Page 3

CHAPTER 3

D awn painted New Orleans in shades of rose and gold, but Camael wasn't feeling the romance. They'd spent hours after the cemetery throwdown sweeping the city for any lingering traces of ancient evil. Now, they were gathered in their mansion's war room with coffee and beignets. His men looked like they'd gone ten rounds with a cosmic meat grinder.

Camael leaned against the fireplace as his ice-blue eyes fixed on Amelia. She'd claimed the room's most comfortable armchair and was nursing what had to be her fifth cup of coffee. The dark circles under her eyes testified to the night's toll. Power still crackled around her like static electricity.

"So," Rami broke the tension-thick silence. "Are we gonna talk about how you went all cosmic locksmith on those ancient barriers?"

"Great question." Amelia's laugh held an edge of hysteria. "Got another? Maybe one I can actually answer?"

"Start with what you saw," Camael suggested. His deep voice carried through the room like thunder. He was still upset at how close she’d come to being killed. "In Cassiel's vision."

The witch's grip tightened on her coffee mug. "It was confusing and overwhelming. I swear I watched the universe being born in IMAX. There were beings of pure light and pure shadow. They weren't fighting. They were creating something together."

"Creating what?" Jo perched on the arm of a nearby sofa. Her wings were half-spread with curiosity.

"Everything, I think." Amelia's voice dropped to just above a whisper. "And there was someone there. Someone like me. They were weaving light and shadow together like it was the most natural thing in the world."

Cassiel's eyes glowed as he stepped forward. "The First Weaver.”

Camael recalled the stories about how the veils came to be. “When reality was young, and the barriers between realms were being forged, there were those who could work with both energies. They helped create the walls between worlds."

"But that's impossible," Malachi protested from his position by the window. "Light and shadow are opposites. They can't coexist."

"Tell that to twilight," Az drawled. He was cleaning demon goo off his favorite blade with methodical precision. "Or dawn. Or dusk. Nature's full of places where light and shadow dance."

Silence fell as they absorbed that. Camael pushed off from the fireplace and moved closer to Amelia. "Can you tell us what you did with your power in the cemetery? Did you redo those barriers?"

Amelia hesitated for only a moment before setting down her coffee. Power gathered around her hands. Not the pure witch-fire they were used to seeing, but something more complex. She slowed the process so they could see as light and shadow twisted together like lovers in an eternal dance.

"Holy shit," Rami breathed. "That's not supposed to be possible."

"Story of my life lately." Amelia let the power fade. "I didn’t know I could do it before I saw that vision. But it feels right. Something in my blood recognizes it."

"Your bloodline." Camael's voice had dropped to that place that made windows rattle. "It's older than any of us realized. Those priests called you 'The Key’."

"Yeah, about that." She ran a hand through her dark hair. "Any chance that's just a cute nickname and not some absurd job description?"

"When's the last time we got that lucky?" Zach muttered.

Camael's wings manifested as he paced. They filled half the room with deadly grace. "Something about this feels familiar. I swear, I've seen references to it before, but..."

"But what?" Amelia prompted when he trailed off.

"But those references would be in the Celestial Archives." His jaw set in a way that made demon lords nervous. "Which means dealing with the Council."

"You’re one of the stuffed robes upstairs." Rami's grimace spoke volumes.

“I want to go with you. This is about me. I need to be there,” Amelia insisted.

Malachi shook his head. "The others aren’t gonna like a witch accessing the archives. They'll have celestial coronaries."

"You can’t go," Camael told Amelia. "The Council's already going to be pissy about working with a witch. Showing up with you unannounced would be like dropping a hellhound in their birdbath." He took a moment to send his fellow archangels a mental request for a meeting, pointing to the disturbance as the reason why .

"So, you're going to, what? Ask them pretty please with sugar on top to share their secrets?" Her power flared with her temper. "In case you missed it, this is my cosmic destiny we're talking about."

