19.7

 Writer's Note: This whole chapter is mostly bollocks and literary wanking. I may cut most of it out in the edit.

“We don’t have free will as angels?” She raised an eyebrow. “I thought free will was the whole point?”

“We have… discretional leeway,” the artist said. “Although any decisions not in line with the Creator’s guidelines are liable to be be scrutinised by the Recording Angels.”

Steve looked up at that point, his eyebrows raised. He held one finger vertically, as if to ask a kindergarten teacher if he could go to the bathroom and, sensing a lull in the narrative, asked a question: “Then what happens?”

The artist did not bother to cover his irritation with the question. “If they agree with us then all is well. It they do not agree, then certain countermeasures are put in place.”

Steve shrugged. “Such as?”

“Consequences vary. Our decision might stand, but with liens and stipulations placed upon it, such as the applicant can have his life extended but only be able to make decisions to the benefit of others or it might be reversed entirely, which means a revisit to before the moment of the decision and the application of their revised authority. In such a case Creation is rewritten to expunge the offending data.”

“What would be the effect of that? Would we even notice?”

“Unlikely. You might spot the overlay of two possible outcomes, but nothing more.”

“And what would that look like?”

“It would look as though you’d lived that moment before.”

“You mean déjà vu?”

“Quite.”

“Excuse me,” Roisin smiled politely at them both. “Much as I enjoy watching you chat about the consequences of life-and-death decisions made by Death himself; I’d like to point out that I’m a fucking angel and I was in the middle of a conversation with myself.”

“Sorry.” Steve had the good grace to look sheepish. “I couldn’t help but ask about some aspects of my research.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at the other two. The assistant was looking after Paul, who was still curled in a foetal position with his eyes closed. She turned back to the artist. “What happened after the flood?”

“We were judged by the Creator.” The artist sighed. “We were deemed guilty of hubris and split into our respective parts to teach us humility. This was a while ago, obviously.”

“Our respective parts?” Roisin frowned. “How many of us are there, exactly?”

“We are Four.” The artist looked uncomfortable. It was reminiscent of the time she’d caught up to her father in a pub in Lewisham to ask him why he’d walked out on his wife and child, and he’d replied by looking at his watch and saying. “Is it after six already? I’m late for an appointment.” On the other hand, the Artist was an angel with the power to step anywhere in time so who was he kidding?

“Where are the others?”

“Everywhere at once, and nowhere at all.” The Artist spread his hands, as if to encompass the world. “They are always busy. The Principalities have been systematically hunting the remaining Children and returning their essences to the Cycle. That’s what woke you up, I suspect. You absorbed one of them and became more aware of your true nature, which in turn attracted you to the others. It’s lucky that we’ve been keeping an eye on you. Almost every other time this has happened the host’s mind has separated from reality rather than face the fact that they’re host to a Celestial being.”

“What happens to them?”

“They’re taken care of.”

“Sounds a bit harsh.”

“No. We mean that they are looked after. Cared for. Away from harm.”

“Usually drugged and lobotomised,” added Steve. He backed away a step when Roisin glared at him. “By doctors and care professionals, obviously. Otherwise, they gather an army and declare war on England.” He held up his hands. “Just saying. I’m something of a history buff, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“The Paintings? They are the Children, aren’t they? You hid them From the Creator in your paintings. That’s why they shift and move and become agitated. That’s why they recognised me and reacted; it’s because they thought I was you.”

“Yes, though they have been bound for a long time and are becoming restless. I told you to stay away from them, but I was too late. The Principalities connected the Children to you and sent Yabamiah to return us to the Void. Had you not defeated him, he would have become all the stronger and come to challenge me.”

“You said We were four. We are you, and I and who else?” Roisin looked back at the Artist. “Where are the others?”

He shrugged as if the answer were perfectly obvious. “Hard at work in the middle east, though they travel a lot.”

Roisin tilted her head. She might be an angel, but she was also a human running short of patience. “Who?”

“War, of course, and Death.”