ONE

Remy knew it wasn't real, the product of some strange, dreamlike state, but he didn't mind in the least. Seeing her this way—it was almost as if she were still with him.

Almost as if she were still alive.

She had called to him from inside their Maine summer home, and he'd gone to her, climbing up the stairs to the second floor. Standing in the doorway to one of the spare rooms, he watched her.

Her back was to him as she looked out one of the open windows onto the expanse of backyard, verdant with grass that would need a lawn mower's attention sooner rather than later. She was wearing a white cotton dress that billowed and moved in the warm summer breeze coming in through the window. And as he silently stared from the doorway, he was reminded of how much he loved her, and how incomplete he would be without her,“Remy," she called out again. He answered, startling her. She laughed that amazing laugh, and turned to face him.

"There you are," she said, eyes twinkling brighter than the highest spires of Heaven.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He stepped into the room.

"No fear," she said with a slight shake of her head as she reached out to take his hand.

Deep down he knew that this was all wrong, that Madeline had passed away three long weeks ago from cancer, but he couldn't help it, eagerly wrapping himself in the warmth of a lie.

Her hand was cold and wet and he was about to ask if everything was all right, when he realized how dark it had become in the room.

Black, like the inside of a cave.

And from outside he heard the sound of heavy rain.

A dog barking pulled Remy from his fantasy, and he left his wife, the darkness, and the rain to find himself sitting on the porch of the summer home, now in the grip of winter.

It was snowing, and the wind had carried the fluffy white stuff up onto the porch. It had even collected on him as he had sat unmoving. Remy brushed the snow from his arms and the top of his head and Marlowe barked again for his attention.

"Hey," Remy said. "Sorry about that, must've dozed off."

"No sleep," the black Labrador retriever said, reminding him that angels did not sleep.

Angels of the heavenly host Seraphim were not supposed to have human wives, summer cottages in Maine, or work as private investigators, either. But he did.

"I know, but I was dreaming," he said, remembering his wife's beautiful face and how the sudden darkness had tried to claim it.

"Rabbits?" the dog asked.

"No rabbits," Remy said. Snow had accumulated on the dog's shiny black coat and Remy started to brush it away. "Madeline."

Marlowe lowered his gaze. "Miss," he grumbled in his canine tongue.

As a member of God's heavenly host, Remy was able to understand the myriad languages of every living thing on Earth. But even if he could not, there was no mistaking how the animal was feeling, for Remy felt the very same way.

"I miss her, too," he said, reaching down to rub behind one of Marlowe's velvety-soft ears.

Since Madeline's passing, Remy and Marlowe had felt more than a bit lost. Remy had hoped a trip to the house in Maine might have been good for them both, a change of scenery. A needed distraction.

He took a deep breath and gazed out over the porch rail at the falling snow. "I'm not sure how great this idea was," he said and sighed.

It had been spring the last time they'd come, before everything had been thrown on its ear.

Before the cancer.

They'd had a wonderful weekend, taking the day off from the office and driving up early Thursday afternoon. He'd felt something special even then, remembering how he'd experienced a weird kind of euphoria as he'd gotten out of the car and hauled their bags from the trunk.

Madeline had already gone inside, leaving the door to their getaway wide open. And as he had climbed the stairs to the front porch, watching his wife move about, pulling up shades and opening windows to air away the winter staleness, Remy had experienced a moment of perfect contentment.

This was what he had been waiting over a millennium for.

It wasn't as though he hadn't been happy until then. He'd been on the earth for hundreds of thousands of years, and there had certainly been moments of happiness, but right then and there, at that specific moment, Remy Chandler was fulfilled.

Since leaving Heaven after the Great War against the Morningstar, he'd been searching for something. He'd always known he would find it on the Almighty's greatest experiment, among His most complex creations.

And he did—it had just taken a little while.

It had all started to fall into place when he'd made the decision to live as a human. Suppressing his angelic nature, Remy had walked among them—learning from them—trying so desperately to be one of them.

