Divine Intervention: Chapter Nine

“Lieutenant.”

“Sir,” Ithuriel turned away from Elijah, staring directly into the Commanders’ eyes. Though he wasn’t exactly a ‘sir’ in a physical sense, Commander Camiel formerly of the Heavenly Armed Forces (who got to his ranks after defeating hoard after hoard of prisoners when the gates of hell were opened) was a man in every other aspect of his personality, starting from his attire to his training as an officer to his vocabulary, that could supposedly make a sailor blush when he was provoked. He had a flat chest, buzz cut blonde hair and bruises and burns spread randomly over his face and left eye, his eyes a startling blue despite his more feminine features.

“Word from the divine community has got out that the alleged ‘accident’ of the father of Nei Li was a murder in disguise,” He said, glaring the lieutenant in the eye. “Will you please explain to me how the Messengers obtained classified information about a current investigation without my permission?”

Elijah looked to Ithuriel, smirking. “Yes, Mr. They-Wouldn’t-Be-So-Dumb,” He started, wryly, “Tell us about the whole thing.”

“It was just about the subject and the father,” Ithuriel claimed, “What other information they have Zachary dug up, I swear.”

“The only swearing that will be done tonight will be done in a barrage of it while I hang your body on top of a pool full of acids that’ll make your eyes pop out of your head and your skin melt off your skull.” The Commander continued in a dead voice. “Fortunately for you, that won’t happen, as long as you prevent the news of the actual target of the crime. Brother Zachariah is still digging up the details to that case, so I implore you to go and convince him to write letters more benign to our case—along the lines of, ‘Mr. Nei Li certainly was the target of the attack and if you are the perpetrators you have no reason to go back and search for any actual, hidden target because there is none’.”

The two individuals in front of him drew back, unable to bounce back from the attack. Camiel turned to Elijah, trying on a smile. The fallen angel had seen more life on Pluto. “Mr. Woods, I admire your work the night before in talking Mrs. Downs away from Washington to a safer hiding spot away from the city. If you keep up this rate, you’ll earn your wings in the coming three years.”

“Thank you, Commander--”

“However,” He started, his voice high but firm. “Adriel and Pax are still out there, somewhere in the world and it appears to be open season on Mediators. I was wondering how your plan to cooperate with Earth law enforcement to capture the two is coming out.”

Elijah looked to Ithuriel, taking his turn to look overwhelmed. “I’ve released pictures of the two to police officers working on the Elizabeth West case, they’re looking into making it an international matter—but they still don’t understand the motivation for the attack.”

“They have their assumptions on what the two want?”

“They think the two are hunting down Christians. Some sort of terrorist plot, they say.” He shrugged. “That’s all fine and good, the majority of Mediators will be protected, but that leaves the other less open ones—vulnerable.”

Camiel nodded. “It’s progressing.” He turned to the two of them, straight back and upper lip. “You two can go to the Messengers branch and meet up with Zachariah and Gordon. I need both Zachary’s discretion and confirmation that Brother Gordon will be joining us in the Nei Li home to assist the boy morally. I want paperwork stating his supervisor, his purpose and his conditions, stating that he will not disrupt the investigation. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The two said, in unison.

“Good.” The Commander turned away, then, releasing his set of wings—a ruffled haze of brown and gold, shaped like an eagle. He flew away into the horizon, disappearing amongst the clouds.

…

“Ah, Camiel. Good to see you finally came.”

“Shut your talk hole, smart ass,” Camiel slid into the couch, rubbing his temples. “I only came here because the Court keeps sending me letters on how I haven’t been attending my ‘mandatory psychiatric evaluations’.”

The blonde man stared, concentrated green eyes piercing through the surface of his spectacles. He took off his brown coat, laying it over the couch opposite of the angel. “That temper of yours hasn’t cooled, I see.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“There’s no need to be so fiery, Commander.” The Counselor sat down, cross legged, elbows at the arms of his velvet recliner. He could be a furniture himself, Camiel argued; tacky green sweaters matching coinciding with the cream wallpaper and mahogany boarding, screaming ‘boring-suburban-Christmas’ along with the fire beside them. It was as if the psychiatrist had come in a package with the home. “I’ve been told by the Man Upstairs that you have attempted to hide your anger, in order to avoid seeing me. Is that so?”

