A new day began, full of fresh pains to inflict on each other. Shantael's shotgun had never felt so tense. The three fallen angels circumvented each other carefully, offering each other support at times and keeping to their own tiny pockets of space at others.

They went for a walk in the morning, as rain was forecast for the afternoon. On this walk, they were silent, exchanging greetings with neighbors and the corner store pack, but ultimately offering no discussion.

"We are being watched," Gabriel murmured just as they returned to the house.

"What? By whom?" Jael asked.

"Michael," Gabriel said. "I expect he'll visit shortly."

"Good," Shantael said. "Maybe we can finally get to Nephilim shenanigans."

"Shh," Jael warned. "We aren't supposed to know about that yet."

Gabriel eyed Jael. "When did you tell her?"

"While you were sleeping," Jael replied.

They settled into the living room, and a few minutes later, the doorbell rang.

"Showtime," Jael muttered.

When Shantael opened the door, she found not only Michael, but also Raphael and Uriel. Together with Gabriel, they were the four Archangels of Heaven, generals of the Host, answering only to their Father.

They were not technically brothers; like the rest of the angels, they had each been created individually. But they did share some similarities: fair skin and hair (apart from Raphael's dark locks), commanding physiques, winning smiles. Once, Gabriel had been much the same.

The humanoid appearances of angels tended to reflect what they saw around them. Shantael's choice to live in New Orleans had, over time, tempered her into an African-American woman of shorter than average height; Gabriel's emotional support in Hell had altered his inward view of himself, and his external appearance as well, to match a young Almajoyese man. Jael was a rarity: She tended to find a look she liked and stick with it for millennia.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Shantael. You've been a welcome part of Heaven since your ascension," Michael told Shantael, who responded with a smile. Raphael and Uriel also greeted her, and she led the way into the living room.

Jael and Gabriel both stood, but a minuscule gesture from Raphael told Gabriel to relax and rest, so he sat down again, almost out of habit to deference to his brother.

The three archangels unfurled their wings and wrapped then around each other. "You asked about your assignment, Jael," Michael said, while leaning his head against Gabriel's right shoulder. "We think it's time we filled you in so that you might get started on it."

Raphael nodded. His eyes were closed, as were Gabriel's. "The faster you can complete it, the greater the reward we would be willing to grant you," Uriel said, while squeezing Gabriel's hand. "We all want our brother back among us."

"Understood." Jael nodded. The word barely made it past her lips.

"In October, we received word that the Nephilim were gathering themselves into a group," Michael explained. "We are not yet certain what their intentions are, so we wish to have someone infiltrate that organization."

Jael chuckled softly. "With all due respect, I can't pass for a Naphil, and neither can Gabriel, even fallen."

Raphael raised his head and opened his eyes just long enough to shoot a narrowed glare at Jael. "We do not require that," Michael said. "We simply need both of you to monitor and train a Naphil who has already agreed to serve as our mole. Gabriel is a master at training and maintaining agents, as you know well yourself. You, on the other hand, will watch the group itself, to check their progress and match our agent's information against what you see. You have been Gabriel's eyes for ages, and the arrangement worked very well."

Jael swallowed a snide remark about how being Gabriel's "eyes" had actually turned out. "Okay. Seems easy enough. I've gotta say, you picked yourself a good couple of fallen to pull this off."

"Is there any way I can help?" Shantael asked.

"Yes, in fact," Michael said. "You will act as a liaison between us and Jael and Gabriel. As neither of them can access Heaven at the moment, and as the three of us may be difficult for them to reach in any case, you will report from them directly to us."

"Sounds good to me," Shantael said.

"You'll meet your agent shortly. We have had some trouble in arranging an in-person meeting without raising suspicion. Once she has gained the trust of the other Nephilim, however, that should become much easier. You may be familiar with her, however. Her name is Mercy."

"I don't know any Nephilim," Jael said. "Much less one named Mercy."

Gabriel, however, was chuckling softly. Raphael grinned at the chuckle. Their eyes remained closed.

"Perhaps he never mentioned her," Michael said. "That would be little surprise. Mercy's father is the now-fallen angel Azarel."

Jael turned back to look at Shantael. The angel looked just as shocked and amused as Jael felt.

"Well." Jael turned to face the archangels again. "This just got a hell of a lot more interesting."

---

There were several advantages to hosting an oversize static portal within the Lakefront Airport. For one, the building itself, with its genuine 1930s art deco installations, was a striking first impression for visiting dignitaries. For another, no one paid much mind to what happened at that much smaller airport. And if prying eyes did happen to pay attention, they might assume that travelers were simply boarding planes to arrive and leave, rather than accessing the city through a dedicated and controlled spacetime rupture.

Within the airport, at a terminal designed for the purpose, the seven members of the Shadow Council parted ways. Remy Melancon was also present. Nero Demedici had other commitments, most of which involved photographers.

"Thank you all again for your help," Remy said. "I'd hate to think what state this city would be in if y'all didn't answer the call."

"It isn't over yet," Crystalline Fosterman warned. "The Shadow Council still exists. You can still call us if you have any trouble. And Melisma will be here for a while longer too."

Remy eyed Melisma. She would have preferred it if Crystalline, the small, bubbly leader of some tiny atoll nation, had stayed behind. Or Renelle Scriven, the badass leader of the Gifted Diaspora. Even Ciarán, Melisma's husband, was friendlier. Maybe they were trying to get some kind of point about the toughness of politics across by having Melisma stay.

