Passion

That was how it began.

The scribe kept a running tally in the opalescent sky as Chabril, the angel of the second hour of the night, chose Lucifer, and Tiel, the angel of the north wind, chose Heaven, along with Padiel, one of the guardians of childbeds, and Gadal, an angel involved with magical rites for the ill. Some of the angels made lengthy appeals, some of them scarcely said a word; Daniel kept little track of the tally. He was on a quest to find himself, and besides, he already knew how this ended.

He waded through the field of angels, grateful for the time it took to call out all the choices. He had to recognize his own self before he rose up out of the masses and said the naïve words he’d been paying for ever since.

There was commotion in the Meadow—whispering and flashing lights, a grumble of low thunder. Daniel hadn’t heard the name called, had not seen the angel float up to declare his choice. He shoved through the souls in front of him to get a better view.

Roland. He bowed before the Throne. “With respect, I am not ready to choose.” He looked at the Throne but gestured at Lucifer. “You are losing a son today, and all of us are losing a brother. Many more, it seems, will follow. Please, do not enter lightly into this dark decision. Do not force our family to splinter apart.”

Daniel teared up at the sight of Roland’s soul—the angel of poetry and music, Daniel’s brother and his friend—pleading in the white sky.

“You are wrong, Roland,” the Throne boomed. “And in defying me, you have made your choice. Welcome him to your side, Lucifer.”

“No!” Arriane shrieked, and flew up out of the center of brightness to hover beside Roland. “Please, only give him time to understand what his decision means!”

“The decision has been made” was all the Throne said in reply. “I can tell what is in his soul, despite his words—he has already chosen.”

A soul brushed up against Daniel’s. Hot and stunning, instantly recognizable.

Cam.

“What are you?” Cam whispered. He sensed innately that something was different about Daniel, but there was no way to explain who Daniel really was to an angel who’d never left Heaven, who had no conception of what was to come.

“Brother, do not fret,” Daniel pleaded. “It is me.”

Cam grasped his arm. “I perceive that, though I see you’re also not you.” He grimly shook his head. “I trust you are here for a reason. Please. Can you stop this from happening?”

“Daniel.” The scribe was calling his name. “Angel of the silent watchers, the Grigori.”

No. Not yet. He had not worked out what to say, what to do. Daniel tore through the blinding light of souls around him, but it was too late. His earlier self rose slowly, gazing neither at the Throne nor at Lucifer.

Instead, he was looking into the hazy distance. Looking, Daniel remembered, at her.

“With respect, I will not do this. I will not choose Lucifer’s side, and I will not choose the side of Heaven.”

A roar went up from the camps of angels, from Lucifer, and from the Throne.

“Instead, I choose love—the thing you have all forgotten. I choose love and leave you to your war. You’re wrong to bring this upon us,” Daniel said evenly to Lucifer. Then, turning, he addressed the Throne. “All that is good in Heaven and on Earth is born of love. This war is not just. This war is not good. Love is the only thing worth fighting for.”

“My child,” the rich, steady voice boomed from the Throne. “You misunderstand. I am standing firm on my ruling out of love—love for all of my creations.”

“No,” Daniel said softly. “This war is about pride. Cast me out, if you must. If that is my destiny, I surrender to it, but not to you.”

Lucifer’s laughter was a foul belch. “You’ve got the courage of a god, but the mind of a mortal adolescent. And your punishment shall be that of an adolescent.” Lucifer swept his hand to one side. “Hell will not have him.”

“And he has already made plain his choice to forsake Heaven,” came the disappointed voice from the Throne. “As with all my children, I see what is in your soul. But I do not know now what will become of you, Daniel, nor your love.”

“He will not have his love!” Lucifer shouted.

“Then you have something to propose, Lucifer?” asked the Throne.

“An example must be made.” Lucifer seethed. “Can you not see? The love he speaks of is destructive!” Lucifer grinned as the seeds of his most evil act began to sprout. “So let it destroy the lovers and not the rest of us! She will die!”

Gasps from the angels. It was impossible, the very last thing anyone expected.

“She will die always and forevermore,” Lucifer continued, his voice thick with venom. “She will never pass out of adolescence—will die again and again and again at precisely the moment when she remembers your choice. So that you will never truly be together. That will be her punishment. And as for you, Daniel—”

“That is sufficient,” the Throne said. “Should Daniel choose to stand by his decision, what you propose, Lucifer, will be punishment enough.” There was a long, strained pause. “Understand: I do not wish this upon any of my children, but Lucifer is right: An example must be made.”

This was the moment when it had to happen, Daniel’s chance to open a loophole in the curse. Boldly, he flew upward in the Meadow to hover side by side with his earlier self. Now was the time to change things, to alter the past.

“What is this twinning?” Lucifer seethed. His newly red eyes narrowed at the two Daniels.

The host of angels below Daniel flickered in confusion. His earlier self looked on in wonder. “Why are you here?” he whispered.

Daniel did not wait for anyone to question him further, did not even wait for Lucifer to sit down or for the Throne to recover from this surprise.

“I have come from our future, from millennia of your punishment—”

The sudden bewilderment of the angels was palpable in the heat sent out of their souls. Of course, this was beyond anything any of them could fathom. Daniel could not see the Throne clearly enough to tell what effect his return had on him, but Lucifer’s soul glowed red-hot with rage. Daniel forced himself to go on:

“I come here to beg clemency. If we must be punished—and my Master, I do not question your decision— please at least remember that one of the great features of your power is your mercy, which is mysterious and large and humbles us all.”

“Mercy?” Lucifer cried. “After the size of your betrayals? And does your future self regret his choice?”

Daniel shook his head. “My soul is old, but my heart is young,” he said, looking at his earlier self, who seemed stunned. Then he gazed at his beloved’s soul, beautiful and burning bright. “I cannot be other than what I am, and I am the choices of all my days. I stand by them.”

“The choice is made,” the Daniels said in unison.

“Then we stand by the punishment meted out,” the Throne boomed.

The great light shuddered, and in the long moment of utter silence, Daniel wondered whether he had been right to come forward at all.

Then, at last: “But we will grant your request for mercy.”

“No!” Lucifer cried. “Heaven is not the only party wronged!”

“Quiet!” The Throne’s voice grew louder as he spoke. He sounded tired, and pained, and less certain than Daniel had ever imagined possible. “If one day her soul comes into being without the weight of sacrament having chosen a side for her, then she shall be free to grow and choose for herself, to reenact this moment. To escape the ordained punishment. And in so doing, to put the final test to this love that you claim supersedes the rights of Heaven and family; her choice then will be your redemption or the final seal on your punishment. That is all that can be done.”