Great News!

The Scribing of Ishitar, Lesson One:  Fall From Grace is being published!  Woot Woot.

As part of the agreement with Kindle, I can't post any of my book in another digital medium.  Which means when this book is ready to publish I'll have to delete all my posts.  So . . . Doesn't make sense to keep posting them at this point.

The good news:  I'm 303 pages into the review of the 2nd book! 

Shit just got real.

3.18 & 3.19

-18-

            Michael was more than merely angry when the damn mischief fairy showed up at his door.  He was furious.  He and Karma had a long—and very tumultuous—past. 

            Nor did she seem any happier to see him.  She nearly threw the paper which spelled out her orders from Lord Noliminan in his face as she sashayed through the door and—unwanted—into Michael’s life. 

            “At the very least,” He seethed at her, “you shall don some clothes.”

            “No.”  She snapped at him as her eyes fell upon the angel Michael had selected to assist him.  Maxium was one of Lord Lucias’ human descendants and so looked strikingly alike the devil God.  He had been an admiral when he had been mortal and killed in a battle with a sea dragon.  Like Michael, he found the bonds of male companionship that many of the immortals engaged in disgusting and so was, in Michael’s estimation, the perfect choice to be bound to Michael’s service.  “I shan’t.  I may be a fairy, but I’m still a mortal.  So you can’t tell me what to do.”

            Michael growled under his breath at that as his eyes danced as if with their own will to her full, ripe breasts.  They were covered with her long, wavy dark blue hair but the nipples of them poked through.  Something other of Michael’s came to life as though it had a mind of its own.  As it did so, Michael was filled with angry knowledge as to what this entire farce was meant to be about.

            Somehow, Lord Noliminan had learned of Loki’s trickery.  The naked female fairy had been sent to live with him to tempt him to break Lord Noliminan’s laws that he remain chaste.

            Damn him.  He thought, hating himself for his disdain toward his Lord and Master.  Why must he insist upon my pain or punishment?

            “I have plans of my own with which this has interfered.”  She groused as her eyes flicked, once again, to Maxium before returning to Michael.  “I was to marry a forest fairy next week.  We were to join our tribes by politic.”

            “Well la de da.”  Michael snapped at her.  “You must feel ever so put out that your father’s politics will have to wait.”

              “As a matter of fact.”  She rounded on Max.  “Stop staring at me!”

            “Then don some clothes.”  Michael seethed.  “You cannot expect to live with two grown men whilst being naked and not have us stare.”

            Her lips pursed.  Her blue eyes danced from Michael to Max.  “Fine.”  She snapped.  “I’ll don a smock.  But I’ll hate every minute.”

            “Boo fucking hoo.”  Michael replied to that.  He flicked his eyes to Max again.  “Come, Max.  Let’s see to the turning of the eggs.”

            Max tilted his head to the side, raised his brows and shrugged.  “If you insist, but I’d rather—“

“She’s not your friend.”  Michael growled at him.  “Or your pretty.”  He looked away from her in irritation and disdain.  “So do as I bid and come with me.”

Max, grinning at Karma, gave her a bow.  “See you later, my Lady?”

“At least one of you has manners.”  She snarked.

Michael, less than pleased with either of them, let out a guttural growl and stormed out the door.

-19-

Nothing in all of the worlds could have surprised Raphael more than the fact that when news that Sappharon’s baby was finally on its way reached Lord Noliminan’s ears, Lord Noliminan had insisted that he and Raphael spirit to Lord Lucias’ small cottage to bear witness to the event. 

In fact, Raphael and Sappharon both watched in guarded fascination as Lords Noliminan and Lucias spent three very tense days playing at castles together before, in the middle of a very heated game—and an even more heated debate—the young babe decided that it was time for his arrival. 

            When Lord Lucias stepped out of the birthing room, proudly holding his swaddled child in hand, Lord Noliminan had given him a cursory smile which, almost at once, turned to horror.  He wasn’t able to see the babe’s face, given that Lord Lucias was holding him tightly to his chest.  What he saw, instead, was the head of a serpent crawling out of the blanket to dance, almost caressingly, across Lord Lucias’ hand.