Camiel sank deeper into the seat, scowling. “Honestly, with chairs like these I’d probably kill a man to avoid seeing you.”

“You’re evading, Commander.”

“Yes, Mr. Prophet-with-a-Degree-in-Psychology, that is so.” Camiel said, nearly yelling.

The psychiatrist tilted his head, observing. Taking in. “Has it worked?”

“Mostly,” The Commander claimed. He waited for a while. “Other than the fact that I’m tempted to behead my own team members and hunt down demons myself, I’m perfectly fine.”

“What sort of demons?”

“All of them. I’d cut off their testicles and feed them to goats myself, if I had to.” Camiel arched a brow. He leaned forward, elbows on the surface of his thighs, hands clasped in the space between his legs. “What would that matter to you?”

The Counselor grinned. His expressions gave no sense of security in his eyes. “The Father has told me about a certain…demon He believes you might have a grudge against. A fallen angel, and your partner during the eve of the war.”

Camiel pushed himself to the back of the chair, hands clenched at the arms of his chair, drawing a deep breath. “Don’t you dare.”

“A Brother Adriel, if I’m not mistaken. Quite the fellow, that one. A brute and a loyal soldier in the eyes of Hell, a traitor in the eyes of the Court, but a philosopher in his own right. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?”

“Don’t you fucking dare--”

“Oh, but of course you agree. You were there when he was still an angel, listening to his conclusions of the state of the universe, his theory on how the Fathers’ kindness and love somehow fits into the whole picture—of course, that never set off, did it? No, no. It...transformed. Mutated. Do you blame yourself for that, Camiel? Do you lose sleep at night, knowing that you could’ve stopped your only true friend from falling into enemy hands? It was only just a thought, after all. You didn’t have to hit him or anything. You just needed to convince him the darkness was wrong. Was that so hard?” The man glanced down at the angels’ hands, now hot white with fury. “Well, was it?”

The angels’ response was immediate and predictable. The Counselor took his hands away from the arms of his recliner, allowing the angel to fall over him with burning eyes and a blood red expression. A hand slammed against the top of the chair, mimicking the sound of Camiels’ fist against the man’s jaw. He breathed. The Counselor grinned, sardonically. The bastard didn’t even blink through the episode.

“He wanted hell,” Camiel retorted, trying on a smile. “He got hell. He may have been poetic, but that didn’t mean he was smart.”

“How long did it take you to figure that out, Commander?”

“Oh, you’re just begging for someone to punch you in the face,” Camiel bounced off the recliner, cackling in mad rage. The Counselor glared at the angel, intently. Right. Evading. “Part of me knew from the very beginning.” He confessed, calmly. The glare continued. “The other part is—still processing it.”

The other man shrugged, reaching for the notepad on the table beside him. “I understand that you are handling a case involving this Adriel character.” He clicked on his pen, scribbling something on the open notepad. “I find that worrying, taking your past with him in consideration.”

“You talk as if he murdered my family.”

“Emotionally he was your only family, and the moment he left he took that part of you too.” The Counselor looked up briefly from his notes, one brow raised. “I fear you will not be able to control yourself if you find the character, and will be the cause of his death.”

“One less scumbag on Earth,” The angel replied. “I see nothing wrong with that.”

“You said it yourself, Commander—the more sensitive side of you is still processing the betrayal. Murdering the demon will make you more vulnerable to the dark, and we do not need another--” Camiel shot a glare at the man, scowling. Don’t you dare. “Renegade, among your kind. Therefore, I urge you to commit yourself to something that will allow you to express your anger in a less savage method.”

“And what is that?”

The Counselor picked up an extra pen and paper, shoving it in his hands. Camiel reads the top part, groaning before he could get to the end. “You have got to be kidding me.”