"Trust me." Camael moved closer. He was near enough that she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. "I'll get answers. But I need you here, working with the team to figure out what Crocell and Lucifer's next play might be."

Their eye contact held enough electricity to power the Eastern Seaboard. Finally, Amelia cursed. "Fine. But you better come back with something good."

"Don't I always?" He smirked and ran a finger down her cheek.

"I'll alert the medical ward," Rami interjected. "In case the Council needs treatment for collective apoplexy."

His comment was enough to break the tension and keep Camael from dragging Amelia back to his room. "Keep the wards strong," Camael ordered as he prepared to leave. "And try not to start any apocalypses while I'm gone."

"No promises," several voices chorused.

With a final look at Amelia that carried more weight than a neutron star, Camael vanished in a flutter of wings. He materialized in Heaven's administrative district like a dark cloud in paradise. The place hadn't changed since Creation. It was all gleaming towers and pristine streets that usually sang to his battle-worn soul. His black leather jacket and combat boots stood out among the flowing robes and sandals of the celestial paper-pushers. For the first time since donning the uncomfortable clothing, he was glad. He wasn't there to play nice.

The Hall of Reckoning rose before him, a testament to divine authority that managed to be both awe-inspiring and annoying as hell. Elaborate golden double doors stretched three stories high. They were flanked by white marble columns that disappeared into the clouds above. The whole setup screamed ‘important shit happens here’ in a way that made Camael's battle-hardened soul itch.

The scent hit him first. Bay leaf and spice. It was the signature fragrance of the Council of Archangels. It was different from his first visit centuries ago when the air had been sweet with a hint of roses. Guards at the entrance straightened as he approached. Their wings twitching with recognition as they bowed to him. The massive golden doors swung open without a sound.

Inside, white marble floors stretched out like a frozen lake. They were polished to a shine that reflected the eternal flames dancing in braziers along the walls. The ceiling soared overhead and was supported by columns that would've made the Parthenon jealous. The whole space managed to be both enclosed and oddly infinite. It was a neat trick that only celestial architecture could pull off.

The focal point was a long table with ten chairs. Each was carved with the sigil of the archangels who sat their divine asses in them. Currently, most of those seats were occupied by beings who looked like they'd just bitten into celestial lemons.

Through the massive windows, Camael could see the living quarters of other angels. They were that weird mix of cloud and solid structure that Heaven favored. They were all open to the air unless an angel specifically chose to close their space off. The view somehow managed to make this chamber feel even more imposing. More separate from the rest of Heaven's architecture.

His boots echoed across that perfect floor as he approached his seat at the table. News traveled faster than divine light up here, especially when one of their own decided to shake things up. "Brother." Michael's voice filled the space with a mix of exasperation and grudging respect. "You've certainly been busy."

"That's what I do," Camael said as he claimed his chair. The sigils carved into it flared with recognition. "But you all knew that when you voted me into the Angels of Retribution command."

"We endorsed a warrior," Gabriel cut in, his white wings shifting with agitation. "Not someone who'd upend the entire celestial order."

"Funny." Camael's smile wasn't friendly. "I don't remember those being mutually exclusive. You know the reason for this meeting."

Raphael's sigh could've powered a wind farm. "The witch. Amelia. Your... association with her has raised concerns among our brethren."

"Concerns?" Camael's laugh made the flames in the braziers dance. "She just saved the day and kept Lucifer from his end goal. But please, share these concerns with the class."

"The natural order-" Jophiel began.

"Is changing," Camael cut her off. "The old ways aren't cutting it anymore. Lucifer's playing a different game. We need to adapt, or everything we serve and protect will be taken from us."

"By allying with witches?" Azrael's white wings spread wide. "The balance between realms exists for a reason, brother."

The temperature in the chamber dropped twenty degrees as Camael's power leaked out. "The balance is already shifting. Or would you prefer we cling to tradition while Lucifer rewrites the rules of existence?"