            Raphael stared at the serpent with wide eyed horror as Lord Noliminan voiced the thoughts running through his mind.  “Is that a snake?”

            “Aye,” Lord Lucias looked upward, beaming at Lord Noliminan.  “Come.  Take a look.  He is magnificent to behold.”

             Lord Noliminan stood and strode across the room.  As he pulled back the blanket from the baby’s face his brow knitted together and he began shaking his head.  Clearly perplexed by what he was seeing, he asked, “What, by the name of Loki’s Gods be damned beard, is that?”

            Lord Lucias grinned and flicked his eyes to Raphael.  “Come and look, Raphael.  Meet your new brother.”

            Not entirely certain that he wanted to meet his new brother given the fact that he had a snake crawling around him, Raphael rose to his feet and, very hesitantly, made his way across the room.  Steeling himself for anything, he reached for the blanket and pulled it back. 

            What he saw made him step back with horrific surprise.

            There wasn’t a snake.  There were snakes.  Thousands of them were growing out of his tiny little head where there should have been hair.  His face was long and slender and covered in light grey scales.  His nose was a small bump with two slits which ran vertically down the center of his face at the side of his eyes.  Which, Raphael marked, ran equally vertically along his cheeks.

            They were vertical and near to impossible to describe.

            Looking into those eyes was like looking into the deepest pit on the thirteenth level of Hell.   Raphael could see damnation in those eyes.  His damnation.  And he was all at once mortified and horrified.

            He swallowed and, in shaking tones, asked, “What is wrong with him?”

            “Absolutely nothing.”  Lord Lucias continued to grin at them each in turn.  “He’s exactly as we designed him.  We’re to call him Gorgon.  And he is to breed and create an entire race of his people.”

            “Who would—“ Lord Noliminan shook his head. “Luci, what purpose can you possibly prescribe to such a people as this?”

            Still beaming, Lord Lucias chuckled almost gaily.  “If a mortal looks into his eyes they will become so terrified that they will immediately and irrevocably be turned into marble!”

            “Turned into . . .” Lord Noliminan’s voice trailed off.  “What—why?”

            Lord Lucias shrugged.  Raphael felt his jaw snapping tightly closed.  “A bit of sport.”

            “Sport.”  Lord Noliminan snorted.  “And what happens to their soul?”

            “How am I supposed to know?”  Lord Lucias shrugged.  “That’s entirely Azrael’s concern.”

            “Hmm.”  Lord Noliminan shook his head.  “You do know that I can’t have such a creature in my Quorum.”

            Lord Lucias shrugged.  “You didn’t specify that your Quorum was to be filled only with angels when you originally asked me to hand over my children.”

            “No, but you—“

            “What’s that?”  Lord Lucias asked, turning his wicked smile in Lord Noliminan’s direction.  “I’m afraid that I mistakenly believed that you meant to protest the fact that—after all of our years of marriage—you failed to question exactly what it was you were asking of me before you forced my supplication.”

            Chuckling under his breath, Lord Noliminan held his hands out and began shaking his head.  Raphael had the distinct impression, watching them together, that Lord Noliminan was enjoying this visit to Lord Lucias more than he was willing to let on.  It wasn’t all about the business of the baby.  He had clearly missed Lord Lucias and was grateful for an opportunity to break his own rules of exile.  “Give him here.  If he is to be my General of Arms then I must have a good look at him.”

            Having a good look at him was the last thing in the world on Raphael’s agenda.  He took a few steps backward as Lord Noliminan cradled the baby in his giant hands.  The moment that he was in the crook of Lord Noliminan’s elbow, Lord Noliminan looked up at Raphael, beaming.  “Your baby brother is magnificent.”

            “I’ll take your word for it, my Lord.”

            “Oh, come now, Raph.”  Lord Lucias muttered as he stepped behind Lord Noliminan and very close to his side.  He set his chin upon Lord Noliminan’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Lord Noliminan’s waist.  Raphael, who knew by the very existence of Ishitar that the two had a deep relationship that he had simply never suspected or understood given Lord Noliminan’s insistence that he lay only with females, was so taken aback by the unguarded intimacy that his cheeks began to blaze.  “He’s beautiful.  You simply must take another look at him.”

