Cassiel

On Tuesday afternoon, Yua had to leave early. It was the birthday of her aunt's brother-in-law, who was visiting, and that meant being home to help with preparations. Thus, the literature club was reduced to Eita and the Fallen, free to talk about secret matters.

Not that they did all that much. The lot of them were trying, actively, to fit into school life. The fewer waves they made, the less likely they were to be noticed. All the same, their manner was different than when Yua was there.

Sammy, for her part, was in a state that Eita had never seen before. Forsaking her dignity before the Fallen, she sat in a chair and leaned forward, sprawling over the desk with her hands extended.

“Is this what it means to be mortal?” Sammy moaned.

Eita thought about it.

“What were your symptoms again?”

“My body is churning. I can't focus, and it's got this nagging pain.”

“All centered on your stomach,” Penny supplied.

“It really does sound like you're hungry,” Eita said.

“I told you,” Sammy said, “that's not it.”

“Can I ask you why?” Eita asked.

“Because angels don't get hungry,” she said, “we don't need to eat.”

Sammy's stomach growled audibly, and she shivered, moaning into the desk.

“That's, um, not actually true,” Sara said.

Sammy looked up at her with weary eyes.

“I started needing to eat after burning a lot of spiritual energy,” Azalea said, stepping into the conversation, “even at power spots, we can't replenish ourselves the way the Weaver replenished us.”

Sammy turned her head to look up at everyone. Her eyes were pleading, nearly full of tears.

“Is that true?” she asked.

“I started last week,” Penny said.

“It was just after the fight with Ramiel for me,” Sara said, “Trying to still Muriel took a lot.”

“Why didn't any of you tell me?” Sammy wailed

“Well,” Azalea said, “you were a Seraph. For all I knew, with your core you could just carry on, especially since you haven't really been using anything.”

“And besides,” Penny said, “it was both funny and informative to watch you work it out for yourself.”

“How cruel,” Sammy groaned.

“Here's an idea,” Azalea said, “Ikami-kun?”

“Yes?”

“Could you take our fearless leader somewhere that can serve a decent meal? For all the logistics I've been working on, knowing the restaurants around campus is not my strong suit.”

Sammy sat up straight, and looked at Eita with pleading eyes. To seal the deal, Azalea produced a bill, holding out more than enough money for a dinner for two, at least at a family restaurant.

“You can keep the change,” she said.

Eita decided to not question how Azalea got the money she needed to keep the Fallen afloat. It was the sort of question that couldn't have a pleasing answer.

“All right,” Eita said, “Let's go.”

With the offered cash, Eita knew just the place. Sammy followed on his heels, almost uncomfortably close, as they left school grounds and headed down the street. Eita hoped none of their classmates really took note; the last thing he needed was people getting strange ideas about the literature club.

“You know,” Sammy said, “I've never had human food before.”

“No?” Eita asked, “Well, you should probably keep quiet about that.”

“Most of us would try something sooner or later,” she said, “I hadn't gotten around to it. So actually, this is exciting.”

“You're sure that's not just because you really need it right now?” Eita asked

Sammy's stomach rumbled again.

“I won't deny I'd like us to get there as quick as we can,” she said.

All the same, she had a sort of childish eagerness about her. It was a side of Sammy that Eita hadn't seen before.

“So,” he said, “why didn't you?”

“Why didn't I?”

“Try the food before,” Eita said.

Sammy looked up with a sort of wistful expression.

“Other than the obvious I always wanted to be a good girl,” she said. “Most angels would have some occasion to taste human food, usually by curious happenstance, but my elders always warned me that sensation led to addiction, and addiction to impiety. Maybe my curiosity would have won in the end, but it hadn't yet. Pride as a Seraph.”

“You mention your elders a lot,” Eita said, “but the others all seem to look up to you.”

“The Seraphs were always different. We were few, and new arrivals like my own fairly momentous. I think I told you, but it's one angel in a hundred. And the Weaver doesn't exactly add to the ranks of angels swiftly.”

“No?”

“I'd say a few dozen emerge from their cocoons each year,” Sammy said, “and there's been a dearth of Seraphs of late. For my first five years, I was the youngest. The elder Seraphs doted on me, even as Thrones and Virtues look up to Seraphs.”

