working something out. He’d noticed that quality in her from the beginning, as well as the particular stillness of someone who listened the way most people forgot to. He’d never have imagined it was inherited from an archangel.

“I always knew Angela was special,” he said, more to himself. “I just didn’t understand how truly special she is.” He shook his head once. The daughter of the Archangel Michael. Not just any angel, but the one who commanded the angels of death. The most dangerous being in any realm had walked into a secured area of the Keep, stood among his brothers, and smiled. “At least we know where her power comes from.”

Bellus was already turning over pages in his tattered notebook; without his glasses, his eyes squinted as he began writing.

“Captain.” Gellar stepped forward, positioning himself squarely in Zarek’s line of sight. “We need to understand what happened in that dreamscape.”

“Tell me what happened to this room first.”

“She was under for less than two minutes. The Sleep Wizard lost contact before Angela Duboise…” Gellar paused, dropping his head as if to formulate his words that carried a darker warning than anyone expected. “Something came through her. Its voice called out—Katarra, die—then all the windows exploded, and everyone was thrown clear from the room.” Gellar gestured at the surrounding destruction. “The vortex started beneath the dream bed, while Angela Duboise was asleep. And none of us could contain it once it fully formed.” He sighed as he glanced over the devasted room, then back out to the pristine gardens where the father and daughter strolled together. “The Seers spoke of a new power—”

“I know.” For a moment, fighting the vortex and accepting the dragon, Zarek had thought it was his own power finally free to break its own ceiling. But now, looking at Angela walking beside an archangel, that question had uncovered something much larger.

“We need to understand what she’s capable of,” Gellar said.

“Give her a chance.” He knew Angela had a lot to deal with.

“But that’s not the most pressing matter.” Gellar’s voice dropped. “The Council is on my back. They know she’s here. They know about the raining room in Magick School. They’re demanding she be tested.”

“No.”