            Sighing, Raphael held out his hands.  Lord Noliminan passed the babe to him with a wide grin and grasped the hands at his stomach in his own to bring them upward so that they rested upon his chest.  Raphael shook his head in disquieted amusement regarding the fact that the two always barbed one another in public when they so obviously adored one another and turned the babe so that his tiny head was cradled in one hand and his equally tiny bottom in the other. 

            As he forced himself to give the child another good look one of the snakes that made up the baby’s hair slid out of the blanket and wrapped around his finger.  Its tongue began flicking upon his skin, tickling him into surprised laughter.  This time as he stared into the child’s eyes he had a deeper understanding of what exactly it was that he saw.

            The full of his future life flashed within his mind, right up until the very moment when someone’s hand was grasping Zadkiel’s wrist and forcing Zadkiel’s fingers to his brow.

            He let out a terrified scream and shoved the baby away from him as fast as he could.  Four hands reached for it, catching him just before he would tumble to the ground.  Raphael, still screaming, turned away from all three of them and ran out of the library, through the cottage and out the back door. 

            Once outside, Raphael fell to his knees on the forest floor and buried his face in his hands.  The image of Zadkiel’s fingers reaching for him ran through his mind over and over again until he thought that he might go mad.  Being so consumed with this prophecy, he didn’t hear the door closing behind him or Lord Noliminan’s heavy steps as he approached him.  When his large hand fell upon Raphael’s shoulder, Raphael let out a long and terrified scream.

            “Raphael . . .” Lord Noliminan’s voice was soothing.  “Calm yourself child.”

            “Zadkiel’s fingers  . . .”

            “How exactly did you suppose that you would leave this world?”  Lord Noliminan asked gently.  “But that is so far, far into the future that you have nothing to worry on now.”

            Raphael swallowed and shook his head.  “It wasn’t his touch.”  Raphael whispered.  “It was the cold nothingness that came after.”

            Lord Noliminan sighed and lowered himself to his knees.  “By the time I allow Zadkiel to touch you, you will be begging for such a release.”  He leaned forward and kissed Raphael on the top of his head.  “Please, dear.  Calm yourself and come inside.  You’ve greatly upset your father.”

            “I’ve upset him?” Raphael rounded on him.  He immediately regretted it as Lord Noliminan’s expression fell from his concern for Raphael to cold and brewing anger.  “Forgive me, my Lord.”  He lowered his gaze.  “Please.  Do not ever make me look into those horrible eyes ever again.”

            Lord Noliminan let out a long, tired sigh.  “I suppose that we must force little Gorgon to cover them.”

            “I think that it would be for the best.”  Raphael agreed, his gaze lowered and his lips shaking. 

            Lord Noliminan flicked his fingers in the direction of the cottage.  When he was done, he ran them across Raphael’s brow.  By the time Lord Noliminan laid his hand upon Raphael’s cheek, Raphael had no memory of what had occurred, how he had come to be kneeling in the grass outside or why Lord Noliminan would be looking at him with such a hard and curious expression.  “Better?”

            “Yes.”  Raphael shook his head, confused.  “I suppose so.”

            Lord Noliminan chuckled, pulled his hand away and stood.  He held his hand toward Raphael, who swiftly took it.  “Sappharon’s babe has been born.  Come and take a look.”

            Raphael sprang to his feet, grinning.  “Will she let me hold it?”

            “Ta.”  He muttered, his eyes dancing over Raphael’s face with a strange fascination.  “Just . . . Don’t look into his eyes.”

            Raphael blinked.  “Why not?”

            Lord Noliminan chuckled again.  As he did so he raised his hand and clapped it on Raphael’s back.  It was a gesture that Raphael had seen Lord Lucias grant to Lord Loki hundreds of times.  But it was the first time that Lord Noliminan had ever made such a gesture to anyone in so far as Raphael knew.

