Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

116 :: JOHN R. MABRY
violence to an angel, and breaking and entering Heaven?”
Terry asked, mock-bitchily.
“Okay, okay...” Kat trailed off, feeling a little pathetic for
her lunge at hope.
“Hey, gang,” called Brian, “chips, salsa, and my famous
guacamole are on the kitchen table when you need a break.”
“Thanks, honey,” said Terry. He leaned over and grabbed
Brian’s pant leg and pulled him towards him, wrapping his
arm around Brian’s legs and holding him still as everyone
concentrated on Astrid. Brian played with Terry’s tonsure
and waited with them.
“He’s going into another building. It’s still large, but not
as large. It’s very old, though, older than the Hall of Records,
or as old at least. I can’t see a sign yet....”
They all waited breathlessly.
“Okay, there’s one. It’s in Enochian, of course. Aziazior—
that mean anything to you, Terry?”
“Yeah, it means ‘forms,’” Terry answered quickly. “A
pretty common word, actually, as the angels use it in a number
of different contexts. It’s synonymous with our words
‘likeness,’ ‘image,’ ‘archetype,’ ‘symbol,’ ‘shape,’ ‘projection,’
and a whole bunch of others, but you get the idea.”
“Yeah,” said Richard. “Is he going in?”
“It looks like he is...yes, he’s headed up the stairs. Not
gracefully, mind you. In fact, as I get closer to him, he looks
like he’s in a lot of pain.”
Susan reached over and squeezed Kat’s hand.
“But he’s soldiering on,” Astrid said. “I’m going to try to
follow him into the building. Sometimes I can and sometimes
I can’t....”
“Do your best,” Richard implored.
“So what is this ‘Forms’ place?” Kat asked, trying to cap
the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm her.