Even Gabriel had to admit it wasn’t a bad tactic, because he would have gladly licked all the way up Abaddon’s spine and kissed every feather on the tattooed wings, but he wasn’t a mindless animal. To make his point, he started putting on clothes.
“You have no right to police me. Those people tortured me. I was a child—” He was shocked to find his voice breaking, so he stopped talking altogether.
He hated the silence that followed, but the gentle touch of Abaddon’s hand was possibly worse. “Don’t touch me!” he growled, the tone of his voice so hostile Cloud bristled, turning back his ears in alarm.
“Gabriel—”
“People have been telling me what to do all my life. I think it’s time I make my own choices, regardless of whether they lead me to prison or not!” He pulled on his hoodie so aggressively the slider of its zipper snapped off.
But Abaddon wouldn’t leave him be and stepped in Gabriel’s way like a boulder falling down a steep ravine to block the only passage. “What’s the point of risking the rest of your life for those heretics, huh? You say that you don’t care what happens, but I won’t let you throw away the time you have left on those swines!”
Gabriel wouldn’t look up, but even in the face of the angel’s anger he didn’t feel afraid for his safety. Abaddon might think he knew better, but he would never hurt an innocent.
“That’s why I suggested faking an accident,” Gabriel said through clenched teeth.
Abaddon’s mouth tightened, but he shook his head and squared his shoulders, as if wanting to appear yet more imposing. “I already let you in on my plans. I let you help me, but I can’t let you stain your conscience like that!”
“Let me help… It should be my choice,” Gabriel grumbled and pushed past him in a sour mood. His conscience was a muddy mess stained by disposing of two bodies and endless revenge fantasies.
After having his free will stifled all his life, he was not okay with allowing this to continue, even if his champion was involved. This was his path to forge, and no one knew better than him where it was to lead.
“Gabriel… you need to listen to reason,” Abaddon started.
“Are you that voice of reason? Hardly. I have to go to work.”
“God will know if you choose the wrong course,” Abaddon warned, but Gabriel was already out of the door.
“Where was God ten years ago?” he grumbled to himself and stuck his hands into his pockets.
Abaddon would have the sense to not leave the room naked, but unless Gabriel hurried, his guardian angel would chase him down somewhere in the house, and he didn’t want to waste time and energy on an infuriating conversation. So he pulled the sleeves lower on his wrists and sprinted all the way to the exit.
The sunshine assaulted him with its rays. From afar, he could already see Mrs. Knight working hard in the garden in her straw hat. Sister Beatrice wagged her finger at a little girl who ran back to her group of kids playing ball in the grass nearby. Gabriel could only hope the nun would not bother him today, because his sour mood might not take it well.
He wouldn’t be so lucky.
“Gabriel! What are you waiting for? We’ve started work twenty minutes ago. The food on our tables doesn’t just magically appear,” Sister Beatrice hollered, wiping sweat off her forehead. She did hold a rake in one hand but seemed to use it for support rather than garden work.
The children all looked his way, as always curious about the young man who lived in the same house yet wasn’t allowed to interact with them. He bet they’d come up with many outrageous legends about him, like the children had about the old janitor in Gabriel’s own time at the orphanage.
“I’m sorry, got held up,” he mumbled, angry with himself over apologizing in the first place. He straightened and met her dark eyes. “I would know where food comes from since I’m the one to cook it.”
She froze, even more statuesque than usual. She’d gained weight in the last few months, but that didn’t take away from the cold beauty of her face. While her hair was covered by a dark veil, and her body hid under the long habit, instead of making her seem less imposing, the outfit was her armor.
Because who would dare to raise their voice at a nun?
“I see you’re having aggression issues,” she hissed like the snake that she was, and once again wiped her face off sweat that made her complexion shine like polished ebony. “I shall report my concerns to doctor Rogers once he’s back from his trip. Who would have thought Mr. Mouse grew such sharp teeth.”
Gabriel scowled but couldn’t help the dark satisfaction in his gut. Dr. Rogers wasn’t returning to work unless the Devil brought him back from the dead. He was about to snap at her when Mrs. Knight threw a couple of parsnips into a bucket and rose from her crouch, calling him over with a wave.