            “Come, dear.”  Lord Noliminan smiled at him.  “It’s over time that you met your new brother.”

3.14-3.17

-14-

            Watching the sun rise over the mountain, Zadkiel smiled.  The golden glow of its rays danced upon the green of the meadow, giving it a preternatural haze that reminded Zadkiel of the view from the cottage that he had long missed which had been his to call home in the Heavens.

            The air had a chill to it, but Zadkiel didn’t mind that.  It gave him an excuse to pull the blanket that he wore around his shoulders tighter against him and to raise his glass of tea upward so that he could find his warmth in its steam.

            At the edge of his meadow a small herd of unicorns nibbled at the apples hanging ripe from his trees.  This pleased Zadkiel.  Unicorns, generally, did not like to be seen.  They were known to hide their horns so that they would appear as nothing more than common place horses.   That they allowed Zadkiel to see them meant that they trusted that he meant them no harm.

            He laughed wryly at that.  Even if he had wanted to catch one of them he wouldn’t have been able. Perhaps when he had been younger.  In the time before Michael and Metatron had flung him from the sky.  But not now. 

            “No.”  He sighed.  “Not now.”

            Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you crotchety old man.  Ishitar’s admonishment danced through his mind, causing his smile to return. 

            The Gods, how he missed Ishitar. 

            Zadkiel had thought that he had finally come to terms with the lad leaving him.  Until, that was, he walked into the kitchen and found the bowl of apples on his kitchen table.  He knew that Ishitar was the one to have picked them because his scent—which was that of the air after an electric storm—permeated Zadkiel’s small cottage.         Zadkiel now felt even worse than he had upon handing the lad over to Raphael.

            He would give everything and all to have been home when Ishitar stopped by.  But he supposed that the boy had chosen a time when he wouldn’t be here on purpose.  He knew, as well as Zadkiel did, what would happen to Zadkiel if Lord Noliminan were to learn that they had seen one another.  Lord Noliminan had been extremely specific with Zadkiel after having Metatron strip his back that the punishment that he had faced for trying to keep the boy would look like child’s play should he try to interfere with Ishitar’s lessons.

            Yet, how would seeing the boy interfere with his lessons? 

            It wouldn’t, Zadkiel reasoned.  Not if I paid my visit early in the morning or late at night when Ishitar was either still waking up or readying for bed.

            Now, for instance, would be an appropriate time to pay the lad a visit.

            Zadkiel lowered his cup of tea and began biting upon his upper lip.  He could go and see Ishitar this morning.  He had nothing better to do.  But to do so would mean that he would have to transport himself to the level of Hell were Loki currently resided.  And he wasn’t entirely sure which level that was.   He knew that Loki took residence in all of the apartments that had once belonged to Lord Lucias.  He just wasn’t sure which specific apartment he preferred to call his home.

            “Stop brooding and go and see the boy.”

            Zadkiel started at the sound of a deep voice to his left.  He flew his gaze in that direction and gave Azrael an irritated grin.  “Where is he?”

            “Come on.”  Azrael sighed, holding out his hand.  “I’ll take you there.”

            Reluctant to believe that Azrael wouldn’t betray him, Zadkiel pushed his blanket off of his shoulders and pulled himself to his feet with his staff.  He wobbled for a minute as his damn leg gave way underneath him but almost immediately found his purchase.

            Zadkiel was used to being a cripple.

            Once they were inside Loki’s apartment, Azrael pointed down the hallway toward what had once been Sappharon’s room.  Zadkiel turned to thank his brother, but found no need.  Azrael, as suddenly as he had appeared at Zadkiel’s side, was gone.

            Zadkiel shook his head at this and then made his way to Ishitar’s door.

            He didn’t bother to knock.  He knew Ishitar well enough to know that he never did anything behind closed doors that would embarrass himself—when Ishitar had been an adolescent Zadkiel had found it extremely queer that he had never had to wash any stiff sheets or hand towels because the boy had found his hand—and it was early enough in the morning that Ishitar would still be sleeping.

            As he was.

