COLM
He got the train from Berlin to London, the next train from London up to Liverpool, and then got the ferry home to Dublin. It took nearly two days instead of a few hours, but it was worth it not to have to fucking fly, and honestly, he slept a lot of the way there.
When he got to Pádraic’s, it was evening time, and the sense of warmth and peace that came from inside washed over him like a warm wave, and he grinned to himself as he kept walking up the path, his bag over his shoulder. He could hear laughter from outdoors, could hear the bounce of the trampoline as George and Bedelia bounced on it together – he could feel the pleasure they were feeling, feel the joy from the both of them.
Stepping inside, he felt Brigid’s sense of comfort, resting at ease on the warmth of Paddy’s feet, fizzle into abrupt alert, and she barked loudly as she ran to the door. She needed the fur on the pads of her paws trimming – she skidded on the floor, barking wildly, her eyes wide and fierce…
And then she softened.
Still barking, the emotion radiating from her eased from alert, concern, protective instinct and a need to sound the alarm, give way to affection and excitement, and although she continued to bark, she paced in front of him while wagging her tail. Colm laughed, dropping his bag, and he leaned over and grabbed her by the sides of her big head, which she had grown into a little bit in the past few days but was still a long ways off growing into entirely.
He rubbed his nose on the top of her head as he wrestled with her in the hall, and she made a growling, crooning howl at the dig and scratch of his fingers in her thick fur, enjoying it heartly, before she dodged back and bounced on her big paws, play bowing and encouraging him to wrestle with her.
When he and Brigid finally walked into the living room a few minutes later, where the fire was crackling merrily and Paddy was leaning back in his chair, knitting a very complicated-looking jumper, he was absolutely covered in white hairs, and Brigid looked very pleased with her work.
Paddy laid his jumper in his lap and then leaned his chin on his hand, looking at Colm and smiling indulgently at him, his eyes crinkling.
“How have you not got dog hair on you?” Colm asked.
“Bedelia bought some of those things in bulk,” he signed, and then paused for a moment, apparently considering what sign to use, before he rumbled, “Lint rollers.”
Colm chuckled, not quite believing that – he definitely didn’t doubt lint rollers played a heavy role in all this, but it was enchantment as well, he expected. Jean-Pierre had idly mentioned putting some in place, and Asmodeus hadn’t mentioned it, but Colm was certain he had some enchantments for this sort of thing to hand.
“Where’s Jean?”
“Oh, he’s flying back,” Colm said, shrugging his shoulders. “I asked if he minded if I got the train back, and he said that’d be fine, that he’d visit Jules’ grave in Paris and then fly home.”
“And Heidemarie?”
Colm smiled, sinking down into the chair next to Paddy’s, and Paddy poured Colm some of the elderflower lemonade in the bottle on the side – it was probably one of the last bottles of the year, Colm guessed, before it was the season to make more.
“Good,” Paddy signed, and Colm laughed to himself.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, uh, so Jean had a look at her, and her arthritis is pretty bad, but he’s gonna put her on a regimen of some different meds, magical and mundane, and they’ll help a lot with it. She’s not going to be jogging, but he’s gonna be able to make a big fucking difference to the amount of pain she’s in, give her a lot more mobility than she has now – and once she’s in a slightly better state, more exercise will be able to build that up. I’ll start work on my property this week, I’ll build up the cottage for her, and she’s gonna fly over in a few weeks.”
“She want to stay here?” Paddy asked immediately, and Colm hesitated, not exactly sure what to say, immediately.
It would be good, he thought, for Heidi to be close to family, and especially for her to be living with a trained nurse, but at the same time, he didn’t think she’d respond well to it, to the implication that she needed that help, that she needed…
“It’s okay,” Paddy signed in response to his hesitation. “I understand.”
“I was thinking we’d put her up in a hotel in the witch’s quarter,” Colm said, “until everything’s built and ready for her.”
“Good. I’m excited for her to be here – so are Bedelia and George.”
Colm felt himself tighten slightly at that, and he reached forward to scrub his knuckles over Brigid’s head, feeling her lean heavily into his leg. It had been strange, the past few days, seeing how easily Jean-Pierre and Heidemarie found a rhythm with one another, but it had made him see Heidi in a new light, he thought, or—
Well, no. Heidemarie wasn’t different with Jean, per se, merely that the two of them were as brutal as one another and responded well to the other’s sharp angles – it was like the way two street cats played together, where they looked about ready to kill one another and you couldn’t tell if they were actually trying to or not until you examined them after for open wounds.
