Chapter three

Lita forced back tears as she left the small church on the borders of the city. A new one, always a new one, even the old ones were new. She didn't bother to remember their names, they always changed. With her body seeming impossibly heavy she let her hands do the work of unlocking and opening the door to her car. She recognized that heaviness, she had felt it before, when she had been cast from the only people and place she called home. Despair was the word now used and she was rather fond of it, it rolled from the tongue like a whisper, pushing the mouth gently as it passed.

Her current choice of lodgings were more comfortable than those before, nearly bereft of vibrations, nothing special about them, a blessing. She found it so much easier to sleep in neutral places, no human had ever vested any part of their soul in this white box. It was a thought that both comforted and disturbed her as she pulled into a lot that read "guest parking" in yellow letters on the black asphalt. This was no one's home, no one could suffer or benefit from her prescense.
Lita walked through the lobby and ignored the gaze of the older woman at the check-in desk. She knew it was her appearance that bothered the woman, something she couldn't put her finger on. Read your bible, Lita thought, not caring a whit what Elizabeth Worther thought of her disheveled looking hair, dusty skirt and black boots. Poor woman, imagining the sins of a generation and guarding her soul as if every passing youth with long hair and bits of metal through their skin could take a piece of it with them. The elevator was slow but Lita didn't notice, she was busy thinking about where to go next. Even as she unlocked door 137 and entered her room, she barely noticed anything about her.
Lita found herself suddenly unable to move, her body and mind caught in a sensation she'd only experienced twice since her fall from grace. She felt it flow over her, warm. Her breath caught in her throat as a shock of stomach tumbling joy raced through her, followed by the clarity of absolute terror. Phantom pains screamed up her back and across her shoulders and there was a whisper of feathers about her face, neck and arms. Holding a scream captive in her throat she let herself spill to the ground. Leave me, leave me, please. I am nothing to you, I mean nothing. She repeated the sentences over and over again in her head, cocooning herself in her words. Her eyes were wide opened wide but remained unseeing, the previously dull grey irises slowly brightening as flecks of silver and red appeared. Her pupils widened far past the diameter of those of a human, until there was only a thin line of metallic crimson edging the black.
Absolutely still, fists clenched she waited, like a rabbit that had seen a hawk's shadow on the ground. It felt like an eternity, her knees taking in the impression of the carpet's weave while she waited, waited for an end. The prescense slowly faded, leaving her both relieved and aching. She hadn't dared to even open herself enough to find out who it had been so close. Not that it would have helped, if she'd thought there was someone to trust she'd have contacted them by now, she'd certainly had the time.
Slowly Lita managed to convince herself of her relative safety and unclenched her fists, finding shallow curved marks from her nails slowly filling with blood in the middle of her white palms. She used the ends of her fingers to push herself up from the floor, careful not to let any blood drop.
Lita stumbled to the bathroom, her legs less than steady. She felt cold now that it was gone. It was one of those things that you missed when it left. She hadn't been prepared, she hadn't remembered what it was like to be around her own kind, it had been so long. Too long, part of her whispered.
Lita opened the bathroom door and flipped the light switch. She closed her eyes again, the light from the halogen bulbs too bright for her dilated pupils. On impulse she turned it back off, her eyes finding enough light in the room. She moved before the mirror. A tear hit the counter. Her carefully built illusion had crumbled when she put all her concentration into staying hidden.
Her skin shone gently in the dark, like she had a small star buried deep inside her. The crimson rim of her irises gleamed around the black of her pupils. Her sclera were dull around that tache of colour, the only real colour in her face and hair. What she had made a lack-luster blond was now gleaming white but still short, only shoulder length. In these times it attracted far too much attention to have hair to your knees, no matter what the colour. She thought about what someone would do if they saw her like this but knew that she couldn't risk using any power until the morning. She thought back to her locked door and considered what sort of challenge it would serve to a human... more than enough.
Lita turned from the mirror, not wanting to look on what she had lost. With clumsy hands she unbuttoned her shirt, it clung to her back, peeling off only after she had freed her arms from the too large shirt. Curiously she held it before her. Blood; two large blossomed bloody patches the size of her spread hand in the back of her shirt. Lita whipped around, craning her neck to look at her naked back in the mirror. Two long gashes lay at right angles across her shoulder blades, shallow but bloody. She stared as a long line of red trailed almost leisurely down her side before bursting into action.
She dropped her skirt and underwear, taking a moment to remove her socks before jumping into the shower. Lita slammed the hot water tap, letting a scalding jet of water pummel her for a few moments before slowly turning up the cold until it was a comfortable temperature. Not like the warmth of others. She squashed that mutinous thought with the sudden shock of water on her back. It hit the wounds, making the water that swirled around her feet turn pink before it disappeared down the drain.
So little blood really, not enough for her to worry about loosing, just enough to make a mess, she thought. Not like the first time those wounds had been opened. Lita tried to stop the flow of memories, vainly struggled against the history that destroyed her. How long had it been, she asked herself as her body went loose. How long since I lost faith in Him.