            He was lying on his side with the dog curled in front of him.  Ishitar’s strong fingers were buried in the dog’s black and white fur and his mouth was slack and open.  Zadkiel chuckled under his breath and shook his head before limping painfully toward the bed and lowering himself upon it.

            Not wanting to awaken the boy, Zadkiel laid himself in front of the Ishitar and simply watched him as he slept.

-15-

           

            Maliak reached into her pocket, frowning.  When she had cleaned the apartment where the vampire had spent the day, she had found a gold chain with a small black orb attached to it.  She had put it in her pocket with the intention of taking it to Wisterian so that he could give it to Prince Paul the next time the two saw one another.  But, somehow, she had managed to lose it.

            She decided not to worry about it overly much. 

            Eventually the damn thing would have to turn up.

-16-

            Iladrul stared into the pulsing pink light with his head cocked and his brow furrowed.  He wasn’t entirely sure exactly what it was that he held in his hand.  But he did know that the bauble was powerful.

            “What are you?”  He asked it.

            It didn’t respond. 

Of course it didn’t respond, you idiot.  It’s an inanimate object.

            Shrugging his shoulders, Iladrul opened the gold chain that the bauble was attached to and slipped it around his neck.

-15-

            When Ishitar opened his eyes he was uncertain if he was truly awake or still dreaming.  Zadkiel lay in front of him, clearly sound asleep, with his arm wrapped around the lower half of Ansibrius’ body and his golden fingers buried in his fur. 

            “Zad?”  He whispered.

            The archangel grunted and fell onto his back.

            Looking at his profile, Ishitar felt himself grinning. 

            Ansibrius whined.  Ishitar chuckled at that and scratched the dog between its ears.  He sighed, rolling his mismatched eyes in Zadkiel’s direction as he did so, almost as if he found the archangel’s presence in Ishitar’s bed to be disturbing.

            Ishitar chuckled again and sat up. He reached for Zadkiel’s shoulder and shook it.  “Wake up you crotchety old man.”

            It was Zadkiel’s turn to chuckle.  “If I’m the one whose crotchety, why is it always you who is slinging the insults?”  His eyes rolled open.  “I’ve missed you, boy.”

            Ishitar flew forward, wrapping his arms around Zadkiel and pulling him upward to press his head against his chest.  He buried his face in the archangel’s golden hair and breathed in the scent of him as he laughed.  Zadkiel always smelled to Ishitar like baked apple pie.  “I’ve missed you too, Zad.”

            Zadkiel’s laugh was muffled against Ishitar’s chest.  He raised his hands and pushed himself out of Ishitar’s arms.  He had never been what Ishitar would consider comfortable with any type of affection.  Knowing that, Ishitar didn’t admonish him for squirming out of his embrace.

            “Is that trickster, Loki, treating you well?”  He asked.  “You look far too skinny.  Are you getting enough to eat?”        

            “Plenty.”  Ishitar nodded at him, grinning at his mothering.  “Aiken’s a fair cook.”

            Zadkiel snorted at that and snapped his great gold wings.  “Ware that one.”

            “I do.”  Ishitar continued to grin at him.  He was helpless not to.  “Are you going to get in trouble for visiting me?”

            “Probably.”  He shrugged.  “But I honestly don’t care.”

            “I wish that you could stay.”  He frowned.  “I wish that I could just hide you and—“

            “You can.”  Zadkiel’s face lit up.

            “How?”  Ishitar snorted at him.

            “Ishitar, you’re a very powerful God.”  Zadkiel’s brow furrowed.  “If you want something . . . Haven’t you ever noticed that if you want something and you voice it that it comes to be?”

            “No.”  He frowned at Zadkiel. The only time that he was aware of that ever happening to him was when he had inadvertently forced Azrael to stop looking at him.  “What are you talking about old man?”

            “Just repeat after me,” Zadkiel replied.  “And, this time, with feeling.”

            Ishitar smiled at the old joke.  Whenever he’d been asked to do a task by Zadkiel and he only put half of his heart into it, Zadkiel would bark at him to do it again and this time with feeling.  “You’re a freak.”

