why he wouldn't want to heat up.
Israfel settled on the floor, her wings tucked at her back. "Holy, Holy, Holy," she sang, her voice a thread through the room. " Holy God, Holy Omnipotent, Holy Immortal, all your works adore you—"
Raphael ran his fingers along the light energy inhabiting his lap, and he joined Israfel's song, the Trisagion of the Seraphim. " You are the one who was, and who is, and who is to come."
Uriel sat with closed eyes, praying. Michael stood in the corner, pale.
As if in a dream, Raphael raised his hands to shoulder height, and between them he cast a bar of light, then flicked the fingers of his left hand so it began to spin. Michael frowned, alone watching in silence as Israfel continued singing and Uriel continued praying. Raphael pulled his right hand away from the spindle, and it pivoted on the fingers of his left hand until it swung perpendicular to his lap, pointing at Gabriel.
Michael's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then he stopped himself.
Raphael guided Gabriel's energy with his right hand, up and onto the spindle where it spun, then emerged on the other side more solid.
"How—"
Uriel raised a hand, and Michael fell silent. Israfel's song hesitated, but she maintained it.
As Gabriel's fabric solidified, visions assaulted the four angels: memories, stray words and odd thoughts. Like four AM inspirations, impulses darted through their minds, apparitions, scenes from the wrong point of view.
Michael recoiled, but he didn't leave.
The flashes of Gabriel's experiences left no footprints. From one moment to the next they couldn't be sure what they had just been thinking, but Raphael continued spinning, and the spiritual energy continued thickening.
Uriel moved in very close now. "Sing, Israfel. Keep singing. And Raphael, spin him through again. Make it tighter."
The whole process repeated, Raphael guiding with his hands, an amber glow cast onto his lap. Israfel drifted to the end of the song, and she didn't resume. After a moment, she lifted a hand and focused her energy on Gabriel; Michael's head raised as the random memories intensified. Uriel sat taller.
After the second spin, Raphael had in his lap an amorphous form, but semi-solid and with at least something of Gabriel's signature.
Knee-to-knee with Raphael, Uriel traced cool fingers over the angel, guiding the body into a form, calming the rough areas, firming where it was too prone to melting away. It took time, but before Israfel's and Michael's gaze, the angel developed limbs, wings, then features, then an approximation of Gabriel's features.
Sitting back, Uriel breathed deep.
Raphael sought out the Throne with wide eyes, water still dripping down his neck.
Uriel opened both hands and looked down.
Raphael flinched, his body projecting mortal confusion.
Uriel was barely audible. "It will come in God's time. The Spirit showed you how to spin."
"We can't leave him like this," Raphael urged.
Uriel looked right into Raphael's eyes. "You're exhausted. I'm exhausted. No one has any clear idea of what to do next, so until God chooses—"
"That's crazy!" Water sprayed around the room as Raphael's wings snapped open. "God let this happen! God let them attack with no warning, and now you're suggesting we just wait on God?"
Israfel met Raphael's eyes, the heat rolling off her. "Maybe we could wait for God to send in a second wave of demons."
"Or a text message." Raphael's fire surged. "We could wait for a clear sign for years and let Gabriel fall to pieces and find out afterward that God wanted us to do something rather than sitting on our wingtips waiting for revelations with instructions."
Michael found his hand on his sword, but Uriel remained calm. "We've discussed this before, that God won't step in to avoid the results of someone's evil."
"Don't try to out-Gabriel Gabriel!" The pitch of Raphael's voice had steepened to a painful degree. "This isn't theory! This is his life and he's almost dead
Israfel settled on the floor, her wings tucked at her back. "Holy, Holy, Holy," she sang, her voice a thread through the room. " Holy God, Holy Omnipotent, Holy Immortal, all your works adore you—"
Raphael ran his fingers along the light energy inhabiting his lap, and he joined Israfel's song, the Trisagion of the Seraphim. " You are the one who was, and who is, and who is to come."
Uriel sat with closed eyes, praying. Michael stood in the corner, pale.
As if in a dream, Raphael raised his hands to shoulder height, and between them he cast a bar of light, then flicked the fingers of his left hand so it began to spin. Michael frowned, alone watching in silence as Israfel continued singing and Uriel continued praying. Raphael pulled his right hand away from the spindle, and it pivoted on the fingers of his left hand until it swung perpendicular to his lap, pointing at Gabriel.
Michael's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then he stopped himself.
Raphael guided Gabriel's energy with his right hand, up and onto the spindle where it spun, then emerged on the other side more solid.
"How—"
Uriel raised a hand, and Michael fell silent. Israfel's song hesitated, but she maintained it.
As Gabriel's fabric solidified, visions assaulted the four angels: memories, stray words and odd thoughts. Like four AM inspirations, impulses darted through their minds, apparitions, scenes from the wrong point of view.
Michael recoiled, but he didn't leave.
The flashes of Gabriel's experiences left no footprints. From one moment to the next they couldn't be sure what they had just been thinking, but Raphael continued spinning, and the spiritual energy continued thickening.
Uriel moved in very close now. "Sing, Israfel. Keep singing. And Raphael, spin him through again. Make it tighter."
The whole process repeated, Raphael guiding with his hands, an amber glow cast onto his lap. Israfel drifted to the end of the song, and she didn't resume. After a moment, she lifted a hand and focused her energy on Gabriel; Michael's head raised as the random memories intensified. Uriel sat taller.
After the second spin, Raphael had in his lap an amorphous form, but semi-solid and with at least something of Gabriel's signature.
Knee-to-knee with Raphael, Uriel traced cool fingers over the angel, guiding the body into a form, calming the rough areas, firming where it was too prone to melting away. It took time, but before Israfel's and Michael's gaze, the angel developed limbs, wings, then features, then an approximation of Gabriel's features.
Sitting back, Uriel breathed deep.
Raphael sought out the Throne with wide eyes, water still dripping down his neck.
Uriel opened both hands and looked down.
Raphael flinched, his body projecting mortal confusion.
Uriel was barely audible. "It will come in God's time. The Spirit showed you how to spin."
"We can't leave him like this," Raphael urged.
Uriel looked right into Raphael's eyes. "You're exhausted. I'm exhausted. No one has any clear idea of what to do next, so until God chooses—"
"That's crazy!" Water sprayed around the room as Raphael's wings snapped open. "God let this happen! God let them attack with no warning, and now you're suggesting we just wait on God?"
Israfel met Raphael's eyes, the heat rolling off her. "Maybe we could wait for God to send in a second wave of demons."
"Or a text message." Raphael's fire surged. "We could wait for a clear sign for years and let Gabriel fall to pieces and find out afterward that God wanted us to do something rather than sitting on our wingtips waiting for revelations with instructions."
Michael found his hand on his sword, but Uriel remained calm. "We've discussed this before, that God won't step in to avoid the results of someone's evil."
"Don't try to out-Gabriel Gabriel!" The pitch of Raphael's voice had steepened to a painful degree. "This isn't theory! This is his life and he's almost dead
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