"We understand your position," Arianna interjected. She was the peacemaker when shit went down. "But this goes beyond traditional boundaries."

"Maybe it needs to." Camael's wings manifested and spread wide to match Azrael's display. "Because from where I'm sitting - and yes, that's at this table with all of you - we're facing threats our traditions never prepared us for."

"He's right." All eyes turned to Metatron. Their eldest rarely spoke unless the situation truly warranted it. When he did, even Michael paid attention.

“The signs are clear,” Metatron continued. His ancient eyes swept the table. "The old barriers between realms are shifting. This witch's bloodline is mentioned in prophecies that predate our Council."

“Prophecies can be interpreted many ways,” Chamuel argued, but there was less certainty in his tone.

"True." Metatron's gaze fixed on Camael. "But some things are written in stone. Or should I say... starlight?"

Understanding hit Camael like a thunderbolt. "The Archives. You've found something in the First Records."

The ancient archangel nodded. "Walk with me, brother."

Jeremiel started to protest, but Michael raised a hand for silence. "We should all go. If Metatron believes this important enough to access the First Records, we should all pay attention."

The Council rose as one. Wings of pristine white rustled with barely contained power as they fell into formation behind Metatron. Divine energy rippled through each set of feathers differently. Michael's crackled with warrior's might. Azrael's shimmered with death's touch. Gabriel's pulsed with heaven's authority. And Arianna's glowed with celestial grace. Camael took his place between Michael and Azrael. The raw power radiating from the gathered archangels made the eternal flames in the braziers dance and the marble floors vibrate beneath their feet.

"It's been an age since we've all entered the Archives together," Jophiel observed.

"The last time was during the First War," Raphael reminded them. His healing energy left traces of ozone in the air. "When Lucifer's betrayal was fresh."

Jeremiel's wings twitched. "Perhaps not the most encouraging precedent."

"Or exactly the precedent we need," Chamuel countered.

Metatron led them down a corridor of pure white marble. Its walls were inscribed with flowing script that shifted and changed as they passed. His ancient robes whispered across the floor as he approached a section of wall that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Unlike the rest of Heaven's pristine surfaces, this wall bore no decoration or markings. Its perfection lay in its absolute simplicity.

The eldest archangel raised his hand, revealing sigils etched into his skin that glowed like captured starlight. His fingers traced an intricate pattern across the marble. Each touch left trails of divine fire that burned so bright they made Camael’s immortal eyes water. The symbols he drew were older than human speech. It was the first language and spoken when the universe was young.

A doorway melted into view with a sound like distant thunder. Golden scrollwork framed the massive opening. Each curve and line told stories of creation in a script so ancient it predated human existence. The entrance to the Archives promised knowledge that could shake everything up.

"The Archives have changed," Michael observed. His warrior's instincts were as sharp as his sword. "The power feels different."

"Everything changes, brother," Metatron responded. "Even that which we believed eternal. Few venture here. Even fewer return with their sanity intact."

"Good thing sanity's never been our strong suit," Camael drawled. "Otherwise, we might've noticed how batshit this job was centuries ago. "

Gabriel's response was pure old-school archangel. He was all proper posture and narrowed eyes that promised celestial lectures about protocol. But Azrael? That male's smirk could've cut glass. His amusement leaked into the air like smoke, which earned him a side-eye from Michael that could've stripped paint.

The Celestial Archives stretched endlessly in all directions. Knowledge literally floated through the air in streams of pure light. They formed rivers of information that flowed into infinity. "Well," Arianna observed as she gestured to the phenomenon. "This is new."

The Archives had evolved since their last visit. Shelves that had to be miles high twisted up into a ceiling that might not have existed at all. Books lined them, their spines marked with titles many wouldn’t be able to read. Some volumes were chained down with links forged from starlight. Others hovered and were surrounded by warning sigils that pulsed like heartbeats. One shelf appeared to be on fire with flames that cast no light. Another rippled like water but remained perfectly dry.