            “Perhaps.”  Zadkiel agreed.  “But say:  Zadkiel, when you are visiting me at Loki’s then I want you to be invisible to everyone but me.”

            Ishitar repeated the words in a mocking tone.  The moment that he was finished with his sentence, Ansibrius let out a threatening growl and began looking around the room, almost as if he were searching for something.  Ishitar, not believing that Zadkiel’s little game had played itself out asked him, “What’s the matter with you, boy?”

            “He can’t see me.” Zadkiel grinned at him.

            “You are a freak.”  Ishitar snorted again.  “Of course he can see you.”

            “He can’t.”  Zadkiel shook his head.  “But if you want to press my point, command Loki to put on purple pajamas and come to your room.”

            “Purple . . .?”  Ishitar felt his brow furrow.  “Loki loathes purple!  He’s told me so a thousand times when I comment on how pretty his eyes are.”

            “Then you know that he doesn’t wear purple pajamas.”  Zadkiel chuckled.

            Ishitar, who had come across Loki wandering through his apartment late at night on more than one occasion, naked and searching for his Gods be damned book, spouted, “He doesn’t wear pajamas at all!”

            Zadkiel chuckled at that and lowered his gaze.  His gold cheeks darkened slightly.  “So I’ve been told.”

            “Uh uh uh!”  Ishitar grinned at him.  “What’s this?  Dost thou covet the handsome trickster?”

            Zadkiel’s cheeks went even darker as he slapped at Ishitar’s knee.  “Just do as you’re told!”

            “Gee,” He said, mockingly, “I sure do wish that Loki would don a pair of purple pajamas and then come and visit with me in my room.”

            They both turned to stare at the door, Ishitar more to admonish Zadkiel when Loki didn’t appear than because he truly believed that his minder would come to call.  He was just about to do so when a knock suddenly played at his door.

            Zadkiel gave him one of his most fatherly, I told you so glares.  Ishitar was helpless to do anything but simply stare at him in return.

            When the knock played a second time he called out, “Yes?”

            “I was wondering if you were up.”  Loki’s deep voice danced through the door.  “Do you mind if I come in?”

            Zadkiel smirked at him.  Ishitar snorted in response.  What he said—more so because he was curious about Loki’s state of dress than anything else—was, “Certainly.”

            The door opened and Loki stepped in.  Not only was he wearing purple pajamas, but they were of a color of purple so hideous as to be offensive.  Zadkiel burst out laughing.  Ishitar turned his gaze in Zadkiel’s direction and buried his mouth in his hand, unable to stay his own amused chuckle.

            Loki’s expression was immediately puzzled.  “Someone woke up in a great mood.”

            “What in the name of your Gods be damned beard are you wearing?”  Ishitar laughed through his question.

            Loki looked down.  As he did so, his eyes grew wide and his expression became that of utter confusion.  His hand began pulling at the material of his clothing until he had the sense to will himself into something that was more suited to his personality. 

            By that time, Zadkiel was literally rolling across the bed, howling with laughter.

            “Aiken must have played a trick on me in the night.”  Loki shrugged, looking bemused and still very much confused.  He seemed not to be able to see or hear Zadkiel at all.  “The Gods, but I loathe purple!”

            “But you look so pretty in it.”  Zadkiel said in a very low, yet very nasally and flamboyantly homosexual tone.

            Ishitar was unable to hold back the bray of laughter that bubbled up in his chest.  “Will you please shut up!”

            He didn’t say it with feeling, he supposed, because his command of Zadkiel seemed to fall on deaf ears.  As for Loki, he began to chuckle and shake his head.   He looked at Ansibrius and said, “Whatever he’s having, I’ll take two.”

            The dog whined in irritation as Ishitar, now laughing at Loki, raised his hand to his face to wipe the tears from his left eye.  “I’m sorry, Loki.  But you must admit that you looked absolutely ridiculous.”

            “Proudly.”  Loki replied, grinning.  “I’m going to throw some eggs on the fire.  Would you like a couple?”

            “Yes.”  Ishitar replied, still laughing at Zadkiel’s quip.  “Please Loki.  That would be wonderful.”