Phanuel hit the stone floor, landing on her stomach, wings mantling. She heard and felt the snap as her forearm broke, pinned under her chest. Her long, white braid slapped the marble only an instant before her head followed suit. A line of blood ran down from her lip where she'd bit through, holding in cries of pain. With her mind focused on survival rather than pain she pushed herself with her elbow and uninjured arm to her knees.
"Mercy Lord!" she called into the room, knowing that there was no escape, only surrender. She could not count on the other Arc to protect her, even if one had the urge, the others would intervene.
She felt him behind her, felt his anger, but more than that, she felt a sort of satisfaction in him and it frightened her. "You would ask mercy of me?" Jehova asked quietly, the cold in his voice stinging like a lash across her back.
Phanuel put every ounce of pain and guilt in her voice she could scrape as she begged, "Lord, mercy, I beg of you. I have served you for so long, I doubted." She remained bowed, eyes on the drops of her blood that sat on and before her knees. It contrasted viciously against the white cloth and stones. Sophia, I am sorry, I am still not strong enough for you. "Mercy," she whispered, knowing that she had said all she could for the moment. She had told as much truth as Jehova wouldn't kill her instantly for.
His steps were light, the uncontrolled edge of his energy pushing against her's as he circled her. "Mercy," he said, his voice deceptively kind. She felt his hand suddenly lock on the back of her throat, pulling her to her feet abruptly. His eyes were black, all around, there was nothing there for her to see, no guide to warn her of what would happen. "Phanuel, all I ask is faith in Me. If you doubt Me, who can keep faith? You, My face, Phanuel; face of God." He lifted her from the ground, his impossibly strong fingers digging deep into the sides of her neck. With an ugly look on his face, he threw her again. "Doubt is the strongest weapon against Me, Nuel, and you beg for it's life, you beg for My fall!"
She landed oddly on her side, ribs cracking and hip, head and broken arm jarring viciously against the stone. She tried again to struggle into the submissive position that she hoped would calm him. If only she dared say how true his words were, how every night she wished herself the courage to kill him or die trying. Her loose pants tangled her legs, making her collapse back to the ground with a moan as she felt the sharp pain along her side that forcibly reminded her of the breaks there. "I have served you with faith for long," she paused, pulling in a long, painful breath before trying to continue. "I have been faithful, I doubted, I faltered... Mercy, Lord."
He smiled a slow, nasty smile. "Still you plead, but for who?" he asked, the knowledge in his voice sending fear through her. "Oh yes, I saw your eyes when you stepped into the Hall, I saw your blood filled eyes find what she had left. I watched your face as I ripped her wings. I know why you doubt me," he crossed the distance between them in small, calm steps. When he reached her she looked up to him, crimson eyes wide with fear. "Sophia; your Diana, Shekinah, your dear precious Mary," he snarled, energy crackling angrily around him and burning along her skin.
A tear trailed down her face and he lashed out with his foot, kicking her across the face. Her head snapped back, hitting the floor as her consciousness swam in a sea of pain. Her vision blacked momentarily before she forced herself past the pain. She moaned, trying to shield her face with her good arm. He hit her again in the stomach, "You beg me for my own death Phanuel, you beg, pleading for a merciful god, pleading for that bastard she whelped!" As she struggled to stay conscious those words barely registered in her mind. "You doubt Me, you betray Me and still you beg for mercy. There is no mercy for the weak."

Lita slept fitfully at first, the chill keeping her from falling too deeply asleep but she managed. She'd bandaged herself using gauze and surgical tape before crawling into bed, willing to try and let the blankets comfort her. She tried to imagine them as down covering her from head to foot, cushioning her against the cold and eventually, as her mind drifted away, she believed. She felt warm.