But it had taken a purpose, a job, to finally set him on the right path. Choosing the name Remy Chandler, the angel Remiel now worked as a private investigator, and had at last found what he had been searching for. The job allowed him to see every facet of humanity, the depravity, the cruelty, the kindness, the passion. It allowed him to observe and to learn from them, and for three hundred dollars a day plus expenses, he helped them.

He'd been around humans for what seemed like forever, but they still had so much to teach him. And that was never more obvious than when he had first met the woman who would eventually become his wife.

Madeline.

She'd shown him what it truly meant to be human. She be- came the anchor that allowed him to keep the nature of the divine being he truly was at bay. After all he had lost in the Great War, Madeline had become his island. She had become his Heaven.

Now she was gone, and he feared that the skin of his humanity would begin to slip away, to slough off like that of a reptile, revealing what he had always been beneath.

"We could have stayed in Boston and been just as miserable," he said to his companion while rubbing the top of the dog's blocky head.

And as if in response, the wind picked up, blowing snow across the porch, showing that the harsh New England season still had plenty of bite left.

Marlowe turned his nose into the breeze. "Cold," he said softly, but loud enough for Remy to hear.

"Is it?" Remy answered, not having allowed himself to feel much of anything since his wife had died.

The Labrador placed his face in Remy's lap.

Marlowe's pack was now incomplete, and Remy could only imagine how difficult it was for him to understand that Madeline wasn't coming home. It was like attempting to explain the concept of death to a very young child.

"Sad," the dog said, and it just about broke Remy's heart.

"I know, I'm sad, too." He bent forward to whisper softly, lovingly, into the animal's ear. "What would make you happy?"

"Madeline come back?" Marlowe lifted his head excitedly. His ears perked up, and his thick tail wagged so hard that Remy thought for sure the dog would topple over.

"No, Madeline can't come back."

He remembered the strange experience he'd just had, and the feeling of his wife's hand in his. It was almost as if she had been with him again.

He kissed the bony top of the dog's hard head. "I wish she could, but she can't. Is there anything else that would make you happy?" Remy asked his four-legged friend.

Marlowe thought for a moment. "Pig's ear," he said, an excited little tremor in his voice.

"A pig's ear?" Remy asked, pretending to be surprised. "That's just gross."

"Pig's ear good," the dog answered. His muscular tail continued to wag.

"Y'think?" Remy wrinkled his nose in an expression of distaste.

"Yes!" Marlowe barked, stepping back, at full attention now.

"All right, then." Remy pushed himself up from the chair. "Let's go get you a…"

He sensed it at pretty much the same time that Marlowe did, and the promise of a pig's ear was momentarily forgotten.

Marlowe started to growl, low and rumbling, the thick black fur around his neck and above his tail rising in caution.

Remy walked across the porch to the top of the stairs. He looked out at the woods surrounding the property, the cold wind causing the little vegetation that was able to survive the winter to sway and rustle.

In spite of how it looked, he knew that they were no longer alone.

There was a disturbance in the air near the driveway and Remy watched as a human figure gradually materialized in a walk toward them.

The male figure was tall, dressed in a finely tailored gray suit, but wasn't a man.

Marlowe was by Remy's side now, barking crazily.

"Quiet," he ordered. "It's all right."

"Greetings, Remiel," the angel Sariel said with the slightest hint of a bow. The angel was tall, his features pale and perfect, as if sculpted by a master from the finest Italian marble. He adjusted the sleeves of his suit jacket as he looked around him.

Sariel was the leader of a host of angels called the Grigori, messengers sent by Heaven in the earliest days of humanity to guide God's latest creations. They had became corrupted by the early decadence of man, and soon found themselves on the receiving end of the Lord's wrath.

The Grigori had been robbed of their wings and banished to Earth, there to await the Almighty's forgiveness before being allowed to once more pass through the gates of Heaven.

Sariel and his brothers had been waiting for a very long time.

"What can I do for you?" Remy asked the angel.

Marlowe continued to growl, his eyes locked upon the immaculately dressed angel standing in the snow-covered pathway leading up to the house.

