The Present

For Sammy, staying with Yua's family took a great deal of getting used to.

It was not that Sammy was unfamiliar with crowds or used to solitude. Among angels she had had many friends, mentors, and hangers-on, and often times before the flaw in her halo had led her to divide herself from that throng her hours had been filled with the joyous noise of many.

But there was a different energy to the Jinguushi household. Yua, it seemed, was the eldest of six, and while there had been angels fresh from their cocoons or angels who, like Nakir, appeared even younger than Sammy did, none of them, it seemed, were actually like children. That was new, and with the first of her siblings four years behind Yua, that meant most of them were part of that uncharted territory.

There were also, simply, the facts of life. Sammy hadn't understood what people meant when they said that a place was “lived in” or when they made distinction between “house” and “home”. Gradually, over those first few days, she began to understand what a home really was.

Eita visited often, pretty much every day, and Sammy was grateful for that. It seemed insane now that she'd tried to scare him away, seeing as even with Penny, Azalea, and to a lesser extent Yomi (whose school was still in session) around who she could confide in, she found herself restless in his absence, or when Yua took Eita aside and it seemed rude to intrude.

Sammy tried to not think about that, which ironically meant thinking about it quite a bit, just in futile circles of mild frustration. It wasn't as though there weren't much more important matters. Something had to be done about Munkar. As long as he was on the hunt, the dream of living in peace would never come true. Once, Sammy had thought to say as much of the Weaver, but struggling to survive, enduring loss, it seemed far beyond her power to even dream of solving the conundrum of that monster's existence.

Yet, despite the warmth of the Jinguushi home, on Tuesday afternoon, Sammy found herself somewhat alone. Penny was reading, the younger children were still at school, Yua and Eita had gone to the convenience store, and Azalea...

Since the attack on the school, Azalea had been working like a woman possessed. She was out frequently, and rarely explained herself. Sammy knew that she'd made contact with both Gadreel and Chazaqiel – or rather Gadot and Chazz as they were calling themselves – and that the former was collaborating with her while the latter was, in Azalea's words, a rebel without a clue. But what exactly she was working with Gadot on, Azalea played close to her chest. After what she'd said in the wake of the attack, Sammy trusted her to say something when it mattered.

Thus, for one reason or another, Azalea wasn't around, and Sammy mostly just had her thoughts for company.

What kind of life was it that Sammy wanted?

It was a question that Sammy had pushed away every time it had occurred to her since her fall. She wanted to live, she knew that much, and not as a Hollow puppet of the Weaver. That had seemed hard enough to grasp that it wasn't worth much to imagine what might come after it.

But in the living room of a home that was not her home, surrounded by quiet where joyous noise was common, alone with her thoughts, Sammy wondered.

Penny, Sammy was sure, would be a scholar in any world. Azalea had studied at the right hand of Lailah, and while Sammy knew there was now no love lost between them, she couldn't imagine Azalea failing to live up to the moniker of charity. Wherever she went, she would organize and facilitate for others; that was the way she was. Gadot sought justice. Azalea had talked of him becoming a police officer, but if that wasn't an option for a man with no background he'd probably act as a private detective. Or a self-made vigilante, all things considered.

Jack had lived his last days as a street food vendor. He seemed happy, the one time Sammy had seen him before his end. She wished she'd realized then that she could have tasted some of his okonomiyaki.

Shamsiel had loved music. Perhaps she would have found meaning in playing it, had she lived.

When Sara played at being a schoolgirl, she'd said with consistency and zeal that she hoped to be a doctor. As an angel, she'd been in tune with death, a steward of peaceful repose, and the truth of the Silver Sea of Silence had hurt her more than it hurt any who knew it except perhaps for Haniel. Perhaps that was why she wanted to save lives in the mortal world.

Sammy didn't have any dreams like that. There was nothing she could easily put into words for herself. Some images came to mind at times, imps of the perverse suggested by other fancies, but nothing to really heed. She had been a Seraph, exalted for what she was, and among the exceptional Seraphs she had been called, at least, a Master of All. Strong with every virtue, attentive to every wisdom, gifted in every skill.

All those expectations, all those gifts, now seemed like ripples in a pond, and the pond had grown still. It reflected only “Sammy”, a ghost of a girl who might have been.

But before Sammy could ponder too long, Azalea rushed into the room. She barely kicked off one shoe at the door, and hopped frantically to the living room rather than struggling with the other for even a second. She grabbed the remote and turned the television on in a frenzy.

Before Sammy could ask what she was doing and why, Azalea changed the channel, and Sammy saw.

It was the local news. Just a little piece in front of the convention center, talking about the next big event that would be starting there in a week. But the camera captured something that normal people couldn't see, that no ordinary human could notice.

There were angels on the screen. Munkar, Shamnail, and Turail were there. The former stood in front, and the two others flew, carrying a thing between them. That thing was a cross of scrap lumber, a crude and awkward frame denied the image of the icon by a diamond of supports between the arm and the body.

But, nailed to that cross, contorted in agony, was Sara. She was battered and bloody, even as the wounds of whatever torments she suffered would heal in swift hours, but she was alive.

Carved into her torso were the words “three days”.

As the anchor began to wrap up her talk, the angles bore her inside the currently vacated convention center.

It was a trap. Sammy knew that immediately, as Azalea no doubt had before putting the report on. This was Munkar's redemption, the method by which he would slaughter the Fallen as a whole and earn forgiveness for his indiscretions.

But it wasn't a trap that Sammy could afford to ignore. Even if she was neither angel nor human, even if she had no place and no future, she couldn't abandon Sara.