Chapter 7, pp 69-71

The three settled into glum silence. Even the sparks, visible only to Lucia, looked defeated. Finally, Lucia asked, “Do you really think that permanent imbalance was the archdemons’ only plan?”

Israfel considered his perfectly buffed nails. “What do you mean?”

“From what I understand, the archdemons’ sacrifice ended open warfare between Heaven and Hell. Do you think that was their only goal?” asked Lucia.

Finsternis frowned, arched brows drawing together, eyes glowing as he watched Israfel think back eons to consider the motives of those long dead.

Finally, Israfel shook his head. “Ultimately, no, I do not believe that a stalemate was Loki’s entire plan. She was too clever for that, cared too much for her people, for the humans whose lives were chaos and torment caught between Heaven and Hell as they were.”

Finsternis jabbed a finger at Israfel, nearly tumbling off the couch. “Now I know you are a liar, archangel. Why would an archdemon care for these, these- these—“ he waved his arm weakly, “brutes?”

“Their souls are filled with music, Finsternis, they cannot be all bad,” replied Israfel gently.

“So, Loki had another plan?” asked Lucia.

“Possibly, but it obviously did not work or she never got the chance to put it into motion,” said Israfel.

“How do you know that?”

“For one thing, Little Light, here you sit, yet another nephalim righting yet another apocalypse,” said Finsternis dryly.

Lucia turned to him, fixed him with her most determined stare. “And how do you know that isn’t part of the plan? Maybe you’ve just been doing your part wrong all these years.”

Finsternis growled, the multitonal assonance clinging to the shadows around them. Lucia held his gaze, refusing to back down. She knew she was on to something, she just didn’t know what yet.

“Um,” Israfel tried to get their attention. “I have a thought? It might interest you?” He was clearly torn between a desire to hide under the couch and stop the coming conflagration before he got caught up in it.

“Yes?” “Yeah?” Neither Lucia nor Finsternis would look away first.

Israfel sighed, a weary bassoon. “Fine. I have wondered if these apocalypses are actually something Ywhw plans, or if they are something He reacts to.”

Lucia and Finsternis turned to look at him at once. “Really? Why?” asked Finsternis just as Lucia said, “Rushing around.”

“Yes, there is an air of desperation to Heaven at these times. Everyone rushing about, it is not the sort of perfect order typical of Yhwh,” explained Israfel.

“So maybe the apocalypses themselves are the design of the archdemons,” said Lucia.

“That cannot be. We do not ever win, we merely put the threat off until the next time,” replied Finsternis.

“Maybe you are doing something wrong,” offered Israfel diffidently.

Finsternis showed fangs in a rumbling snarl, and Lucia patted his arm soothingly. “Israfel’s not accusing you of anything, Finsternis. He knows you do your best for your people. How could you know what to do? Loki didn’t leave instructions.”

“Yes! No! Of course I do not fault you!” protested Israfel, cowering back into the loveseat. “Your devotion to the demonry sings even in the heights of Heaven.”

“It is so nice of Heaven to notice,” sneered Finsternis. Lucia glared at him. “Fine, fine, I apologize. This exhaustion makes me—“ he finished in demonspeak, leaning heavily on Lucia’s shoulder.

She looked at Israfel. “There is no direct translation for that in English, hmmm, perhaps ‘snappy’?” He shook his head. “No. ‘Bitey’? Is that a word?”

Lucia laughed. “No, but I get the point. I suppose if you have a mouthful of fangs, you have a lot of words for that sort of thing.”

“No doubt.” Israfel stood and swung his cloak over his shoulders. “I will leave and allow you your rest, Finsternis. Before I go, I will tell what concerns me.”

Finsternis’ eyelids were fluttering shut. “What is it?” he mumbled.

“A female nephalim is not a natural creature, not even by the standards of such things. I have no idea how Lucifer managed it, and more to the point, I have no idea why he would do such a thing. Unless you think it possible the Morningstar is flailing about at random—“ Israfel paused and Finsternis shook his head. “I do not think so, either.”

Israfel bowed deeply, holding his cloak out on either side like wings, and walked silently out of the room. Finsternis was already asleep, head pillowed on Lucia’s lap.