Part of him didn’t want to think much about it – part of him was also anxious at the idea of George being around Heidemarie, thinking about what she’d say, how he’d weather it, how they’d respond to each other.
“We’ll see,” Paddy said.
“We’ll see,” Colm echoed back.
The two of them settled in peace together for a while until Colm felt the shift in energy outside, and he patted Paddy’s arm before standing and heading out to the doorway, letting Brigid out to go and sniff amongst the chickens and the goose, who immediately snapped at her and came away with a beakful of tufted white fur.
Asmodeus slipped out of Colm’s car, his ballet clasped in his hand, and he smiled over at him.
“Ah, you’re home,” he said as he shut the door closed. “No sign of Jean as yet?”
“He’s probably gone to Aimé, if he’s back yet,” Colm said. “I never know how long it takes him.”
There was something different about Asmodeus’ stance, standing before Colm with his bag in his hand, and Colm looked him over, analysing him. He was dressed in leggings still, and under his coat he was wearing a turtleneck and a thick, dark beige jumper – his ankle boots were made of fine leather and looked as expensive as the rest of what he was wearing, but they were new. De didn’t wear boots often (Bene had once said idly he didn’t like to wear shoes that made his feet look bigger than they were, which Colm hadn’t much understood at the time any more than he understood it now), and Colm couldn’t help but wonder if they’d been a gift.
“You okay?” Colm asked, and De looked caught slightly off-guard by the question, his brows furrowing, his lips shifting into the slightest of frowns.
“I’m well,” he murmured. “Let’s have some cocoa, shall we?”
Colm clucked his tongue, nodding for Brigid to follow them back inside, and put across the broad strokes of the plan with Heidi, the same things he’d told Paddy as Asmodeus eased off his shoes, set his bag aside.
In the kitchen a few minutes later, Colm sat at the counter and watched Asmodeus move as he made cocoa, warming milk on the stove and chopping chocolate into fine, diced blocks, the knife making a regular, rhythmic sound against the wooden chopping board.
He’d stripped off his coat and his jumper, rolled up the sleeves of his turtleneck to give himself movement to work, and Colm could see the lines of tension in his back, in the broadness of Asmodeus’ shoulders.
“What’s up?” Colm asked.
“You’ve become a lot more observant of late,” said Asmodeus quietly, not turning his head.
“You complaining?”
“Somewhat.”
“Well, no going back now. I’ve already observed you.”
“I suppose you have,” Asmodeus said, tone even, soft. “I’m desperately excited to have Heidemarie here, you know, to have her so close – close to you and Jean, to Paddy and Bedelia and George. To Aimé.”
“To Aimé,” Colm repeated. “How’s he been doing?”
“He’s very well,” said Asmodeus. “He’s moved out of his father’s apartment, has settled into his new property in the city proper – bought furniture for upstairs, has begun to lay out the working space for his office and his small gallery downstairs. He’s not yet wholly sure about decorating it, I don’t think, is eager for Jean’s input – I’ve given a little guidance, of course, but it’s Jean Aimé is concerned about making comfortable.
“He’s had words with his mother, set out a few boundaries for himself. He was upset, in the immediate aftermath, but it was actually rather positive to see, I think.”
“But?”
“But nothing.”
“I might not be able to feel what you’re feeling, De, but I can still see you – and even if you’re facing away from me, I can see your shoulders, the lines in your back. Your jaw’s so tight I can hear it from here.”
Asmodeus picked up the chopping board and swept the chocolate into the milk in the saucepan. Standing sidelong to Colm, Colm could see his face better now, see his placid expression, the careful, considered blankness of it.
“He’s at the theatre,” Asmodeus said.
“Been giving him dance lessons after all?”
Asmodeus’ lips twitched, and he gave Colm a wry look. “No,” he said. “He’s been doing some studies of the dancers at work, some still life pieces of the theatre proper – the floors, people’s shoes, the empty seats, the lights and rigging, costumes, that sort of thing.”
“And he’s okay?”
“He’s tremendous.”
“You argue with him?”
“No.”
“He argue with you?”
“Colm,” Asmodeus said, and Colm recognised that tone, slightly tired, damn near exhausted, even – but not actually telling him to stop, or even really wanting him to back off. Resigned, Asmodeus looked at Colm properly, and then said, “He and I had words, that’s all.”
