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The only one who knew my human identity was the very one who’d made me ascend—Azrael, the Angel of Death. And while he would sometimes show up and check in with me, getting any information out of him about me prior to my transformation was impossible.
He knew, and he wouldn’t tell me.
It made me want to punch him.
“You know,” Naamah said, derailing my rusty train of thought, “speaking of power. Why don’t you try again?”
“Because it would end in the same debacle as last time?” I groused, still remembering the way I’d utterly failed in the competition for more power and a higher rank. “I haven’t been able to improve my skills at all. I mean, I’ve been practicing, and I spar with others as much as time allows, but they’re not interested in helping me get better. They’re all mostly on my level, and all they want is to hone their own skills so they will come out on top during the next competition. I don’t learn anything when I spar with them. I’d need a real coach or teacher or whatever, but it’s not like anyone’s volunteering.” I pressed my lips together and exhaled heavily through my nose. “All the angels of higher rank with the knowledge and ability to help me improve my combat skills have better things to do than to perform charity work for an insignificant virtue.”
There were generally two ways to move up in rank and/or power. Either an angel matured over time, and their innate strength increased naturally to the point where they surpassed their current rank, and then superior angels would elevate their status to reflect their new abilities—which was usually an evolution of thousands of years, though. Or an angel could participate in a competition held precisely for the purpose of funneling deserving angels upward in rank and powers.
In these competitions, which were held regularly every couple of months, winning against an opponent bestowed additional power unto the angel. In a way, the victor kind of absorbed part of the defeated angel’s magic, supplementing their own. The increase in power warranted a higher rank for the winner, and along with it, more privileges, like the coveted visits to Earth, for example.
Lore had it that Heaven had set up these competitions as a way to keep angels hungry and ambitious, and, above all, well trained in combat for the inevitable, if far off, moment when war would break out with Hell again.
Which, looking at the not-too-long-ago incident with Lilith’s murder and Lucifer’s subsequent attempt at unleashing Hell on Earth, wasn’t that bad an idea after all. The Devil’s forces were formidable, from what I’d heard, and he might have even won the war if Heaven hadn’t offered to pardon Naamah.
So, obviously, Heaven was very interested in keeping their own forces battle-ready.
The competitions were a way to fuel that, and accordingly, combat skills played a big role in the tests.
Unfortunately for me, I could swing a sword just well enough not to take my own eye out.
“Yeah,” Naamah said, pulling me out of my musing, “most of the higher-ranking chaps are really stuck up, aren’t they?”
“Not you, though.”
“Maybe it helps that I wasn’t born an angel.” She wiggled her brows. “And it is much more fun to remove everybody else’s stick from their asses than to have one up mine.”
I choked on my breath and then bent over laughing.
“You know I’d teach you myself,” she said when I straightened again, “but I’m not that skilled at fighting, actually. I’ve got a lot of power.” She rolled her wrist and twitched her fingers, and magic sparked in the air, heavy and biting. “And I can blast any opponent from here to Earth. When it comes to fighting technique, though…eh. I’ve never had need of it.”
“I know, and I wouldn’t expect you to train me.”
She sent me a sly look. “I could still help you, though.”
I raised a brow.
“Turns out there is an angel with enough knowledge to properly train you who just so happens to owe me a favor.”
I raised the second brow.
Naamah and her favors… In the time since she’d ascended, she’d managed to build an impressive network of angels who were favor-bound to her in one way or another. Officially, everyone’s loyalty was to Heaven first, of course, then second to the higher-ranking angel someone directly followed, and then to that angel’s immediate superior, and so on.
Unofficially, a favor given had to be repaid, by magical right. Reneging on one’s word or refusing to settle a debt would be met with consequences that superseded even Heaven’s control. Promises and debts and favors among angels weren’t simply words; they were contracts enforceable by supernatural law, and we were bound to the conditions as if with physical force.
And somehow, Naamah had built a small empire within Heaven of those who were compelled to be loyal to her through the favor they owed her. When I’d asked her how she’d managed that, she’d winked and said, “I am my father’s daughter, after all.”
“You’d order this angel to train me?” I asked her now, staring at her in disbelief, my heart jumping at the prospect of maybe, finally, having a real fighting chance. Literally. “You’d give up one of your owed favors for me?”
Her slender shoulders rose and fell as she shrugged, a beatific smile on her face. “It’s just one of many. It’s not like I’d feel the loss. Besides, I do hate seeing you struggle in your current conditions. The only way for you to better your station in life is to win one of the competitions and acquire more power. If you don’t, you’ll be stuck at this rank and in this”—she waved uncertainly around the room, pity pinching her expression—“sad excuse for privacy.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the catch?”
I’d lived here in Heaven long enough to know that everything came at a price. Exhibit A: Naamah’s network of favor-bound angels.
“No catch. We’re friends, and I don’t charge my friends.”
