After a quick phone call to his twin brother, the Archangel hurried out of his office, forgetting to put on his lapel coat. He wore a tunic shirt and comfortable slacks. The Choirs had signaled a distressed siren, allowing only their race to hear it.
An emergency meeting about the lights going out in San Francisco and Los Angeles felt imperative to discuss. Many Choirs had thought idiotic humans tampered with the electric powers in the cities, but where the Devil and Archangel resided was too much of a coincidence.
On the way to talk with his angels, Michael ambled upstairs in his leatherette boots that tapped against the glass staircase. His brother’s cooperative response had surprised him during the phone call, which confirmed the lights were out in Los Angeles, but he had hung up, obviously expecting his good twin brother to deal with the mess.
Michael sauntered into the room, preparing for outrageous comments and his people demanding what to do next. Instead, he got a room full of anxious Choirs with John and Daniel standing next to where he sat. Silence filled the room, and everyone waited for what he had to say.
The Archangel gripped his chair and announced, “If you have heard that the lights of San Francisco and Los Angeles going out, that is correct.” He didn’t wait for a response and kept on saying, “We have our suspicions that this Gala has turned off the lights. Please keep this meeting to ourselves. I suspect that this Gala’s motives are to stir out trouble among us and get us rallied up.”
An irritated Choir named Joseph barked out, wearing a colorful rainbow coat, “Brother Michael, is this Gala, Thomas Pitch?”
Most of the Choirs nodded, wondering the same thing.
“No,” Michael responded immediately, but then he added, “we have not figured out who this Gala is.”
“John told us that Katerina had bumped into this Gala; might it be best to talk to her?” Sister Christian chimed in.
Michael flickered a glare at John, a snarl completing his already frustrated expression. He had told his fellow sidekicks not to tell anyone Kate had bumped into this person. He wished to keep her privacy and that of the Gala as secret as possible.
He authoritatively jerked his chin, seeing the Choirs glancing at each other uneasily. He stared at John and said, “Again, I would appreciate keeping this conversation between us until further notice.”
“What about the—” started another Choir with a diamond vest.
Michael raised his hand to stop his siblings from spurting out questions. They clammed their mouths shut. His golden eyes glimmered at their frantic stares.
He replied with a reassuring tone, “I will have Brother Daniel text Harmonies to keep going on their business, and when they are out, they need to be extra vigilant in looking for presumably a shapeshifter that looks like Thomas Pitch. If things get worse, we will deal with it.”
A Choir in a clean slop strode over to her brother, a polished pirate hat cocked to one side, hiding her face. She pulled out a rusty knife and twirled the blade on the marble table. With an eyepatch and muskets strapped to her hips, Jenny stared up at her leader.
Her accent was rugged and thick western. “Arr Michael, what are we going to do about that damned pain-kicking shapeshifter? We can’t let him loose.” She uncorked a bottle of alcohol, chugging it. Jenny slammed the drink down, wiping her mouth. “That’s damn disgusting; you want to try, Brother Michael?”
“I’m good; thank you, Sister Jenny,” replied Michael. He wasn’t expecting her to be at the meeting; she was one of the few Choirs that looted for gold, bouncing from boats to cruises, and hadn’t lost her way during the Golden Age. She only stole from the rich, so based on Robin Hood with an angelic and pirate touch.
“Aye, are we going to let the humans deal with fixing the city lights?” asked Jenny, literally flickering the bottom of the blade, and the knife flew in the air. She kicked it out of her boot and grabbed it mid-air. A showoff in front of her siblings. Just because they were Choirs, doesn’t mean they weren’t competitive.
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“For now, humans may be weak, but they can be great at adapting through crises,” Michael answered. He raised his eyebrows, seeing Sister Jenny scanning up and down, looking at his neck, then at his ears, and lastly at his fingers. “This isn’t a time for stealing.”
Jenny frowned and then laughed dryly. “I would never steal from you, brother!” She hopped off the table, sneaking past her siblings. She was nimble as she snatched from pockets with no one noticing, bumping into Choirs with an apologetic pout while she stole wallets. She took from the rich most of the time, but she couldn’t resist a good robbery from her snobby siblings.
