Page 11 of Camael
"Son of a bitch," he breathed. "He's been a very busy boy."
"Yes." Metatron's voice held ancient weight. "And only one with both celestial and infernal blood can help us stop him. The prophecies are clear on that."
Camael's jaw clenched. "Amelia."
"Indeed." The elder archangel's smile was knowing. "Perhaps now you understand why the universe has brought such an unusual ally to our doorstep."
"You knew this was coming. You've been waiting for it," Camael muttered.
"The universe has its own plans, brother. Sometimes even we must bow to them," Metatron replied.
As if on cue, the air in the Archives crackled like someone had stuck a fork in Heaven's electrical socket. A burst of energy Camael recognized lit up the space brighter than Michael's ego. A second later, Amelia materialized in the middle of Heaven's most restricted section. Well, shit.
"Woah," she managed as she looked around with wide eyes filled with fear. "That was not on my to-do list for today."
The reaction from the assembled archangels was instant and nuclear. Wings snapped out, weapons materialized, and the temperature in the Archives dropped faster than Camael’s heart. Gabriel's curse would've made a sailor blush. Michael looked ready to smite first and ask questions never.
"How dare-" Jophiel started, but that was as far as she got.
Camael moved faster than light. Amelia didn’t evenrealize he’d moved until he had positioned himself between her and his celestial siblings. His wings spread wide, creating a white wall of don't-even-think-about-it. "Stand down," he barked. She had to fight the urge to press her body up against him. She was freaked the hell out and needed reassurance. Not to mention, she was ridiculously attracted to him.
"Stand down?" Raphael's voice could've frozen hellfire. "There's a witch in the Archives!"
"Trust me, this wasn't my idea," Amelia piped up from behind Camael's protective stance. "One minute, I'm trying to track the recent disturbances in New Orleans, and the next..." She gestured at the impossible space around them. "Poof."
"'Poof'?" Gabriel sounded like he was choking on the word.
But Metatron's laugh cut through the tension like a hot knife through celestial butter. "Right on time."
Every head turned toward the eldest archangel, who looked about as surprised by Amelia's appearance as he would be by sunrise. "You’ll have to excuse their reaction. Your presence here is irregular," the lead angel told her. His pristine white robes looked like they cost more than her car. "It violates protocols established since the First War."
"Fascinating." Amelia let power gather around her fingers. She wasn’t going to sit around and let them take her out. "You know what else is irregular? Being yanked away somewhere without your permission."
"Before we address Lucifer's plans," Arianna said, "perhaps we should discuss how a witch breached Heaven's strongest barriers."
"She didn't breach anything," Metatron replied. The ancient archangel moved closer to Amelia. She felt like a bug under a microscope within his gaze. "The Archivesthemselves called her. When the First Texts recognize one of their own, not even Heaven's barriers can deny them."
"One of their own?" Michael's hand tightened on his sword hilt. "Explain."
Metatron's smile carried the weight of ages. He introduced them to Amelia before explaining, "The First Texts were written in the original power. The force that existed before light and shadow were separated. They were sealed with that same power. And bound by those who could wield both energies in harmony." His ancient eyes fixed on Amelia. "Those like your ancestors, dear one. Those like you."
"My ancestors helped write these?" Amelia's voice came out steadier than she felt.
"Better." Metatron waved a hand. Images shimmered in the air between them. It was a home movie with her actual flesh and blood ancestors working in a chamber that made the current Archives look like a public library. The men and women moved with purpose. Their bodies were marked with flowing scripts of light and shadow that twisted over their skin like living tattoos.
Their hands flew over massive texts that pulsed with raw power. They recorded the universe's deepest secrets in ink that seemed alive. Some worked with pure light, others with shadow, but Amelia's ancestors? They wielded both. Their fingers trailed both energies as they wrote.
"They were among the First Scribes," Metatron explained. His voice carried equal parts reverence and pride. "When the universe was young, and its laws were still being written, your bloodline helped record them. They understood that both light and shadow were necessary parts of existence. And they had the power to work with both."
"Holy shit," Amelia breathed as she watched a woman who could've been her twin sister several centuries removed write with what looked like pure starlight in her right handand living shadow in her left. "That's some serious family history."
"The power that brought you here," Metatron continued, "it's the same power that wrote these texts. It recognizes your blood and your ability to channel both energies. When Lucifer's forces probed your wards, your power responded by seeking out its source." He gestured to the Archives around them. "These records have been waiting for one of your line. Waiting for the time when light and shadow would need to work as one again."
Camael wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His protective instincts practically radiated off him. "You're saying this is all part of some big plan?"
"The universe doesn't make plans, brother." Metatron's laugh echoed with ancient knowledge. "It creates possibilities. And right now, all possibilities point to a coming convergence. Light and shadow must find balance again. Or everything unravels."
"And I'm what? The mediator?" Amelia asked, letting her hybrid power dance between her fingers.