"Is this where you've come to mourn?" Sariel asked.

"Excuse me?" Remy felt his anger begin to rise.

"I heard about your mate's passing," the Grigori leader stated flatly. "And I wonder if this is where you've come to mourn your loss?"

The dog was becoming extremely upset, and Remy reached over to place a calming hand atop his head.

"Shhhhhhhhh, now," Remy said, hoping to quiet his own growing anger as well.

"This is a private place," Remy told the angel. "Which poses the question of how you've come to find me here."

"Forgive the intrusion," Sariel said without an ounce of sincerity.

It was very difficult for Sariel to even pretend to understand what it was like to be human. The Grigori, and many of the other angelic beings that had come to walk the Earth, viewed the human race as just one more example of the myriad animal species that existed upon the surface of the world, refusing to acknowledge how special they truly were.

Refusing to acknowledge that they had been touched by God.

Remy was a rarity among heavenly beings, one who actually embraced humanity and strived to be a part of it.

"I do not wish to intrude upon your bereavement, but a matter of grave importance has arisen since last we saw one another," Sariel continued.

Just three weeks ago, the Grigori had helped Remy to avert the Apocalypse. Although their motive was selfish—for their fate if the world should die was uncertain at best—Sariel had gathered his Grigori brothers to help Remy prevent the release of the Four Horsemen.

"A matter of grave importance," Remy repeated. "Seems to be quite a bit of that going around these days."

Sariel stared, not understanding Remy's sarcasm.

"Why are you here, Sariel?" Remy asked, not even trying to hide his exasperation.

"The old man is dead," he replied.

"The old man… who… what old man?" Remy was confused, but then it dawned on him, the connection with the Grigori.

The old man.

"Noah?" Remy asked. "Noah is dead? How?"

Sariel adjusted his suit jacket, again tugging on his sleeves.

The cruel winter wind blew again, and with the chilling breeze came a taint of change in the air. A taint of something menacing. "He was murdered, Remiel," Sariel said. "The ark builder was murdered. “Before the Flood Unbeknownst to them, Remiel watched as they toiled, building the great wooden craft. Day after day he observed the old man, Noah, and his sons work on what gradually took the form of an enormous, roofed ship.

An ark.

Remiel had not been on the world of man for long, and he knew there was much still to explore, but he found that he could not leave.

The angel was fascinated, that fascination becoming even more pronounced when, in the early hours before dawn, he watched the old man approach the enormous vessel and begin to paint the magickal sigils upon its hull.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Remiel drew closer. He allowed himself to be seen, approaching the old man as he wrote with crimson fingers upon the hull of the great wooden craft.

"What are you doing?" Remiel asked, studying the marks, feeling the arcane energies radiating from the strange symbols of power.

"You startled me," Noah said, and Remiel felt the man's ancient eyes scrutinizing him, peeling away the deception that he was but a nomad from the desert.

That he was but a man.

Noah dropped to his knees, and immediately averted his eyes.

"Messenger of Heaven, I have done as He has asked of me. All nears readiness," the old man professed. "As soon as I have completed the symbols, we will be ready to accept the beasts of the land."

"You mistake me for someone else, old father," Remiel said, reaching down to take the man's hand and pull him to his feet.

"Are you not one of His winged children?" Noah asked.

Remiel's suspicions were correct, the old man could see through his disguise.

"You can see me?" he asked.

Noah slowly nodded.

Truly this human has been touched by God, the angel thought.

Remiel's attention returned to the ark and the sigils that the old man was painting on its surface.

"These are powerful magicks you play with," he said as he brought his hand close to one, feeling the energy emanating from it. "And did the Almighty bestow this knowledge upon you, as well, as the gift of sight?"

The old man dipped his fingers into the wooden bowl of bloodred paint and began to draw upon the ark again.

"As your brethren have brought me this most holy mission, they have also delivered unto me the means to achieve this enormous task," Noah went on, the symbols of power leaving his fingers in strange patterns of scarlet.