It's a Wonderful Death - Sarah J. Schmitt Page 0,25
Tribunal Room is set up to look like a courtroom. Two tables face a large platform desk, and there is a galley where spectators can watch the proceedings. The seats of the gallery are empty, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s nerve-racking enough to defend why I should get back the life that someone stole from me, but to do so in front of a crowd would probably kill me. That is, if I weren’t already dead.
“We sit here,” Sal says, directing me to one of the tables. My hands are shaking as I pull out the chair, and Sal gives me a wide, open smile. “Take a moment to calm yourself. The Tribunal would never have been convened if Azrael didn’t see some merit in your situation.”
The flutter of wings and swoosh of wind alerts me that we’re no longer alone.
“Salathiel,” the new arrival says. I spin around to find an angel with golden hair that reminds me of the sunset on a warm summer night.
A flash of irritation fires up in Sal’s eyes. “Zachriel,” he says curtly.
I give Sal a questioning look and he pulls me up by the elbow and leads me to a door. Once inside the small room, he waits until the door latches behind us before asking, “What did Hazel tell you about Zachriel?”
“Just that he can access memories,” I say with a shrug.
He nods. “He’ll use them against you if he can.”
“How?” I ask. Why is it that almost everyone opposes me getting every single second of life that I had coming to me?
“You can never tell, but rest assured, he will. Be ready. No secret is safe with him around.” He cocks his head to the side. “We better go.”
I dutifully follow him, wondering if there is any chance I could run back to the terminal and stow away on the train back to the mortal plane. Of course, there is one fatal flaw in my plan. I have no idea how to find my way back to the terminal.
“The Tribunal will convene momentarily to discuss the matter of Rowena Joy Jones,” a voice bellows. I look around for speakers or some other source for the sound but see none.
“Come on,” Sal says through a comforting smile. With a sigh of resignation, I follow him back to our table. Zachriel is sitting in his chair, eyes shut and hands resting gently in his lap.
No sooner are we in our seats than the thunder of flapping wings forces me to cover my ears. The three angels Yeats warned me about land on the platform. Talk about making an entrance.
Without so much as a hello, the angel in the middle speaks. “We have been summoned by Azrael to conclude the matter surrounding this human’s complaint.”
Wait a minute. How can they conclude something before it begins? I look at Sal, but his eyes are fixed on the three authoritative figures.
“We will hear from Salathiel first.” The angel doing all the talking must be Azbaugh. He has that bored yet hostile look I use when I have to do something I don’t want to do. Plus, he looks judgmental and bossy. “You will present the situation as you know it. We will ask questions. Zachriel will close with his recommendation as to why the request to return this girl to her life should or should not be granted. Then we will make our decision.”
Maybe it’s my imagination but did he just emphasize should not?
“Wait,” I say, leaning forward in my seat. “Don’t I get to speak?” I mean the words for Sal, but the last part comes out a little louder than intended.
Sal puts a hand on my arm and clamps down hard. I turn toward him and there’s this expression on his face that’s a mixture of irritation and fear. “Quiet,” he hisses.
Before I can say anything, Azbaugh’s voice explodes across the empty room. “You will only speak when spoken to. Salathiel should have already explained this to you.” He looks down his nose at me, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
When I glance back at Sal, he’s looking straight ahead, unwilling or maybe unable to talk or even look at me.
“Furthermore,” Azbaugh continues, “you will show respect while you are before us. We are not an elevated human spirit or a Greek dog sitter. We are angels of the highest orders. Make no mistake. I do not care whether your request is granted or not.