Something Dangerous: Part 1

“What’s taking so long? We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Right, Boss, we can’t get through this rift,” A rather gruff voice hissed over the radio. Maxwell sighed; this was not the first problem they had run into in this part of the tundra. But they had no choice but to push on, or else it would be their heads that the Serbians would have on pikes first.

“Your paycheck and your life depends on it, so make it happen.” It was Wynn, who made the call from somewhere above him on the slope. The weather was slowing transport, and if things continued the way they were, there would be a trail to follow.

“You heard the lady, get a move on.” He followed the shadow of his sister up the slope. The sooner they broke into the next physical plane, the sooner they’d be out of Cete’s reach. Everything could continue smoothly through old channels that were all but forgotten about.

There was a crackle in the air, and Maxwell could faintly taste the black powder before darkness consumed him.

♠

Crypt kicked an unfortunate rock in frustration.

He had gotten in trouble, but that was a common occurrence.

He had gotten caught this time, which happened less frequently, but still pretty often.

What made this so damn irritating was that he’d been caught by his god. Of all the people to catch him red handed- both literally and figuratively, it was the one person that he held in the highest respects- even if he didn’t show it very well. If that hadn’t been bad enough, his maker hadn’t said a word about it. Not a “Crypt, you should know better.” or “Must you be so difficult?”. Nothing. He didn’t even receive a change of expression from his normally emotionally inclined creator. No, instead he became file number 73465 (among others) on St. Michael’s desk, dropped there without a second glance.

The primary ruling?

He was to be suspended from all the fun parts of being an angel; his right to become a guardian angel was revoked. All his open cases? They were to be re-evaluated, and passed off to fledgling angels in need of their first case, if they weren’t deemed closed. Crypt was on probation until further notice, which was worse than being fresh out of the academy when you were on Heaven’s payroll. He kicked the rock again in frustration, not paying any attention as to his surroundings or the direction of the now flying object. If he had been, perhaps he would have seen it spiraling straight through St. Raphael’s stain glass window.

“Damn,” Crypt breathed once the sounds of shattering glass caught his attention. His least favorite of the Archangels just happened to be Raphael, the very saint that was stomping his way toward Crypt at that particular moment. Incidentally; he was also the most modernized, with his signature shock of untamed platinum blond hair and steely cobalt blues.

In short, yes, the so called Healer of God was a rather frightening picture on his good days, and it only got worse when his rather short fuse was sparked. That, coincidentally, was Crypt’s favorite past time- usually in the form of stark comments about Raphael’s dark roots showing (Which was never the case, as Raphael would argue. He took a great deal of time and patience- and the latest in hair care technology- into maintaining his appearance.)

“Crypture!” Crypt rolled his eyes, strolling away from Raphael’s office at a calm, comfortable pace. He was caught, and he knew better than running. The problem would just snowball. Raphael was also one of maybe a dozen or so beings that knew his given name- and stood as one of three that used it in normal conversation.

“Why, Raphael, you’re looking absolutely stunning- and feminine- this afternoon.” Crypt complimented the Archangel before him, who just grew red at the comment, and to say that it was from anything but anger would be a lie. “You should really think about taking a couple deep breaths, you’re looking a little red and that can’t be good for your blood pressure.” He could hardly contain his glee at the barely visible vein throbbing on Raphael’s forehead, and his tone made that rather evident.

“Y-you broke my brand new stained glass w-window,” Raphael huffed, venom coating his words. Or, well, malevolent desires. Angels and saints were supposed to be pure, and the whole may you choke on my words thing wasn’t exactly the picture of innocence.

Crypt tried- and failed- to suppress a grimace; he hated Raphael’s stutter, which only seemed to appear when he was angry.

“It’s six hundred years old, Raphael, it’s hardly new.” Sure, six hundred years was a long time- to warring races such as humans, but Heaven hadn’t seen so much as a skirmish in almost six millennia. On top of that, Heaven’s calendar year was identical to two years on the de facto human calendar… the Gregorian calendar, maybe? He wasn’t sure of the specifics, it had been awhile since Human Studies, and he wasn’t exactly playing Guardian Angel to any humans. Damn that St. Michael, Crypt thought, may all his ink dry up at the worst of times.

“Crypture! Are you even listening to me?! It was a handmade single pane work of art! And this is the sixth one you’ve broke!” Raphael squeaked, taking more and more steps toward both Crypt and losing his ability to speak in such a rage. Crypt, however, chose not to correct him. It was pane number sixteen, but who was counting?

“Raphael, everything in Heaven is handmade.” Crypt pointed out, boredom already starting to get the best of him. Raphael was all too easy to anger, and it just wasn’t as amusing as it used to be. “The stone was an accident, I swear.”

Raphael only grumbled some more, as the phrase “I swear” was never said by a heavenly being that was lying. It was physically impossible- and tested on three hundred and two angels and saints over the past millennium or two. (They were all volunteers, of course.)

