Chapter 36

Every superlative thing I thought when I first saw the archangels turns to ash at the sight of their supposed sister. If a star can take humanoid form, that’s how it would look. Jophiel certainly shines like one.

But though her light fills the auditorium with such intensity it whitewashes everyone, it isn’t blinding. It seems to be reflecting from within our bodies, our beings. It certainly doesn’t feel like anything on the spectrum of regular light.

So, heavenly light? The illumination of knowledge and imagination?

Whatever it is, it’s an entrance to end all entrances.

As her light dims, more of her details come into focus.

Almost as tall as her brothers, she has blue-black hair that falls to her ankles, contrasting starkly with the pure white of her wings and Roman-like toga. But maybe I should call the flowing, gold-trimmed garment Angelic, since as Lorcan said, they came first.

Adding to the compelling simplicity of her outfit is a lone adornment; a medallion that rests on her ample chest, hanging there without a chain. It strobes like a beacon, as if absorbing her light, storing it until she unleashes it again. Once its brightness dies down, and even from that distance, I can see its intricate etchings and filigree. Those look like a cross between the angelic runes of Godric’s tattoo and the patterns on my bottle.

As she stops at the podium, I can hear and feel the sighs of delight emptying everyone’s chest. I can’t blame them. From the stunning bone structure of her face, to the masterful strokes of her features to that power and grace of her figure, she’s the epitome of femininity and finesse.

But it’s those glowing lilac eyes that mesmerize me. I can see them inspiring humanity to explore the best of their collective existence with a glance. A glance like the one she’s bestowing on the crowd now. I feel its effect permeating me with urges I never felt before; the drive to shatter limitations, to covet knowledge and aspire to greatness.

“This is exactly what I always hoped for.”

Jophiel’s voice blankets the space like all the supernatural bigshots who addressed us here. But unlike them, the awe it inspires has no intimidating components. That’s a voice people would follow through fire willingly.

“This congregation of the unlike,” Jophiel elaborates, sweeping one graceful arm to encompass the auditorium. “This integration of the disparate.”

I can swear she sprinkled angel dust or something, and that it has settled on everyone, as I again feel the generalized sigh of rapt contentment. And that’s before she floats down from the stage and heads towards us. Exclamations overlap in a crescendo as everyone realizes what she means to do. They die abruptly as she starts ascending one passage separating the rows of seats.

“I always believed learning can bring all beings together,” she says, taking her lecture to her audience. “Learning about oneself, about the other, and about shared histories. We cannot hope to coexist without learning about what brings us together, and what keeps us apart. The only other alternative is constant conflict, and unending war.”

She stops a dozen rows below us, and I feel all in her proximity fidgeting, as if with the need to kneel or maybe throw themselves at her feet. This lady is radiating something more powerful than Azazel’s compulsion. It’s all the stronger because her spell is devoid of dread, of coercion, generating voluntary, no—eager obedience. I think even the demons around are as smitten.

Jophiel inclines her head as her gaze sweeps the presence in tranquility and empathy. “Everyone present today thinks that this current integration happened under enforced injunctions. That left to their own devices, none of the races would choose this practice of diversifying the student body, of training side by side with those they’ve historically considered other, even enemy.”

Uh, yeah? That’s exactly what everyone on any side thinks. They believe that clause in the Accords is as ridiculous and loathsome as it is binding. Is she going to provide a different perspective? And would even her influence make a difference to the entrenched sentiments?

“You may also think it is hypocritical to preach integration, then practice the counterproductive regulations that negate it. Like binding students from other races so they would never share any of the secrets and methods they learn here, and vice versa at the corresponding Academies of the Infernal, Fae, Elven and Vampire Courts, and the various Shifter Domains, Mage Guilds and Sorcerers’ Cabals.”

Wait, what? There are more academies apart from Pandemonium? Every race has them, and they’ve all been exchanging students since the Apocalypse?

I can see a thousand new questions hurtling Godric’s way. Strange how it doesn’t occur to me to ask the more amenable Lorcan or Gideon. It never does. I relish poking him too much. And when he eventually caves, ah, the joy!

Jophiel resumes her slow progress among the sections, drawing more swooning gasps from those she passes. “But I, more than anyone, know that acquiring knowledge is tortuously slow and inescapably cumulative, and that the acceptance of its lessons is even slower and harder. That’s why it was imperative to start the process even in the most unfavorable conditions, at the very nascence of the Accords, to accept its imperfections so it can start, to disregard the obstacles and the setbacks, and to persist in going forwards no matter the disappointments. There’s a very wise adage I learned many of you use, and it’s indeed what we’re doing here. We’re faking it until we make it.”

A beat of absolute silence follows, before the crowd bursts out laughing. I laugh too, even if nowhere as unbridled as Sarah or anyone else. But I can really understand their intensifying delight in her. She is an incredible orator, with a spot-on sense of timing—and comedy. A unicorn among archangels indeed.