            Loki nodded at him and left the room.

            Happier than he had been in more months than he could say, Ishitar fell back on the bed, next to Zadkiel, as the pair of them howled at Loki’s back with laughter.

-16-

            Na’amah was not at all amused by Ishitar and Zadkiel’s behavior.  Ishitar’s ability to make another God do exactly what he wanted that God to do against that God’s will was, to her, a terrifying prospect.  Especially given the fact that it wasn’t something that either Lords Noliminan or Lucias could do. 

            Certainly others did as they were commanded by those two.  But their forced supplication had more to do with the fear of being punished for not obeying than it did for their inability to act with their own will.

            Worse, Ishitar didn’t seem to understand exactly how powerful he was.  Rather, he seemed to find his ability to manipulate Loki as nothing more to be considered than a childish prank. 

            Her mind cast back to the moment in time when she had revealed her preferred form to him.  She hadn’t intended to do so.  She had simply changed from being a dog to being a woman when Ishitar had demanded that she be his friend and not a dog.  And she had just as swiftly changed her form back when Ishitar had begun looking for his dog. 

            She shivered, her eyes looking up to Loki, who had just addressed her with his quip about taking two of whatever Ishitar had taken, and whined. 

            When Loki left the room, Na’amah followed.  She didn’t want to be in the same room as Ishitar at the moment.  The possibility that he might sense her discomfort was very real.  He seemed to be attuned to her moods.

            When Loki realized that she followed on his heel he reached downward to pat her on the head.  She looked up at him and wagged her tail.  When he smiled at this she offered him a bark.

            “Are you hungry?”  He asked her.

            She barked again even though she wasn’t really very hungry.

            He chuckled.  “Well come on, then.  Let’s get you something to eat.”

            Grateful to Loki for giving her a distraction from the run of her thoughts, she followed.

-17-

            “Morning.”  Aiken, whose mind was on the bauble that he had given Paul for the express purposes of it landing in the hands of the elf, grunted at Loki when he stepped into the kitchen.  It was tracking device of sorts, filled with the souls of dead pixies.  If the wearer were ever in trouble, one of the pixies would escape the bauble and seek out Aiken so that Aiken could provide what assistance that he could.

            He knew that it hadn’t been kind to give it to Paul when he had charged it specifically for the elf.  But it would seem queer for him to hand it over to the boy directly given that Jamiason was damned to be a vampire.  Jamiason’s obsession with the elf—which was already a source of ire for many, be they mortal or immortal—would have been called more directly into question.  As it was, Paul’s bumbling idiocy was nobody’s fault but Paul’s.

            “Neat trick you pulled on me last night, you damned and rotting bastard.”  Loki muttered in response.  Aiken felt his brow furrow at that.  He noticed that Loki was smiling so he merely shrugged.  He didn’t know what in the name of the thirty Hells Loki was referring to, however.  “Is there anything in the cooling cupboard for the dog?”

            “Not much.”  Aiken replied. He hadn’t found a need to execute anyone just lately.  “I think there might be some pork.”  Loki nodded and bent over to see for himself.  As he did so, Aiken shared the news that he had been dreading.  “Metatron visited me yesterday.”

            Loki looked up over the door of the cupboard.  After Aiken had met with Lord Noliminan in regard to his mischief with the humans and the dragons, they had both been expecting a visit from Metatron with Lord Noliminan’s determination as to how Aiken would be punished.  Neither one of them had been eager for such a visit to occur. “Oh?”

            Aiken, frowning, said, “I’m to have Karma assist Michael with the minding of the eggs and, subsequently, the new race.”

            “Michael isn’t going to like that very much.”  Loki said as he pulled the meat out of the cupboard and threw it on the floor to the dog.

            “No.”  Aiken shook his head.  Karma was Aiken’s oldest—and favorite—child. And she was responsible for causing quite a lot of mischief through the years that Michael had been forced to correct.  Michael had made no bones about the fact that he didn’t much care for the girl.  “And nor is Karma.”  He sighed.  “I was just about ready to hand her my crown and retire from my mortality in the Grove.  This will delay that eventuality indefinitely.”