Had words.
What the fuck sort of words was Asmodeus going to have with Aimé? Aimé, of all of them, seemed to have a tremendous understanding of Asmodeus, seemed to get him, seemed to… What the Hell could he have possibly said to upset him? Colm couldn’t imagine he’d have done it on purpose, no matter that Aimé was kind of a prick, and anything he’d ever said accidentally, none of it had ever seemed to really upset De.
“Were they good words?” Colm asked slowly, cautiously, aware it was a leading question.
“Yes,” De said, firmly, solidly, and with a clean, crisp nod, as though he were trying to confirm the fact to himself as well as to Colm. “Yes, they were. He— We talked about a few things. About you and Jean, about my duties, about the pressures I’m under.”
“Yeah?”
“About asking for help, when I need it – and accepting help, when I need it. About… resting.”
“Oh,” said Colm, surprised, and felt himself slowly smile, some of the tension leaking out of his body as he realised exactly why Asmodeus was so uncomfortable. This wasn’t conflict, it was… “Yeah?”
The symmetry of it occurred to Colm, the idea of Asmodeus letting his walls down a little with Aimé at the same time he and Jean were with Heidemarie, giving her help, encouraging her to take it.
“Yes,” De said softly. “It’s been a very long time since the first angel Fell, over ten thousand years. Me, moving those ten thousand years, one way and the other, traversing the Earth from end to end, the… I’m really very tired, Colm. I’ve flagged these last few decades – it was never easy, but it used to be easier, didn’t weigh on me in the way it does now.”
Asmodeus’ tone, as ever, was calm and even, his voice rich, and Colm watched his body slowly slacken, watched the shift of his body as his breathing slowed, in time with the rhythm of the wooden spoon as he stirred the cocoa, the scent of the hot milk and the melting chocolate filling the room.
“Yeah,” said Colm quietly. “I know we act like you never change, sometimes, but you’ve needed to slow down a little – and I know it wasn’t just Jean-Pierre getting taken, it was how you responded to it. Staying with us, spending more time dancing. Meeting fewer angels.” Asmodeus’ head raised, his shoulders squaring, and Colm tried to focus on the minute shifts of his body, forced himself to focus on that and not on the black emptiness of De’s body, the sheer lack of emotion, the void. De did show his fucking feelings – Aimé could see them, watch them. Colm could too. “Not judging,” Colm said.
“I know you aren’t,” said Asmodeus, reaching for nutmeg and cinnamon, vanilla. “It isn’t your judgement that makes me feel so guilty about it, Colm – it’s how they feel. The rejection, the sense of loss, the idea that I didn’t care about their Falls as I did others.”
“Yeah,” Colm said.
“The first angel to Fall was Michael,” said Asmodeus.
Colm’s breath caught in his throat, and he heard the stool creak under him as he leaned forward, his elbows pressing against the countertop. He almost regretted it, the unthinking, instinctive need to crane his neck, to listen more carefully, the craving for more information. “Yeah?” he heard himself say, his voice coming out so quiet it made his throat feel hoarse.
“Mm,” Asmodeus hummed, and Colm flinched at the sudden noise of the knife on the board again, Asmodeus cutting chillis into very fine pieces. “Yes. He— She… You remind me of them, you know. The three of you. Sometimes I find myself thinking…” He trailed off, and Colm watched the smoothness of his form as he swept the cut chilli into the cocoa, smelt the spice on the air. “Jean-Pierre resembles her most, I think – not in physicality, Michael’s skin was beautiful, was even darker than mine, his hair darker, thicker, coarser, but they had Jean’s poise, his composure. He did not walk but strode, and whilst striding, swept, almost – conducted herself with an impossible, easy grace, and seemed so small and delicate in contrast with the immense power that radiated from within. He was a warrior, of course, and at the same time, a healer, an orator, and these facets were visible in their very bearing, her shoulders, her waist, the movement of her head, the subtlety at her mouth.”
Colm didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. He felt like he couldn’t even breathe, and his eyes were threatening to water.
“Like Benedictine, she could be provocative, and frequently was – he responded poorly to disrespect, and was sensitive to even the threat or implication of it, and this was no irrational urge. He knew better than most, than all, the precarity of his position at times, and abhorred even the most petty injustices. Like Bene, they were… They glowed with their joy, when it took them – their laugh was music to my ears before I ever knew the meaning of such a thing, their eyes glittered with mischief, with delight. They disliked any joke they didn’t make themselves – disliked most of all mine, because I could make her laugh, amuse her, even when it was her desire that she should be serious, and terrible, and cool. The painful incongruity of his joy as an immortal was never lost on him, contrasted with the agonies of those mortals he would see suffer and perish, some of them by his own hand.