“Five... how old are you?” Eita asked.

Sammy pouted.

“You don't ask a lady that!” she replied, “Obviously I'm forever seventeen, as the day I hatched.”

Eita laughed.

“I do wonder sometimes,” Sammy said, but whatever she wondered about was cut off by their arrival at the restaurant, and the resumption of her excitement over food. Once it came into sight she grabbed Eita's hand and practically pulled him inside, gawking even as she hurried along to be seated and order.

Two hamburg steaks (one for Eita), two omelet rices, a plate of curry rice, and a novelty parfait later, Sammy was beaming with the purest, most radiant happiness that Eita had ever witnessed. It was almost enough to ignore the fact that she'd overrun Azalea's budget and eaten into Eita's allowance.

Eita thought that the worst thing that could happen was being spotted by someone who knew him, and that someone construing a short walk and simple (or rather, extravagant) meal as a date. That night, he learned that awkward rumors were not what he should have been worried about.

Eita awakened around midnight. The first thing he noticed was that the window was open, because he could feel the night wind on his face, even though he was sure he had closed it. He also thought the light might have been on, but when he ungummed his eyes he saw the truth: standing at the foot of his bed was a radiant young woman with enormous wings, glimmering pearl and gold.

As Eita stirred, she stomped the foot of the bed, shaking it.

“Wake up already,” she growled.

“You-”

Eita scrambled for something, anything, sitting up, glad for his pajamas, and ultimately clutching the notebook from his bedside table.

“Be not afraid,” the angel said, “Or at least stop with the panic. I, Cassiel, am not here to kill you. Probably.”

“Probably?” Eita demanded.

“That depends on your answers, mortal,” Cassiel said.

Eita felt the blood in his veins grow cold. He remembered how Sammy had told him that the Halos censored what the angels saw and heard. If he tried to say something that the Weaver didn't approve of, she could hear anything. If his life depended on these answers, he could only hope the questions weren't too leading.

“Are you the human boy who challenged Raphael when he had Samyaza at his mercy?” she asked.

For a moment, Eita stared at the brilliant being. Cassiel – he thought he remembered that name being mentioned. Carefully, he nodded.

“And,” she said, “are you the one who was there, and fought Ramiel by her side?”

Eita swallowed hard, and he clutched the notebook – the only thing at hand, tighter. Still, he nodded again.

“And are you the one I saw by her side from afar this afternoon, smiling until you parted ways?”

Slowly, but surely, Eita nodded again.

“Then I have but what question,” Cassiel said, “What is the great Samyaza to you? What do you intend, walking beside my cocoon-sister so?”

Eita thought carefully about his answer. He opened his mouth and closed it again. What could he say that would be both honest, and something an angel could hear? He didn't know enough about them to be sure.

Cassiel bushed her bangs aside. That gave Eita an idea

“Well?” she demanded.

Eita took the pen from the notebook, and made a big gesture of bringing it around to write.

“If your mouth is too dry to speak,” Cassiel said, “by all means.”

Eita wrote his truth carefully on the page. Being sure to make no sudden movements, he tore the page free, set the journal down, and slowly walked across the bed towards where Cassiel still posed like a mobster.

“I require no nonsense,” she said, “just show me.”

Eita took a deep breath. He was close enough. With the same slow motions, he brought the page up, being sure it was facing the right way.

The angel's halo censored all she saw and heard, but in brushing her hair from her eyes, Eita hoped Cassiel had revealed a weakness. Swiftly, he lunged forward and stuffed the paper under her halo with a silent prayer that Cassiel would read the characters unaltered before anything else.

Cassiel sputtered. She lost her balance and tipped over, wings flailing and knocking over Eita's desk chair and books from the shelf near the window.

“What!” Cassiel exclaimed, “Why?”

She reached up to tear the page free, but then hesitated a moment and tugged it out gently.

“She is my friend,” Cassiel read out. “I don't know why you felt you had to deliver the message that way, but it's a fine answer.”

Eita decided to remain silent.

“Tell her that Jeqon is dead, and Ramiel wants her head above all else. Tell her to be ready, because even if I don't give her away, he will find her.”

Without another word, Cassiel bounded out of Eita's window and away into the night sky.