Immortals found some kind of hobby to amuse themselves to pass the time. Sister Jenny chose to live adventurously and a bit on the dangerous side, even if she was a wanted criminal in the human world.
And if people judged her, she flipped them the bird, which was very angelic of her.
Sister Christian cleared her throat respectfully once Jenny sat back in her chair, a quite reckless Choir that only appeared to meetings for no apparent reason—Christian clasped her hands together, “Brother Michael, we have to consider if Pitch is alive.”
Before the world had gotten modernized with technology and less informality, any Gala would greet Choirs by calling them Sister or Brother for respect; however, the Harmonies kept getting annoyed at always needing assistance from the Choirs and having to greet them so formally.
That made the Galas feel inferior to the Choirs, causing a conservatory debate. When Prowlers left the Sanctums, they felt unimportant to the Choirs besides getting rid of Infernals.
The angelic race refused to be named differently, and the Seers had decided to pass the word that the Harmonies should feel in unison and not apart; the Realms should be homes. Thus, creating a nurturing bond among Orchestras, Prowlers, and Choirs.
Nevertheless, older and more serious Choirs were adamant about the courtesy of religious siblinghood, thinking they were entitled to be creatures of the Conductor’s army. Although most Choirs didn’t care either way, Harmonies had forgotten the traditional ways.
However, in gathering to discuss matters, it was a custom among the Choirs to call each other sisters or brothers to remind them that they shared the same Conductor, blood, and goals.
“We have to consider all the possibilities,” Sister Christian muttered softly. A bandeau covered her hair, and a veil hid her face. A silver crucifix dangled on her neck, which she held tightly. It marked the cross on her palms: “We are on the fact that this Gala is a shapeshifter, and we have no reasons to think otherwise, but they can’t harness powers like Pitch; they can only barely mimic his telekinesis at best.”
“Brother Michael, you say this may be a shapeshifter, but there is no way one could turn off the lights of San Francisco and Los Angeles.” Sister Christian pressed on, “I don’t even know any normal magical Gala could turn off lights in different cities at once, and certainly not a shapeshifter.”
“Shapeshifters don’t have different levels of powers, unlike wizards and witches. Maybe a warlock with their much higher intensity of powers could manage to switch the lights off, but one couldn’t right away do that without years of experience with their magic.”
Daniel proposed, leaning his hands on the long marbled table. “An extremely powerful Gala no doubt has done this. It’s no coincidence that both cities’ lights have gone off.”
He chewed his lips, glancing at his brother, and then back at the rest of the Choirs. “Back when Pitch worked with Lucifer, he never did something so absurd. If he is alive and we have no evidence besides Katerina and Lucifer claiming someone looking like Thomas Pitch in Hell caused destruction, what would be the point of it?”
“This Gala wants attention,” sneered John.
“Gar, attention or not, the Harmonies walk a rusty plank to serve those salvaged humans!” Jenny remarked, planting her boot in an armchair with a thud. “The damn reason why we built the Realms is to protect Galas needing haven and serve those selfless humans.”
“If that scurvy dog, a High-ranking warlock, is still alive, I have my uncertainties he would destroy everything he worked for centuries without a thought. Even though that darn Pitch was a pain-kicking Infernal back then, he never screwed up the balance of humanity. Pitch continued his duty as a High-warlock and seemed to genuinely care.”
Jenny raised her head confidently, titling her pirate hat further. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”
No one argued with Sister Jenny, but everyone in the room had a hard time wrapping their heads around the possibility of Pitch being alive.
“Pitch is dead. Period. Yet, what if another rising warlock who knows their boundaries around magic doesn’t care about the balance? Like John stated, doing this for attention and wanting for fun,” suggested Joseph.
Sister Christian turned to the Archangel, inquiring, “How about that boy next heir for High-warlock, Timothy Watt? Do you think he has anything to do with this?”