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He points to the end of the street we found ourselves on, to an iron-wrought gate with an arch of jasmine and honeysuckle above it, perfuming the air. The two-story villa behind it glows in the late afternoon sun and, as we come closer, the sound of buzzing bees joins the chorus of chirping birds, their home a garden of lavender, rosemary, and climbing bougainvillea.

The front door, painted a deep, rich blue, contrasts against the earth-toned façade, and as we watch, a golden retriever noses it open before running to the Nephalem boy.

“Come here, sweetheart!” Mike kneels down and roughly ruffles the dog’s fur, letting it lick his face clean.

“Aww, a puppy!” Jessica squeals with excitement. I don’t correct her that the dog is clearly no longer a puppy, but rather an adult. “What’s her name?” she asks Mike.

“Bau the fifth,” he replies. “Just Bau for short.”

At that moment a sweet female voice rings out from the house. “Michael? Is that you, my heart?”

A deep man’s voice follows, the owner of it clearly irritated. “Wait,” it growls. “He isn’t alone.”

“It’s angels,” she replies hesitantly.

The short argument ends when two figures appear at the doorway. One is a silver-haired female, her coloring as reminiscent of mine as Mike said it was. The other is a male with long black hair, deep red eyes, and a five-o’clock-yesterday shadow of a beard on his chiseled, barbarically handsome face.

I stand rooted to the ground, observing my role model. “You’re alive,” I gasp at her.

“I knew it!” Jessica crows.

Sariel’s voice sounds next, tinged with disgust, addressing the son of the devil: “You let her name your son after an archangel?”

∞∞∞

As we sit in Nephithar and Syriniana’s Provençal sitting room, with its exposed wooden beams, cool terracotta tiles, and (unlit) stone fireplace, the archivist flutters around Mike and Jess, making sure they have enough food and drink. The ancient general throws us disgruntled looks, clearly not too happy that his son brought outsiders to their home.

“Does anyone else know you’re alive?” I ask him, drawing his gaze to me. I try to not think about the fact that he was once known as Angelbane, millennia before my creation, and delighted in hacking our wings off.

“We have encountered a few over the years. It’s unavoidable.”

“Did you kill them after?” Sariel drawls, crossing a foot over his knee.

Nephithar smiles for the first time. “Didn’t need to. Don’t be the first.”

Our Fallen throws his head back in laughter and the dog, Bau, barks from her bed near the fireplace. Just what we needed; for these two to become best friends. The chaos…

While they chat about life in the human realm and the goings-on in Hell, Syriniana sits down next to me, but at a respectable distance.

“You’ve fallen for love,” she says quietly with a soft smile on her lips. She looks the same age as her son, though who can truly know how his aging is, being a full-blooded Nephalem. Some age normally, and some have a stronger connection to their Celestial roots.

I clear my throat. “So did he,” I say. “It merely took me a thousand years to realize it.”

I glance at Sariel to see that, while he’s still in conversation with Nephithar, his eyes are on me. When he catches mine, he gives me a little wink. We've come so far in our relationship these last few days. Are there really no traces of his animosity against me left?

“I never had to confront my brethren after I left them,” the archivist says sadly. “You won’t have that luxury, I fear.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Whenever I think of Saraqael’s reaction to my choices, my heart freezes in my chest and dread spears through my stomach. Sometimes I consider not confronting him, merely hiding myself in whatever home Sariel has for us in Hell, never leaving.

Jessica’s behind lands in my lap and her arms twine around my neck. “He won’t be alone,” she tells the other angel while looking at me. “Sariel and I will always be with him, every step of the way.”

A burden lifts from my chest. Yes, I can do anything as long as they are with me.

“Can I have two boyfriends too, Dad?” I hear Mike asking his father.

“Have five, Son,” Nephithar replies. “As long as none of them are an archangel.”

His consort smiles at us warmly and I nod my head in her direction “Thank you, Syriniana.”