"The First Records lie deeper," Metatron said as he moved through the impossible space like he was taking a stroll through the park. The archangels moved as one. Their powers interwove in a dance as old as Creation.

"The knowledge here," Jophiel murmured, her scholar's heart evident in her tone. "It's alive." Her eyes were wide with surprise.

"Knowledge always is," Metatron responded as he led them toward a circular chamber that seemed to be crafted from pure light. "That's what makes it so dangerous." He opened the door and entered the small room.

"The Lightbringer's Mirror," Metatron gestured to an item on a pedestal in the far corner. "It shows truth that even we can't hide. "

The artifact looked like mercury and starlight had a baby. Its surface rippled with images that changed too fast for Camael to make out. He wondered how the thing worked. Did you have to focus on the questions you needed answered? Before he could open his mouth to ask, he saw threads of power connecting Earth to Hell in its depths. They had Lucifer's signature all over them.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed. "He's been a very busy boy."

"Yes." Metatron's voice held ancient weight. "And only one with both celestial and infernal blood can help us stop him. The prophecies are clear on that."

Camael's jaw clenched. "Amelia."

"Indeed." The elder archangel's smile was knowing. "Perhaps now you understand why the universe has brought such an unusual ally to our doorstep."

"You knew this was coming. You've been waiting for it," Camael muttered.

"The universe has its own plans, brother. Sometimes even we must bow to them," Metatron replied.

As if on cue, the air in the Archives crackled like someone had stuck a fork in Heaven's electrical socket. A burst of energy Camael recognized lit up the space brighter than Michael's ego. A second later, Amelia materialized in the middle of Heaven's most restricted section. Well, shit.

"Woah," she managed as she looked around with wide eyes filled with fear. "That was not on my to-do list for today."

The reaction from the assembled archangels was instant and nuclear. Wings snapped out, weapons materialized, and the temperature in the Archives dropped faster than Camael’s heart. Gabriel's curse would've made a sailor blush. Michael looked ready to smite first and ask questions never.

"How dare-" Jophiel started, but that was as far as she got.

Camael moved faster than light. Amelia didn’t even realize he’d moved until he had positioned himself between her and his celestial siblings. His wings spread wide, creating a white wall of don't-even-think-about-it. "Stand down," he barked. She had to fight the urge to press her body up against him. She was freaked the hell out and needed reassurance. Not to mention, she was ridiculously attracted to him.

"Stand down?" Raphael's voice could've frozen hellfire. "There's a witch in the Archives!"

"Trust me, this wasn't my idea," Amelia piped up from behind Camael's protective stance. "One minute, I'm trying to track the recent disturbances in New Orleans, and the next..." She gestured at the impossible space around them. "Poof."

"'Poof'?" Gabriel sounded like he was choking on the word.

But Metatron's laugh cut through the tension like a hot knife through celestial butter. "Right on time."

Every head turned toward the eldest archangel, who looked about as surprised by Amelia's appearance as he would be by sunrise. "You’ll have to excuse their reaction. Your presence here is irregular," the lead angel told her. His pristine white robes looked like they cost more than her car. "It violates protocols established since the First War."

"Fascinating." Amelia let power gather around her fingers. She wasn’t going to sit around and let them take her out. "You know what else is irregular? Being yanked away somewhere without your permission."

"Before we address Lucifer's plans," Arianna said, "perhaps we should discuss how a witch breached Heaven's strongest barriers."

"She didn't breach anything," Metatron replied. The ancient archangel moved closer to Amelia. She felt like a bug under a microscope within his gaze. "The Archives themselves called her. When the First Texts recognize one of their own, not even Heaven's barriers can deny them."

"One of their own?" Michael's hand tightened on his sword hilt. "Explain."

