Darker Angels

Miss Murder: Glad you could understand it. Oddly enough, what served me best while I was in Paris wasn’t the formal French I learned at school but what I knew from my aunts. I do so love to abuse Isaak, too much fun.

Tazzy: Ah, the joys of torturing Isaak. You know he deserves it. Glad you’re finding the Red Shaman story interesting.

DarkCrusnikMagician: Again, the joys of torturing Isaak and Dietrich. Abel will be conscious again very soon and I don’t think Cain is going to like what happens after he is. Muwahahaha.

To everyone still reading, thank you and I hope you enjoy.

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Tres’ eyes adjusted immediately to the nearly black Nave as they walked into the Abbey. What little light to be had in the place was cast by the few flickering candles to the right of them. He focused on Takara, who had walked directly to the Tomb of the Unknown, dropped to her knees and put her forehead reverently against the plaque there. After a few moments she stood and took him by the hand, pulling him along to the candles. Flame flared to bright life before being shuttered slightly as she lit three of the candles, pausing momentarily before glancing over one shoulder to meet his curious look.



Everything in him seemed to stop and he was certain he’d suddenly short circuited everything in his head. He had seen this particular moment before. He had watched her light candles in this place, had seen her glance over her shoulder at him and give that same small smile. He knew it but couldn’t place the ‘how’ or ‘why’ of it all.



“Tres? Are you okay?” she asked.



He mentally shook himself, still not sure about what he had seen in his own mind. “I’m fine,” he said, noticing how loud their voices sounded in the stillness of the Abbey. “Who are the candles for?”



She smiled a little sadly and he instantly wished he hadn’t brought it up. But she took a deep breath and answered in a steady voice. “Two of them are for dear friends of mine. I promised I’d light candles for them when I could. Funny, how different religions do the same things.”



“How long have they been dead?”



“Nearly a thousand years. It’s odd, the little things are what you remember after so long,” she said thoughtfully.



“The third is for your husband,” Tres said solemnly.



“Yes. I suppose Gun or Hunt told you about it.”



“No. I think they wanted to leave that up to you to tell me if you really wanted to. You don’t have to if it’s still painful for you to talk about.”



“I’m fine, Tres. It’s been centuries now. At the time, I didn’t want to leave here. I sealed myself off in the Pyx chamber because it had heavy doors and no one really came in here back then because there was still a war going on, after all.”



“Why here? Since this isn’t your religion.”



“I’m not sure really. This has always been one of those places I’ve just loved and felt drawn to for as long as I can remember. The Nanzenji Temple in Kyoto is the same for me.”



Tres nodded. “It was mentioned that you spent a great deal of time in mourning for him.”



“Yes. We were so connected that, even though I wasn’t there with him, I ‘felt’ him die. I really didn’t want to be here without him. Was it also mentioned that my grandfather phased directly into the Abbey and all but dragged me to the sisters of Fate or Wyrd?”



“Your grandfather is the Norse trickster god, isn’t he?” Tres said, taking her hand and pulling her toward the exit. She allowed herself to be led away, glancing back at the candles she had lit.



“He is indeed,” she said once they’d gained the outside of the church. “Seems like I’m surrounded by volatile redheads, though Skye and Gun are the exceptions. But anyway, he informed me in no uncertain terms that just because my husband had physically died it didn’t mean I’d never be with him again. I still have no idea what he was talking about there but for some odd reason it helped. There are times when I think I can still feel some part of him around me.”



//My princess, my goddess, my everything.// The words passed through Tres’ circuitry almost too fast for him to grasp them properly. He shook his head slightly, thinking he’d have to get someone to check his wiring.







Hunter sighed as he all but dragged the two still struggling teenagers into the library to face their superiors. He found Cardinal Sforza seated on what was left of the couch with Blaze and Seth was playing chess with . . . the Pope?



“Ye gods, do I *want* to know what happened while we were gone?”



“Probably not,” Blaze said, looking up and noticing the annoyed line between Hunter’s eyebrows. “What happened on the mission?”



“I think that these two should tell you,” he said, dragging Esther and Ion forward a bit.



“I think just by the clothing they’re wearing, that we can make an educated guess,” Catherina said. “Did you compromise the mission completely, Esther? Or is it still salvageable?”



“It’s salvageable,” Hunter answered before Esther could. “Takara made it seem that they were disobedient slaves and that she knew their owners. I don’t think they’ll forget the public display they were made of any time soon.”



“I still think it was incredibly unfair to be paddled in public, even if it didn’t actually occur,” Esther said indignantly.



“You should be happy that Taka didn’t have them really paddle you, brat,” Hunter said nonchalantly. “She’s the only reason your ass isn’t the color of your hair.”



“Did you happen to find out any information on this ill fated excursion or was it simply a botch?” Seth asked, still looking over the chess board. “It’s your move, Alessandro.”



“I suppose it was a botch, my Empress,” Ion said sheepishly. “We were only trying to help.”



Seth sighed and shook her head. “Ion, I expected you to have better manners and sense. You should have let those assigned to handle this situation do so. Do you understand what *could* have happened to you regardless of you being nobility?”



“Yes, my Empress. I understand now,” Ion said sheepishly, peering at her from beneath his bangs.



“I’ll let it go this time as long as it *never* happens again,” Seth said, giving him a hard look.







The soft as silk voice above him belied the intent and damage that could be inflicted by the owner. Isaak had curled himself almost into a ball, making the attempt to protect his face and neck from the whip strikes. It seemed that Cain had put every ounce of fury and frustration behind each stroke, not caring where they landed.



“What did you tell her, Isaak? I know she wouldn’t have just let you go without having gained information.”



“Nothing, Mein Herr. I swear to you she learned nothing from me nor Dietrich,” Isaak gasped out. Gods everything in him hurt.



“I’m not concerned with what Dietrich might have told her. He had very little knowledge of my long term plans,” Cain said, reaching out and grasping him by his shortened hair and dragging him over to the desk then shoving him roughly down onto it. “You, on the other hand, have knowledge of a great many secrets.”



“Mein Herr, I swear to you, I told her nothing.”



“Time will tell, Isaak. If I find out you’ve spilled more than your assistance is worth you won’t live long enough to be concerned of any long term consequences.”



Cain left him lying across the desk, throwing his clothes onto the chair. “See that you’re gone by the time I get back,” Cain said, walking out of the office.



Isaak lay across the desk breathing heavily and trying to shut out the pain. He heard someone come into the room and sensing who it was didn’t try to move. After all, Dietrich had seen him in much worse positions and at least the younger man had managed to regain his voice after the first few days of captivity though he was still silent most of the time. Dietrich helped Isaak into his clothes and supported him down to his room. When the heavy door closed behind them it was Dietrich who uttered the words they had both been thinking since they arrived back at the catacombs and had been afraid to voice.



“I want to go back.”