“You’re nothing but an annoyance when you’re left to your own devices.” Raphael said after a few moments of cooling off. “Perhaps measures should be taken to avoid the damaging of grounds and residents of Heaven…” After a few more moments of thought, he motioned for Crypt to follow and set off toward the main grounds, where the tribunal of St. Gabriel, St. Michael, and St. Uriel held their office.

That, of course, was the last place on Crypt’s list of places to visit. Not only was his case with St. Michael still pending, but only bad things came of visits to the tribunal building- at least as far as he was concerned. Titus, his fraternal twin brother, was a totally different picture of innocence and purity. Always winning awards and being recognized… and being dragged down a peg or two whenever Crypt would get caught.

He sighed and headed in the general direction of Raphael, making no attempt to catch up. Crypt may have been obligated to follow the Archangel- who was technically a superior being in a sense, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t keep a bit of distance between them on the way to the lions’ den.

♠

Uriel was having an absolutely amazing, productive day. Gabriel was off in the Mythical Plane, stalking some half breed girl with unruly red hair, with his soon to be consort following him like she should. Michael was elbow deep in non-Heaven-related council business, holed up in the creator’s office for the past sixteen hours. Uriel had the entire place to himself. Granted, half of it was paperwork the other two buried him with, but still. Peace and quiet was always welcome, but absolute silence was even better. Uriel kicked back with a photocopy of file number 73465 and a mug of chamomile tea, signing contently. If he wasn’t bothered, he just might have all the work done by the end of the month. Maybe.

Uriel kicked that thought violently aside, however, when Raphael waltzed into his office unannounced, a reluctant Crypt not too hot on his heels.

“Oh no, turn right back around, Raph. You’ve got trouble following you and I want nothing to do with it.”

“What if I tell you that I’m looking for a troublesome case to get him out of Heaven for the long term?” Raphael asked, leaning up against Uriel’s desk. Crypt hovered at the door, just out of earshot and ready to bolt the moment he was dismissed. To say the tribunal building made him nervous was an understatement.

“No.”

“I’ll handle the paper work and getting it approved by Michael and his creator.”

“Alright, fine. Here,” Uriel, a sucker for having his work done for him, thrust two bright red folders into Raphael’s hands. He proceeded to then push his fellow Archangel toward the door. “Now out, or I’ll bury you in so much paperwork you won’t see the light of day for a decade!” The door slammed shut behind the two.

“Alright, now to bother Michael and Ra…” Raphael muttered, digging his heel into the gravel walkway.

“They’re in his office,” Crypt supplied. He didn’t understand what Raphael was up to, but if it got him the hell out of Heaven for awhile, he was game. All the white and lack of activity was starting to get on his nerves. Raphael turned toward Michael’s office, only for Crypt to shake his head. “Not Michael’s, Raphael.”

“Whoops, my bad.” Raphael ran his hand through his hair, possibly to create order in his perpetually chaotic hair, Crypt didn’t know. The inner courtyard was unsurprisingly deserted. The only ones there on Sundays were the poor unfortunate academy undergraduates assigned cleaning responsibilities. Crypt looked around, and ventured a guess that they hadn’t gotten that far, or were blowing off their duties. If angels were allowed to gamble, he’d have put money on the latter.

Raphael, however, was hell bent on getting rid of Crypt, it seemed, as he all but ran toward their maker’s office before coming to a sudden stop. He ran his hand through his hair again, and stood up a little straighter before venturing a light knock. Crypt waited, and let loose a breath his wasn’t aware he had held when there wasn’t an answer. His god must still be upset with him, he concluded, and let out a dejected sigh before stealing one of the red folders from Raphael’s grasp. The Archangel glared at him in return, but made no effort to retrieve the file. Crypt put a few meters worth of distance between them before settling down against one of the two sun-stone obelisks in the courtyard and busting open the file.

At first, nothing struck him as particularly troublesome. Girl, twenty, parents deceased. Then the small details began to sink in. The file was red- which only meant that one of the Archangels had taken an interest in something (or, god forbid, someone) directly related to this girl. There was no confidentiality tape, which was required for most cases under twenty one years of age. She was a Guardian, herself, though their jobs were hardly similar- and she graduated from Weather Stone, one of the most difficult mortal guardian academies in the surface world.

“This is what Uriel calls a ‘troublesome’ case?” He wondered aloud, shuffling the various pages. No picture, no description, no past. That was rather unusual.

“Yes, but these are special.” Crypt froze at the response. He looked up to see his creator, Ra, in his humanoid form complete with the head of a falcon. Crypt was awestruck for several moments, as it wasn’t every day that gods socialize with lower beings, before realizing that Ra was waiting for his response.

“Why is she- why are they special?” He couldn’t help it, Crypt’s curiosity was a horrible thing and he was always thankful that Bastet, the goddess of cats, wasn’t his patron.

“You can decide that for yourself.” He turned to Raphael, who was deep in a suddenly dropped conversation with Michael. “Raphael, I’ll grant your request-on one condition.”

Crypt gulped. He couldn’t possibly be thinking…

“Titus will have to accompany you on this.”

At that moment, damn was not a satisfying enough word to use in response.