“Like you, they felt very deeply, and they had a need for order, a need to set things in place – a leader, naturally, but as capable a second. He appreciated a hierarchy, a system, and whilst she could resent feeling bound in by it at times, she craved the stability such a thing guaranteed. They liked records, like you, but not to be observed – they had all the same love of memory and nostalgia, and the same intense horror at surveillance. Every feeling, his own, those of others, those even they even heard of, struck at their very core the need, the duty, to defend, to settle, to repair.
“I could scarce believe it, you know, when I pulled you from those waters those many years ago – I was caught up in the fatigue of my own body, having swam out to meet you and then pulled you ashore. Holding you in my arms on that beach, feeling you splutter and shake, feeling the tremble of your body and seeing the tears streaking down your cheeks, you were so like him, Colm – I remembered her dying in my arms, feeling the life going out of her, feeling her body, fresh-made, unable to accept the immensity of the grace contained within it… It took a lot out of me not to cry – I didn’t want it to be the first thing you knew of me, didn’t want for you to think my pulling you from those waters was cause for grief.”
Colm stared, uncomprehending, at Asmodeus’ face, because a tear was rolling down his cheek, shining in the light.
“You remember,” he said, and his voice came out hoarse again this time even though it was louder – he had to clear his throat to get rid of the phlegm building up there, inhaled to try to keep his eyes from watering. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Asmodeus cry, didn’t think it had ever occurred to him that Asmodeus would, that he could. “Before the Fall, you told Bedelia.”
“Yes,” De said.
“What—”
“Please,” he said, turning his head, and Colm watched the way he wiped his tears, delicate as a debutante, with the heel of one of his hands. “I would rather not.”
“Okay,” said Colm. A part of him wanted to be angry, wanted to be indignant, furious, with the idea that all this time, De had been able to remember, that De had known things about before the Fall, had remembered shit like this, and hadn’t fucking said – not to Colm or Jean, not to angels in Harare, at the Embassy, not to fucking anybody.
He swallowed it back the best he could – it wasn’t just for De’s sake, wasn’t just that. He didn’t have the energy to be that angry right now, after all the travelling he’d been doing, was too fucking tired.
“It is my intention to stay here semi-permanently – I’m not going to stop travelling entirely, but I’ll be working with the Embassy to ensure more angels are greeted directly, and not only by me.”
“Stay,” Colm repeated, and he huffed out a soft chuckle. “Yeah? You’re gonna, you’re gonna stay here?”
“It seems a good time for me to take a step back – and with Heidemarie coming here, I would like to spend time with her. I want to share in the joy of her healing here, with you, with us.”
“Thank you,” Colm said. “For… For doing that, for putting it in… You’ve been planning this a while?”
“I’ve been considering it,” Asmodeus said softly. “I think this year has been rather healing for me in different ways, curiously enough – spending more time with you two and with Bene, but my friendship with Aimé… Because I’m so often in motion, so often travelling, I don’t know that I’ve ever been so close with a mortal man, and seen him work to heal, to consider his own boundaries and set them, to… to let himself be cared for. Ask for it.”
“You take care of us a lot,” Colm said. “You don’t have to ask.”
Asmodeus let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, wiping his eyes, and Colm got to his feet and came over to the stove, wrapped one arm around De’s lower back and insinuated himself under his elder brother’s arm, squeezed him tightly, his cheek on De’s breast.
“I love you very much,” De whispered. “You and Jean and Bene.”
“I know,” Colm murmured, and he smiled as he felt De’s lips brush the top of his hair. “We love you too.”
When he pulled away, he went outside to call George and Bedelia inside for cocoa, and they all settled beside the fire to drink it, half-watching The Late Late. George sprawled on the floor, his head rested on Brigid’s back, dozing in place.
“Are we waiting up for Jean and Aimé?” Bedelia asked through a yawn, rubbing at her eyes.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Asmodeus said. “You know what the two of them are like once they’ve been apart for a while.”
Colm made a low noise of disapproval that was tone for tone identical with Paddy’s, and the other three laughed at the two of them as Paddy and Colm shared a long-suffering look.