At the edge of the parking lot, outside the hotel, a man watched a window high in the building. No one seemed to see him as he stepped into the light of a streetlamp. He was hard to fix eyes on. Having passed him you would walk away with nothing more than a vague impression of dark eyes and hair. He stared up at that window then smiled sadly before continuing on in through the front doors. The woman at the front desk didn't look up as he crossed the lobby and stepped into the elevator. Not even the lock on door 137 seemed to notice as he passed through it.
He closed his eyes as he drank in the energy in the room; it was her. With eyes lidded, he flowed to the bed, movements languid and liquid. Without causing so much as a depression in the mattress he perched on it's edge, watching her. Her face was physically the same as he last saw her, all gentle lines. What changed her was the frown, the tense set of her features. Even in her sleep she looked tired, as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders. He frowned, the pleasure and surprise at finding her shadowed by the state he'd found her in. He leaned over, tilting his head to the side as he examined her. Yes, he thought, the shadows are growing there, inside and out. He felt her swimming back from her dreams and returned to his corner, perching on the air just above the mattress.
Lita smiled, wrapping the warmth around her. She spent a moment blissfully suspended in that prescense before reality demanded attention. She bolted straight in bed and slammed herself back into the headboard, crimson eyes wild. She crouched there, her heart beating like a trapped thing under her ribs, waking her fully and carrying adrenalin through her. She dove for the door and was not at all surprised when she was snapped back into inhumanly strong arms. Lita froze. Completely surrounded by his energy as she was she could not ignore the identity of her captor.
"Morningstar?" she whispered, her voice wavering quietly through the room.
"I'm so glad you remember me sparrow," he told her in his low melodic bass. He shifted his weight and arms so that his grip was looser, less threatening. Lita appreciated the gesture, although she knew that if he chose, she would be dead in moments, just another little bird with a broken neck.
Her pulse calmed but did not return to it's normal level. They had been friends, long ago, many things had taken place since those times. Her silence spoke volumes to him, she'd never been lacking in kind, friendly talk, even on the day of his exile she had visited him.
"Calm sparrow, you have nothing to fear from me, I am your friend still. I understand why you didn't fight him, you were still in his hands then. Have you forgotten what you did that day?" he asked, whispering the question into her ear.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
"You came to me and with tears in your eyes you kissed my forehead and said to me... do you remember what you said?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," she breathed, tears heavy in her voice.
He nodded solemnly, leaning his cheek against the crown of her head. "You said, 'No matter what goes on here today, you will be one of us, always.' Then, you plucked out a feather from your wing and tucked it behind my ear and said..."
"If he takes your wings, you may use mine," she ended for him, the scene playing out in her mind. "Then you gave me one of yours and said, 'No, if he takes my wings, give me mine.'." His arms had now fallen completely away and she turned to him. The darkness was no barrier to her sight but the illusion he'd draped himself in was. She raised a hand and pushed against it with her energy, clearing his face and letting her see what she needed desperately. A friend.
His eyes were the first thing she saw, green, emerald fire, star splayed irises framing the black holes of his pupils. They were smaller than her own, a mark of how used to the dark he was. His face was comprised of sharp lines and angles, aqualine nose and high, sculpted cheekbones, all giving him the shape of a predator. The two features that saved him from appearing chiseled from stone were his expressive mouth and wispy red hair, if that name could contain the colour. It was longer than she last saw but thousands of years were plenty of time for changes such as that. His words had been those of friendship, anyone who knew him would understand that although his face was nearly expressionless, that did not discount either the words or the emotions in them.
Lucifer hated to lie but had no issues with hiding information, a gift of his. Unless he wanted you to know how he felt you would never know. Lita knew other ways to bring herself information but had no strength for any of those means. She watched him closely as he slid back to the wall, leaning leisurely against it. She in turn stepped back to the bed and sat on it's edge, looking far more comfortable than she was.
After a few minutes it became apparent that he had no intention of continuing the conversation.
"What do you want Morningstar?" She did not think her nerves would survive a game of words.
Lucifer narrowed his eyes, "The simple pleasure of your company is not enough?"
The strain and exhaustion showed completely, making her for a moment look like the suffering madonna, blooded eyes shinning with fear. "Perhaps, but somehow, I don't believe that is how it will end."
He sighed, closing his eyes, showing her how little progress had been made since her violent exile. Green fire sparked back into the room. "You, of course, are right but not tonight. For now we are just two old friends who have run into each other unexpectantly. For tonight that is enough just like that morning, long ago when you came and said good bye to a damned man."
"And have you come to say your farewells to me Lucifer? Has the devil come to comfort me on my unwitting death-bed?" she asked the edge in her voice surprising and cutting him.
His mouth tightened and his narrowed eyes grew in anger. "Are you suggesting that I would trade you to Him? What kind of Arc do you think me?!" he growled standing straight, arms rigid at his sides.
"One with shadowed wings. I am not as trusting as I once was Morningstar. Forgive me, I know that if harm is what you wished me then it would be done," she ran a shaking hand across her face and into her hair. "I am wary of games Lucifer, and I fear that in the time since our last meeting, I had forgotten that you share the same dislike for them."
He nodded shortly, eyes giving no hint of emotion as cloaked himself again in his illusion. "Good night friend."
Lita stood and cried in alarm, "You are leaving!?" Lucifer paused at the door and turned back to her, opening a window in his shadows for his face.
"I will return in time, the war is still being fought, more fiercely than before, more openly. I would not have my prescense lead them to you after all these years. Sleep well little sparrow, the hawks hunt the skies, be glad for now that they have forgotten you survive and pray they will come to regret it... but not loudly." Then he was gone, through the door.
Lita stood still, eyes closed, feeling the warmth he'd brought fading slowly. That sensation was one she felt would kill her when it was complete. The cold pushed in around her, making her shake like an addict as she retreated to the modest comforts of her blankets. She found sleep eventually but could not regain the illusion of feathers for her bed. She did not dream.