Then she nears our row and I feel Sarah shivering, as if she might pop like a corn kernel. Before I can take her hand, she grabs mine, and squeezes—hard. She too has been getting stronger than I ever imagined.

Jophiel pauses, and her gaze stills. On Sarah. When I’ve been the target of everyone’s curiosity so far. Sarah’s grip on my hand starts to hurt, her color and breathing rising. I squeeze her hand tighter, trying to vent her agitation at being in an archangel’s focus, before she hyperventilates.

“But all the faking in the world couldn’t amount to anything, if the intention of making it didn’t exist. And this is why I’m here now,” Jophiel says, her voice softening, her gaze unwavering from Sarah’s trembling face. “Because this year I felt a shift in the balance that had remained in a stalemate for too long. This shift brings with it the chance for real and positive change—and this shift is you.”

I almost think she means Sarah in specific before her gaze finally, mercifully moves away, blanketing the crowd, leaving Sarah a mess of tearful tremors.

Jophiel walks on, taking her enthrallment elsewhere. “This shift is every Angel-Graced and Demon-Blighted here today, and in every other Supernatural Academy. For the first time in history the representation of humans reflects their importance to the scales of existence. And that’s why I am here. As the one archangel who had the most interaction with humanity, I know firsthand what greatness they’re capable of. I’ve overseen the best of them as they brightened this realm with their aspirations for a better world, and their burning desire to leave a legacy before mortality reclaimed their essences. I know how they maintained the balance for the rest of us.

“And here you are at last, not only enough of the best of your race to make a difference within our ranks, but imbued by our powers and burdens, and therefore, uniquely positioned and qualified to provide a vital input and make a critical impact. I am here to shepherd that input, to nurture that impact, to regulate everyone else’s interactions…” She pauses and sweeps her gaze towards the side where the Nephilim separated themselves. “And to check their egos.”

I laugh heartily at that, tossing a taunting glance back at Godric. I’m so thrilled to find him already brooding at me, I don’t realize I’m the only one who laughed—until a few thousand eyes’ worth of disapproval and disgust bombard me from all sides.

Hey, she made a joke! And she paused after delivering it, waiting for them to laugh at her dig. It’s not my fault they’re stuck-up freaks on one side, and cowering cowards on the other!

I almost die of mortification nonetheless. Then I almost die, period.

Godric winked at me.

He winked. At me. A slow sweep of sensuality. Premeditated. Targeted. Devastating.

With every inch of me combusting, I know he knows exactly what it did to me. Vengeance scenarios crowd my mind as he serenely turns his gaze away, as if he didn’t just give me a heart attack.

That tormenting, confounding bastard.

As Jophiel continues her wandering, I can no longer hear her above the roar of blood in my head. Even when the upheaval he caused with that momentous little blink starts to subside, I can’t understand a word she says anymore, until thunder rocks me out of my daze.

It takes me heart-pounding moments to realize it’s applause.

Everyone is on their feet, giving Jophiel a standing ovation.

Not knowing if she said something new to warrant the storm of adulation, I rise at Sarah’s trembling prodding, and clap too.

With a final tranquil bow of her head to acknowledge our homage, Jophiel’s light intensifies until it washes out everything in the hall. When it dies down, she’s gone.

As if freed from another brand of compulsion, excited voices rise like a roaring sea as everyone move towards the exits. The humans fall back, making way for the faculty and the Nephilim.

I look around for Godric. I need to follow up on that wink!

But my Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde mentor and tormentor is gone.

That semi-celestial tease!

So I know he didn’t disappear on purpose. As Praetor, he always has world-shaking-and-shaping things to do. I, and continuing to mess with my head and hormones, don’t even feature on the totem pole of his priorities. I also know he gives me his priceless time and attention only because he’s forced to. Anything he does around me is under duress, and against his will, his very nature. So it’s nothing to celebrate about if I mess with his head and hormones, too. If I do, it must be a side effect of his constant exposure to me, and maybe to my mysterious power. And it probably doesn’t bode well for my life expectancy.

I should abstain from provoking the monster he keeps in check, shouldn’t even fantasize about breaking its shackles. Then once our forced proximity is over, we’ll both be free of each other’s maddening and unwanted effect.

That all sounds good on paper. In practice, I’m helpless to do anything but the very opposite. From that very first day, every second with him has been the same. Prudence flies out the window, and self-preservation is nowhere to be found. And it’s been getting worse every day of the past month.

It’s still impossible to believe it’s only been that long since he descended on me like the darkest fate. It feels like a lifetime ago when he shattered my plans, and confiscated my choice. I hated him and being leashed to him then.