Remy was not inclined to question their process. New Orleans, and much of the United States beyond the city, had been on the knife's edge of a takeover by an association of anti-nonhuman groups known collectively as the Human Restoration League. Aligned against nonhumans of all kinds, including Gifteds like Remy, HRL infiltrated governments, introduced policies, and policed the nonhuman population into nonexistence. When they weren't just outright killing nonhumans themselves.

But New Orleans had buried within its charter a few clauses establishing a Shadow Council led by nonhumans in case HRL or a similar element ever gained such a foothold in the city. Established around the fall of Japan in the mid-2000s, the clause was not used until Blair Winters convened the Shadow Council in late 2017.

Now the non-local Shadow Councillors were departing, but not because HRL had been defeated. New Orleans needed to be run by New Orleanians, and the Councillors had their own duties to mind. It was a regrouping, not a reconditioning.

"The Brotherhood is also still here," Avian Morrison, the city's police chief, added. "They've committed to helping not just Gifteds, but all nonhumans."

Astaire Kenton scoffed at that. He was third in command of the Brotherhood.

"While that may be an optimistic statement," Blair Winters said, his cosmopolitan tone cutting the awkwardness, "you and the rest of the new Council will have plenty of support, Miss Melancon. This isn't the first time we've fought these particular demons."

"But let it be the last," Renelle added.

"Such good humor among us all," Blair muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "Leaders Scriven and Fosterman, I'll open a portal to take you to Aaali."

"I'll travel with them," Ciarán said. "Save you some bother. I have business on Katsuro anyway."

"Perfect," Blair said. With a slight gesture, he called up the portal. A swirling effect appeared, invisible aside from the distortion it created around itself.

Crystalline gave Remy a hug, and Melisma and Ciarán engaged in a lingering kiss. Then, with a few more parting pleasantries, the trio of rulers departed.

"How are we feeling?" Avian asked as the portal closed.

"Hungry," Melisma said.

Avian raised an eyebrow. "Hungry for justice?"

"Yes but no." Blair nodded at the empress. "As a reminder, you're a wanted criminal in this country. I can only keep you so safe, even within the city limits. Our enemies are not far."

Melisma shrugged and made a few rapid gestures with her hands.

"I happen to think that the Riverside Hotel's restaurants are perfectly serviceable," Blair replied. "But yes, Sweet Soulfood is on the way home. We can probably stop there."

Melisma smiled and made a few more gestures that Remy did not understand.

"Yes, probably." Blair turned away and led the remaining group back to their SUV.

With Blair driving, Remy called shotgun. "You seem kind of tense," she noted. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course everything is okay," Blair replied in a most lackadaisical tone. "We're in a cold war with an enemy that no one else thinks exists, I have somehow become the face of the nonhuman movement and all that is wrong with it, and my girlfriend thinks that marriage is the pinnacle of female achievement. Everything is peachy, Remy. Why would you ever suggest otherwise?"

"I wasn't expecting you to respond," Remy said, tugging at her braid. "That was more of a rhetorical expression of concern than an actual question. But since you did answer, let's try tackling these things. The HRL thing is kind of a given considering who we're in this car with. You kind of are everything that's wrong with the nonhuman movement--no offense, of course. But what's up with the girlfriend thing? You don't strike me as a feminist."

"Maybe I am, maybe not," Blair allowed. "Mostly, right now, I'm frustrated because I have explained to her, ad nauseum, why I have yet to propose to her. I'm the fucking lost prince of Faerie. There's literally an entire plane of high-powered individuals who want me dead. I'm not going to put her in between them and me just so she can wear a fancy dress for a few hours."

"Wow," Remy said. "For a guy with like a billion different degrees and three thousand years of experience under his belt, you really don't get it, do you?"

"No, I really don't," Blair replied, opting to ignore the insult that the question was wrapped in. "Care to explain it to me?"

"It's not about the dress," Remy replied. "Or the ring, or the cake, or the whole shebang. It's about the title. It's about knowing that you're the only one, the singular focus of a person's heart. For humans, that usually gets expressed via marriage."

"You sound exactly like my supposed friends," Blair groaned.

"Then they're right and you should listen to them," Remy said. "Speaking of which, what's up with your son? He's seemed super moody too."

Blair blinked. "Ruairidh? When did you meet him?"

"Uh," Remy said. "Are we talking about the same person? I meant Christian."

"Christian isn't my son," Blair said. "He's descended from a son I had about a thousand years ago."

"Okay. You don't take figurative statements well," Remy said. "Duly noted."

"I understand the joke now. I didn't before because I do have an actual, currently living son. At any rate, what's the matter with Christian now?"

"I dunno. That's what I was asking you. He just seems more distant lately, as if something's weighing on him."

"I hadn't noticed anything beyond the usual. I'll check on him." Blair glanced at Remy. "Are you asking because you care?"

"I'm asking because I've started to realize how much you and the other Eccentrics really control this city, and I'm worried that your personal problems could doom all of us."

"Duly noted," Blair returned.

Behind them, Avian and Astaire bickered over Brotherhood-related things, and Melisma stared out the window, watching the city as they passed through it.

"Really, though," Blair said. "How am I everything that's wrong with the nonhuman movement?"

"I think what you did to the council election should stand as a testament to that." Remy pointed. "That's the restaurant. If you miss it, Melisma looks like she'll season your head with Tony Chachere's and eat it for dinner."

"Quite right," Blair said, and in true New Orleans fashion, he swung the large car far out to pull off a sudden U-turn.