Archangel's Storm

26

Raphael considered the discussion he’d just had with Jason, and made the decision to put through a call to Caliane. His mother had initially been resistant to utilizing any kind of modern communications equipment, but after he’d refused to communicate with her using raw power, she had finally acquiesced to a small suite Naasir and Isabel had put in place.

Now, Raphael waited as the angel on duty went to retrieve Caliane.

“Raphael.” Eyes shining with love, she reached out toward the screen as she always did, as if she would touch him. “My son.”

“Mother.” So long had he thought her forever lost that each time he spoke to her, it was a kick to the gut, an ache in his heart. “I would ask you a question.”

“First, you must answer one of mine.” The order of an archangel who had been alive for an eon before her Sleep. “When can I next expect my son’s presence?” She waved her hand. “And I do not mean through this device.”

“I cannot leave the Tower until one of the senior Seven return.”

“The beautiful blue one. He is certainly not weak.”

No, Illium was in no way weak, but his power had been growing in unpredictable jolts; enough that he didn’t quite have a handle on his new strength. “Mother,” he said gently, for he would give her honor until and unless her terrible madness returned, “I am your son, but I am also Cadre. Do not attempt to run my Tower, and I will not attempt to run your city.”

Caliane’s gaze burned a dramatic blue flame, the glow deadly. “And should I decide to visit you, what then?”

“I and my consort would welcome you.”

“So you intend to continue the liaison? I could break her in a finger snap.”

“Then I would have to kill you—as I will do if I ever consider you a threat to Elena.” His mother was an Ancient, used to getting her way and to seeing him as a child. She needed to remember that the boy she’d left bleeding and broken and heartsick on a green field far from civilization was long gone. “I am not who I once was.”

The glow dimmed, melancholy in every line of her face, and he knew she relived the same memories. “Ask your question, Raphael.”

He spoke to her of the “Cascade,” saw immediate comprehension. “So”—a whisper that held the weight of too much knowledge—“it’s true. I’d begun to sense the signs but had hoped I was wrong.” Hair the shade she’d bequeathed him tumbled over her shoulders as she shook her head.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“It is exactly what the Refuge Historian believes it to be—a confluence of time and certain critical events that has ignited a power surge in the Cadre. Some will gain strength, while others will be reborn with new abilities. There is no way to predict the outcome, and many of these abilities will be erratic at best, have catastrophic effects at worst.”

“The Cadre may be able to weather the change successfully now that we have this knowledge.”

Caliane’s expression was suddenly old, so very old that he could believe Lijuan was right, that his mother had lived two hundred and fifty thousand years. “Yes, but you see, it was during the last Cascade that I believe I first became touched with madness, though I did not know it then, for it was an insidious intruder hiding within. There is no way to protect against such a change.”