I still do, but it’s getting harder to imagine a day that doesn’t revolve around our sessions together. And it’s only in part about my delight in my physical transformation. Most of it is about being with him, and being embroiled in our intensifying war of wits and wills.

Which is ridiculous, since I should be counting the days until I’m free of him. He must be counting the seconds until he’s rid of me.

Knowing that doesn’t stop me from being dejected whenever he’s forced to even cut short our training. Now, I feel deflated at his absence, especially after that damn wink!

Wanting to kick myself in the head for being so stupid and contrary, I focus back on Sarah and the others—only to realize something unprecedented is happening.

All my roommates are talking. Together. Or I should say exclaiming and tittering over one another. Over Jophiel and her every detail and word. Even Aela, when I didn’t think this paragon is capable of admiring anyone, even the archangel who’s supposed to be her aunt. But just like the others, she’s gushing like a starstruck groupie.

I have to agree with my fangirling companions, though. Jophiel is the ultimate in girl-power goals. Mind-boggling beauty, authority, intellect and accomplishments. And boy, can she give a speech.

After we exit the auditorium, Sarah loiters at the doors, as if hoping to catch another glimpse of her. I grin at her hero-worshipping expression. Sarah has found her ultimate role model. Gotta admit, she has impeccable taste. That lady archangel is something else, in every literal sense.

To my chagrin, Jinny says just that, if more colorfully and effectively than I would have.

“Okay, gotta admit, this Jophiel chick can give you angelic blowhards a good name.” Jinny smirks mainly at Aela. “The first non-pompous Heavenly entity I’ve ever seen. And the first interesting and intelligent one, too. If you had a brain among you, you’d make her your spokeswoman—or your empress. But since you don’t, we all miss out on having a worthy frontlady for your snooze-fest collective.”

“I assure you, cadet, I am their frontlady—when and where it counts.”

I freeze, and so do all the others. That voice is unmistakable.

I’m the first one who turns to face her. This up close, with those wings arched above her, Jophiel looks ten feet tall. The others turn one after the other, each sporting some awed or agitated expression. Sarah staggers around last, leaning on me.

As I support almost her full weight, Jophiel smiles. “Who do you think conceived and mostly established the Accords? And added the mandatory integration clauses of the Academies?”

The first one to recover is Jinny, who smirks up at that goddess. “That’s more like it. I wondered for years how these testosterone-addled bastards on either side could have come up with something that comprehensive.” Then she frowns. “Though now I know who to blame for being carted off to this angelically-plagued academy.”

As Aela’s gaze impales Jinny with murderous disgust, Jophiel only inclines her majestic head graciously. “I can see how a high-ranking demon would find being steeped in angelic company less than savory. But this is exactly why I’m here. It’s time the intended integration went from a nominal and forced situation to an applied and mutually beneficial one. It is in everyone’s best interests to lay our eternal conflicts to rest.”

Jinny shrugs. “I’d say dream on, but hey, if you managed to teach some humans to rise above their base natures, I don’t put anything beyond you. It’ll be fun to see you try.”

Aela practically shoves Jinny behind her, clearly not realizing she’s going against Jophiel’s wishes as she nods solemnly at her. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Archangel Jophiel.”

Jophiel’s gaze lengthens, at the crimson smoke bleeding from Jinny’s nostrils, but more at Aela’s scornful action and snooty expression. Yep. She isn’t impressed with Aela missing the whole point of her presence here.

Just as I feel everyone start to buckle under her focus, she waves an elegant hand that can probably swat away an army. “Please, Raphaela, don’t stand on ceremony. True respect only suffers under pretensions, but flourishes with sincerity. It’s my brothers who are enlisting you in their army, and chain of command works for them as your generals. But I am only your teacher, and I’ve always been Jophiel to my students. Since we’re family, too, Aunt will also do.”

Aela’s spectacular face blazes with color, and she looks flustered for the first time as she nods again. “Aunt.”

It’s strange hearing this Aunt bit, when Jophiel looks at most a few years older than Aela. But I do feel the vast difference in age between them, far more than I do between Azrael and Godric. Especially when Aela feels as young as she looks, when that’s not the case with Godric.

But I also feel that Jophiel is not as old as Azrael. Which makes sense. Death must be as old as life itself. Still, I have no doubt Jophiel is untold millennia old. The endlessness of her history is like a silent storm engulfing us all into the stillness of its eye.

The sheer weight of her wisdom permeates the air as she reaches out to touch Aela’s chiseled cheekbone, so much like hers. “I’ve heard so much about you, Raphaela, and about your successes. I look forward to learning more about you and about your earthly endeavors. Come see me anytime.”

Aela nods jerkily, struck dumb. Seems only archangels can silence these archangelspawn pains.

Jophiel lowers her hand and turns her gaze toward us. “Sarah Conrad, Wen White, walk with me.”