Metatron's smile carried the weight of ages. He introduced them to Amelia before explaining, "The First Texts were written in the original power. The force that existed before light and shadow were separated. They were sealed with that same power. And bound by those who could wield both energies in harmony." His ancient eyes fixed on Amelia. "Those like your ancestors, dear one. Those like you."

"My ancestors helped write these?" Amelia's voice came out steadier than she felt.

"Better." Metatron waved a hand. Images shimmered in the air between them. It was a home movie with her actual flesh and blood ancestors working in a chamber that made the current Archives look like a public library. The men and women moved with purpose. Their bodies were marked with flowing scripts of light and shadow that twisted over their skin like living tattoos.

Their hands flew over massive texts that pulsed with raw power. They recorded the universe's deepest secrets in ink that seemed alive. Some worked with pure light, others with shadow, but Amelia's ancestors? They wielded both. Their fingers trailed both energies as they wrote.

"They were among the First Scribes," Metatron explained. His voice carried equal parts reverence and pride. "When the universe was young, and its laws were still being written, your bloodline helped record them. They understood that both light and shadow were necessary parts of existence. And they had the power to work with both."

"Holy shit," Amelia breathed as she watched a woman who could've been her twin sister several centuries removed write with what looked like pure starlight in her right hand and living shadow in her left. "That's some serious family history."

"The power that brought you here," Metatron continued, "it's the same power that wrote these texts. It recognizes your blood and your ability to channel both energies. When Lucifer's forces probed your wards, your power responded by seeking out its source." He gestured to the Archives around them. "These records have been waiting for one of your line. Waiting for the time when light and shadow would need to work as one again."

Camael wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His protective instincts practically radiated off him. "You're saying this is all part of some big plan?"

"The universe doesn't make plans, brother." Metatron's laugh echoed with ancient knowledge. "It creates possibilities. And right now, all possibilities point to a coming convergence. Light and shadow must find balance again. Or everything unravels."

"And I'm what? The mediator?" Amelia asked, letting her hybrid power dance between her fingers.

"You're the Key," Gabriel interjected. "Not just to opening barriers, but to restoring the original balance."

"Those priests were trying to use you to wake the Oldest Ones," Metatron confirmed. "And prevent you from fulfilling your true purpose. Lucifer knows what's coming. He knows that when light and shadow find harmony again..."

"His power over the shadows ends," Azrael finished for Metatron. "He loses his ability to corrupt the natural order."

"Because there won't be a separation to exploit," Amelia realized. The power flowing through her seemed to hum in agreement. "Light and shadow will be working together again, like they were meant to."

"Which is why he's trying to wake things that predate that balance," Camael growled. "Beings from before the first harmony was established."

"Precisely." Metatron's expression grew grave. "The coming battle isn't just about stopping Lucifer. It's about establishing a new order. And you, my dear," he fixed Amelia with those ancient eyes, "are the catalyst for that change."

"Just once," Amelia muttered, "I'd like to wake up and find out my destiny for the day is something simple. Like grocery shopping. Or filing taxes."

"Where would be the fun in that?" Camael's voice carried a hint of that sexy smirk she was starting to know too well.

"The question remains," Michael cut in, "how do we protect her while she learns to control this power? Lucifer won't stop coming for her."

"That's why she has me and my angels," Camael replied. His tone allowed for no argument. "The Angels of Retribution were created to handle karmic justice. Looks like we finally found one worthy of our reputation."

Metatron's knowing smile could've powered Las Vegas. "Indeed. Though I suspect your personal interest in her safety goes beyond professional duty, brother."

The temperature in the Archives dropped about twenty degrees as Camael fixed the elder archangel with a look that could've frozen hellfire. Amelia warmed all over when he didn't deny it. Life couldn't get more complicated. Having a dangerous destiny, ancient power, and complicated feelings for an archangel were no simple things. Amelia was starting to think she should've read the fine print on this whole magical heritage thing.