the between?”
“Lately? Screams and wails and moans. Like someone’s torturing them. Makes it kinda hard to sleep. Thank goodness it’s not every night.”
“Can you make out any words?”
She shook her head. “No, but they repeat one sound a lot: say-sell . Or something like that.”
Uriel’s face lost all expression. “Azazel?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly, “I guess it could be Azazel. Why? Does that mean something?”
He nodded. “Azazel was the leader of the Watchers, a group of fallen angels generally credited with large-scale corruption of the human race.”
“Was?”
“He perished in the Great Flood.”
“Oh.” Em hadn’t actually listened that closely to the moans. In fact, she’d done everything she could to shut them out, including pulling the pillows around her ears. “Maybe I was wrong about the sound.”
“Perhaps.” Uriel raked his hand through his curls once more. “Or perhaps the reports of Azazel’s demise were exaggerated. Perhaps he survived in some lesser form.”
“That would be a bad thing, right?”
He nodded. “He was once the most powerful of all the fallen angels. His might exceeded that of Lucifer. Even as a lesser being, he could be a formidable opponent.”
“What would he be doing with the creatures of the between?”
Uriel grimaced. “I have no idea. I need you to listen to the sounds again, Emily. Try to verify whether they are indeed naming Azazel. The likelihood that he survived is slim, given that we’ve not heard from him in all this time, but it pays to be careful.”
“And if I’m convinced they’re saying his name?”
“Call me immediately.”
“Then what?”
He frowned. “Nothing. Just call me. Michael and I will sort it out.”
Of course. Teenage immortals who find clues to the coming Apocalypse should immediately hand them over and stop thinking about them. But she’d already said her piece about getting more involved and frankly, this fight was getting old. She had exams to worry about.
“You got it.”
Kiyoko rolled out of her futon just before dawn.
There seemed to be no point in remaining in bed when sleep continued to elude her. If she was going to see Murdoch’s face every time she closed her eyes, she might as well go down to the training compound and face him in person. As she wrapped her black belt around her white dōgi, a knock rattled the partition.
“Yes?”
The door to the main living area slid open, revealing a kneeling Umiko. “Breakfast is ready, Ashida-san.”
“Is Yamashita-sensei already up?”
Umiko gave a quick nod. “As always.” She stood and backed away.
Sweeping her hair up in a quick ponytail, Kiyoko padded across the tatami mat and joined Sora in the lantern-lit tea room. The table was spread with an assortment of dishes, including rice and broiled salmon, but Kiyoko chose only tea. Her stomach would not handle food right now.
Sora looked up from his miso soup. “Not hungry?”
“I’m anxious to get down to the dojo.”
“Eager to train, or to see Mr. Murdoch?”
“Both.”
The sensei carefully scooped up the last of his soup with his spoon. “You insult Umiko-san by failing to eat.”
She chose not to respond. Eating simply wasn’t possible until she saw Murdoch and confronted the strange feelings that refused to let her go. Besides, the poor man had been waiting for hours. She had intended to greet him when he arrived, but her energy levels were not what they used to be and she’d fallen asleep around one a.m.
Her teacher sighed. “We will go, then.”
After making their apologies to Umiko, they donned sandals in the entranceway and took the short path along the cliffs to the back gate of the compound.
Mr. Murdoch stood just inside the door in the main hall, looking less than thrilled. Judging by the various cuts and bruises on the nine men who surrounded him, the wait had been unbearable.
“About bloody time,” he grumbled, as she and Sora entered.
Sora studied