Michael leaned down and said, “Have faith, Ms. Murphy,” he said, his voice serious. “Things are not always as bad as they seem. Sometimes, the darkness only makes it easier to see the light.”
I looked up at Uriel, who compressed his lips into a grim line.
“Oh, thank God,” Butters breathed. “She was wearing a vest.”
“Of course I was wearing a vest,” Karrin said, her voice for a second perfectly clear and slightly annoyed. She was shivering harder now. “Oh, God, cold.”
Butters plucked at several small, bright bits of metal, passing them to Michael. “Four, five. How many shots did she take?”
“Five,” Uriel supplied instantly.
“Twenty-twos,” Michael said. “Maybe twenty-fives.”
“No blood,” Butters reported. “I think the vest stopped them all.” He kept cutting her shirt away until he could see her injured shoulder. It was already swelling. “We’ve got to get the vest off of her.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because Kevlar doesn’t stretch and she’s going to keep swelling, and because this needs a hospital. I’d rather she didn’t have to answer any questions about a damaged bulletproof vest once we get there.”
“It might not be safe,” I said. “Why can’t you take care of her here?”
“Because I don’t have the tools I need to help her here, and I don’t have the expertise to use them even if I did,” Butters said, his voice hard. “Look, Harry, not everyone has got your ability to handle injury. Her shoulder is dislocated and there’s probably additional damage. I haven’t seen her knee yet, but from the shape of it I think he took her ACL. This isn’t something she can just walk off, and if she doesn’t get proper care, fast, it could cripple her for life. So as soon as I’m sure she isn’t going into hypothermia, we’re going to the hospital.” He looked up at me, his eyes steady, his expression resolute. “And if you argue with me, I’m going to call her friends on the force and tell them that she needs help.”
Rage made my vision pulse, and I snarled and clenched my hand into a fist, but Butters didn’t back down.
“Harry,” Michael said. He stepped in between us, and put a hand on my chest. “She can’t stay here. She’s in agony.”
I blinked several times, and did math, pushing the Winter aggression further from my thoughts. The rage receded, leaving weariness behind, and my head started to hurt. “Right,” I said. “Right . . . Sorry, Butters. Hey, Mr. Sunshine. You can put a protective detail on her, can’t you?”
“I cannot,” Uriel said.
“So useless,” I muttered. The throbbing got worse, despite Mab’s earring. “God, my head.”
Michael’s restraining hand became a steadying one, his voice sharpening with concern. “Harry? Are you all right?”
“Will be. Just . . . need a minute to rest.”
“Uriel,” Michael said, his voice softly urgent.
The room tilted to one side unexpectedly, and I flailed my arms to try to catch my balance. Michael caught my right arm. Uriel’s nose caught my left, right in the aluminum brace, but the archangel managed to support me. Between the three of us, I found a chair and sat there in it for a minute while my head spun, briefly.
Uriel had a shocked, even startled look on his face.
And his nose was bleeding.
I was pretty sure that wasn’t possible.
Uriel touched his fingers to his face and drew them away, bright with scarlet blood. He blinked at them, the expression almost childlike in its confusion. Tears welled in his eyes, and he blinked them several times, as if he wasn’t sure what was happening.
Michael caught the direction of my stare, and his clear grey eyes widened. He straightened, staring at Uriel in shock.
“What have you done?” he asked.
“It was not within our power to heal what was done to you,” Uriel said. “I’m sorry. It was not chance that brought you to harm, but choice.”
Michael looked from the angel down to his leg and back. “What have you done?” he repeated.
Uriel looked from his shaking, bloodied fingers to Michael and said, “I have loaned you my Grace.”
Michael’s eyes became completely round.
“Wow,” I said. “Uh . . . Isn’t that . . . that kind of important?”
“It is what makes me an angel,” Uriel said.
“Merciful Mother of God,” Michael said, his voice awed.
“Uh,” I said. “Isn’t that . . . kind of overkill? I mean . . . Uriel, you’ve got the power to unmake solar systems.”
“Galaxies,” Uriel said absently.
“Harry,” Michael said, “what are you saying?”
“Why?” I asked Uriel.
“I had to do something,” he said. “I couldn’t just . . . stand there. But my options are limited.”
“Oh,” I said. “I get it. I think.”
“Harry,” Michael said. “What are you talking about?”
“Um,” I said, and rubbed at my aching head. “Uriel wanted to help you, but he couldn’t exert his will over the situation to change it. Right?”
“Correct,” Uriel said.
“But he could act in accordance with your will, Michael. Which was to go out and meet Nicodemus.”
“Yes,” Michael said.
“So he couldn’t change you,” I said. “And he couldn’t change the world around you, at least not of his own will. But he could change himself. So he gave you his power in order to make your body function the way it used to. That way it isn’t his will that’s using the power. It’s yours.” The throbbing had begun to recede, slowly, and I looked up. “It’s way more than you needed, but it’s the only unit he had to work with. It’s as if . . . he loaned you his giant passenger jet because you needed a reading light.” I eyed the angel. “Right?”
Uriel nodded and said, “Close enough.”
Michael opened his mouth in understanding. “Loaned,” he said. “It won’t last.”
Uriel shook his head. “But this task is an important one. You need it. Use it.”
Michael titled his head. “But . . . Uriel, if I were to misuse it . . .”
“I would Fall,” Uriel said quietly.
I choked on the air.
Holy crap.
The last time an archangel Fell, I’m pretty sure there were extended consequences.
Uriel smiled faintly at Michael. “I’m confident that you won’t.” His smile turned a little green. “I would, however, appreciate it if you . . . did not push any buttons or pull any of the levers in my giant passenger jet.”
“How could you do this?” Michael breathed.
“You need the reading light,” Uriel said. “You have more than earned whatever help I can give. And you are a friend, Michael.”
“What happens to you, while I . . . borrow your jet?” Michael asked.
“Transubstantiation,” Uriel said. He gestured with his bloodied fingers.
Butters finally chimed in. “Holy. Crap. He’s mortal?”
“And he can die,” I said quietly.