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I knew how to make a pancake. In fact, I knew, or at least had known every variation on the recipe that had been compiled in human script. The information was a fragment of what it had once been. I felt as if I'd been cleaved in two. I was splintered, altered, transfigured. I had never imagined going through the fire again. Allowing myself to be molded by it.
Uriel had not taken all my impurities. Couldn't. That was what it meant to be redeemed into this fallen world. It meant accepting pain. Allowing it, making peace with it. Forging of it a weapon with which to slay your enemies.
"You ladle it onto the pan like this," Michael said, raising an overlarge spoonful of batter over the appliance to demonstrate. He let it drip onto the skillet until it was the size of a silver dollar. He smiled fondly. "She likes them small like this. But you know that, of course."
Of course I did. I knew everything about her. Had been bound to her through the coin. Had enjoyed her spirit, her sharp wit. Had been as fond of her as our kind could be. And then she had changed the rules. She'd seen me sullied. Seen me, great and terrible and wreathed in blood and filth, and she'd decided to love me anyway. Magic, as old and profound as the cosmos, was ours for just one instant, and we'd made life.
"I know," I said quietly. "Do you truly want my help, Sir Knight, or do you want me to answer your questions? I cannot do both. I'm human, now."
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you? Human, I mean?"
I considered the question before sinking into a kitchen chair, watching him flip each cake with infinite patience. They'd turned a nice buttery yellow and were well on their way to a crisp gold.
"Yes and no," I said at last. "I'm like an egg. The shell is human. It's breakable. I can feel pain. Loss. But now I am allowed to feel the other things too. I can feel in human technicolor. I'm still an angel at my core. I can't change a truth that fundamental, but I can live alongside you now. Can understand you, aid you. Uriel left more of myself than the ordinary Watcher. I possess more power than I should. I am certain he means to use that power for a purpose."
Michael flipped another pancake. He wouldn't quite meet my eyes. Perhaps he feared he'd tip forward into them. He had every reason to be wary of me. I'd tried to kill him, more than once. But like his daughter, he had offered acceptance in his own, limited way.
"What purpose?"
"I can only give you my suspicions. Like I said, I'm limited. Language is cumbersome and imprecise."
He flipped a flapjack out of the pan and onto a plate. "Tell me."
"Love is a force of creation, yes?"
He nodded. "The very first force of creation."
I smiled faintly. Of course he'd think so. Molly had inherited her soft heart from her father.
"Creation is what we need in the face of what is coming. The other side has cheated. Allowed a subversion of the rules. Father will not subvert free will. Molly will have to decide if she wants to be healed. But if I restore her health, she will bear children. Spirit made flesh. Weapons to be forged for the war ahead. Demi-gods. Father trusts you to help shape them. To teach them kindness as well as strength."
He swallowed thickly. "God wants you to...do another immaculate conception?"
I laughed. "Hardly. It is the act of love that creates the soul. Magic does the rest. If she's healed, that seed will find a home in her. She will have children if we make love."
"God wants Molly to have kids?" he said, voice quiet. He'd stopped piling pancakes onto the plate.
"It isn't about what God wants," I said. "It's Molly's choice. I won't tell her just yet. She needs time. Safety. A plan."
Michael nodded just once. For the first time, I thought we might understand each other completely. I'd answered the question he'd been asking, beneath it all.
Are you going to hurt my little girl?
Because he loved her. Loved her as a Father should. Wanted to protect her from someone who'd hurt her. I'd told him that I would try. That I was imperfect.
Human.
Molly would choose the hard path. She always did. I would be there to walk it with her. I would support her. Create in her something beautiful. It was the purpose I'd chosen when I came back. Molly. Her line. Everything she loved. I would try to save my Father's creation. To give her children a life without fear. I could no longer guarantee it. I could not offer peace beyond understanding, but I could push for a kinder world. I could take her pain. Offer her a future intermingled with mine. If she wanted that. Wanted me.
"She is a part of me," I said quietly. "Our fates are tied together, whether you like it or not, Sir Knight. I know you wouldn't have wished me on your daughter. I certainly cannot blame you. I caused her pain. It's horrific, being helpless in the face of anguish. I never expected to feel it for one of you. For her, especially."
"What changed?"
If he'd asked nine days ago, I wouldn't have been able to give him the answer in terms humans could understand. But I'd had the whole of my second Fall to eke together some semblance of the explanation he was looking for.
Do you love her the way I do? With everything you are?
I smiled softly to myself.
"I can't ask him directly anymore, but I think...Father made her for me. Or me for her. All to reveal his plan for my kin, of course, the bloody showoff. The Fallen cannot return to Heaven. Not until the work is done. They can only return in flesh, the way I did. Watchers. He offered his son to reconcile with you. He gave you to reconcile with us. Absurd, infuriating, and beautiful humanity, with all its limitations and temper tantrums. It's undignified to love something so hopelessly small, which I presume Father chose this way to get back at us. He's a prick like that."
Michael's lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. "Lasciel."
"Sorry."
He sighed. "No, you're not. At least explain what you mean about the Watchers."
I shrugged. "I watch. I listen. I learn. I report back to Uriel when I am allowed. I am their cheat, after all. On the side of angels, but imperfect enough to bend rules. I am a soldier in His war again, so I could keep her. I asked Father for her. It's her choice, ultimately, but she values your good opinion. Ultimately, we're both daddy's girls at heart. She loves you. She would want your blessing."
He raised a brow. "Are you asking for my blessing to date my daughter, Lasciel?"
"No. I won't ask for permission to love her. But if she comes to you, seeking your approval, can you find it in your heart to forgive that I am a danger to your daughter and give her the answer she needs? If she chooses me, will you let me choose her?"
He was silent for a worryingly long time. He flipped flapjacks in contemplative quiet, absorbing what I'd said.
"You'll love her regardless of what she chooses? Care for her even if she decides she wants a normal life?"
"Yes."
It would hurt to be left on the periphery of her life, but I could bear it as long as she existed. As long as she radiated health and vitality.
"Swear it."
"Whatever power is left in me is hers, no matter what she chooses."
A beat.
"Will she be happy?"
"Yes. She's earned that."
A strangled laugh and then, "Then I give my blessing to you, Lasciel. If she chooses you, I'll trust her judgment. I'll love my grandchildren. I will trust that God has a plan, even if I don't understand it." He gave me a half-amused smile. "I suppose that makes us family."
I shrugged, not entirely able to hide my answering grin. "I suppose I could do worse for a father-in-law."