            “That’s probably the point.”  Loki replied as he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.  “To keep you too busy to cause any further mischief.”

            “As if it’s ever stopped me before.”  Aiken snorted. 

            “You really did step out of line this time.”  Loki admonished him.  Aiken took it in good stride.  Loki didn’t give a wit about Aiken’s mischief with the humans and the dragons.  He was upset over what had befallen Michael.  Loki had told Aiken about the conversation between the two of them.  Loki, who it turned out seemed to actually admire Michael, had been none too happy with Lord Noliminan over whatever game he was playing with the archangel. 

            “I know.”  He admitted.  He was just as angry over Michael’s lot as Loki was.  “Yet in the end it served Lord Noliminan’s needs.  Didn’t it?  These creatures will be a powerful race that—“

            “I agree.”  Loki interrupted him.  “But it isn’t your place—or mine—to muck about with the creation of new races.”  A strange expression crossed his handsome face.  Aiken found himself smiling, despite Loki’s displeasure with him.  Loki was nothing if not handsome.  “Speaking of which, Sappharon ought to be dropping whatever abomination he’s carrying any day now.”

            “Maybe it won’t be—“

            “It will.”  Loki sighed.  He uncrossed his arms and walked to the table, lowering himself into a chair across from Aiken as he did so.  “Lord Lucias told me that he is specifically not breeding archangels for the Quorum this time.”

            Aiken felt his brow furrow at that.  “Why not?”

            “Because of the way that his sons are treated.”  Loki shrugged.  “I guess he received orders from Lord Noliminan that this first child is to replace Michael.”

            “You’re joking.”  Aiken couldn’t have been more surprised to learn that he, himself, was to replace Michael.  “What about poor Michael?”

            “Exactly, Aiken.”  Loki replied, his irritation with Aiken resurfacing.  “What about poor Michael?”

            “You can’t make me feel any worse than I already do.”  Aiken snapped at him.

            Loki sighed at that.  “I know.  Forgive me.”  He shook his head.  “I have no idea what’s to become of Michael at the end of this fuckaroo.  What I do know is that Countenance is being tasked with ensuring that the baby is swiftly aged.”

            Aiken frowned at that.  Countenance was the God over time.  Aiken, himself, had been raised by Countenance because Loki had been unable to Lord over the mischief fairies in addition to his other tasks.  After Tristen, who had originally been their God, had gone mad after losing and subsequently re-growing his head, Loki had been given the task of the fairies.  Countenance had spelled the Oakland Grove to run at a faster time than the rest of the various worlds and Aiken, who had always been intended to replace Tristen when the time came, was inserted into Tristen’s place.

            For him, the time had run its normal course.  But there had been more than a few “Loki’s beards” thrown at him when he had shown up for his first Council some three hundred years early.

            “How does Lord Lucias feel about that?”

            “Angry.”  Loki shrugged.  “But what can he do?  His only condition was that the boy stays with him and his cottage is spelled for the short while.  He’ll still raise him and, no doubt, he’ll keep Sappharon fat with children.”

            Aiken chuckled at that.  “What a mess.”  Then, with an afterthought, “How does Lord Noliminan feel about Michael’s replacement being a God?”

            “He won’t be.”  Loki shook his head.  “Not right away, anyway.  He’ll be a new race of mortals.  Once he’s established his people he’ll be allowed to die and then he’ll be promoted to his Godly form.  In the meantime, Lord Lucias intends that he serves Lord Noliminan.”

            “How can he serve Lord Noliminan if he’s meant to propagate his race?”  Aiken wondered aloud.

            “He’s to be a mortal, Aiken.”  Loki chuckled at this.  “Lord Noliminan has no choice but to allow him free will.”

            Aiken found himself grinning in response and shaking his head.  “Forced into his own damn trap.”

            “I think that was Lord Lucias’ intention.”  Loki smiled.

            “Well then.”  Aiken said, raising his glass of juice in Loki’s direction.  “Let the games begin.”