I finished my cigarette and stubbed it out beneath my foot, watching closely as people scattered left, right and centre in the process of converting the hotel into something approaching a defensible fort. I was happy to stand back from the process, observing and noting names and faces as people called out to each other.

The real object of my focused attention was, as always, Ishamel. How could it have been anything else? His very presence was like a very localized migraine in the back of my skull. I noted the group forming for an expedition and for one brief moment of madness was tempted to step forward and join in. I refrained though at the last minute. Time spent near Ishmael was dangerous enough without walking right by his side.

So why don't you just leave? Came the wry thought from the back of my mind. I couldn't help but grin. I really was a sucker for punishment. The pressure in the back of my head lessened as Ishmael left with a few others that I recognized - the driver, that young lapdog girl of his, that rather gorgeous looking woman our ragtag convoy had picked up earlier...

My rather blatant admiring of her legs was cut short by an Australian accent lancing across my ear. "Oi, newbie, give us a hand with this, will ya?" I turned to look behind me to find a rather heavy set man struggling with a goods crate of some description. It didn't take long for both of us to get a decent grip on the think and haul it back into the hotel lobby proper. The man held out his hand and I shook it firmly. He introduced himself as Greg Cooper, asked my name. Lucem, I replied. Lucem Ferre. Lu, to my friends.

He expressed some interest over my unusual name. Hippie parents, I explained, with the requisite eye roll. This drew a laugh from Greg and as we continued about the hotel performing odd jobs we were soon bantering away like old friends rather then men who had met ten minutes ago. What can I say? I'm a people person.

We were up on the third floor performing a sweep to see if anything was salvagable from the vending machines when it hit me like a hammer blow to the back of the head, a searing white pain that dropped me to my knees. Greg's cry of alarm was lost in a whirl of memories and feelings swirling through my head.

Uriel's presence - that continued pressure at the back of my head - was low-key compared to what had just erupted full force in my mind. I couldn't guard against it like this, wasn't ready for it, wasn't it expecting it. Or him. Raphael. And then in an instant the presence was gone again. The fire racing through my brain extinguished.

I hauled myself to my feet, took a step and then stood dead still in my tracks as I heard the unpleasant click of a gun being cocked. I turned to find Greg standing, braced in a firing position, gun levelled right at my head. "When did you get bitten, Lu?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"Ah..Greg...that was nothing. Just a..migraine. Not an infection." I chose my words carefully, placatingly, hands raised. Greg narrowed his eyes, shook his head slightly. "Bull****, man, you were ****ing glowing when you hit the floor. I'm sorry, Lu, I really am..."

Not as sorry as I was. I sighed and mentally crossed my fingers that Uriel wasn't close enough to pick this up.

DROP THE GUN, GREG

My voice reverberated through the air in a tone and pitch that a human voice would have no hope of matching. When I spoke normally I used a tiny version of this full effect. It made me likeable, trustworthy, persuasive. When I used it completely, well...

Greg's eyes glazed over, his gun dropped from his now entirely limp hand.

YOU WILL FORGET WHAT YOU JUST SAW

He blinked once or twice, shook his head as his brain struggled to fight against and overwhelming presence, then did the only thing he could - he submitted. When he looked at me again it was like a man coming out of a deep sleep. "Ugh...****, sorry, I zoned out...what did you say, Lu?"

I laughed, all smiles and friendship again, pointed out that he had dropped his gun ("I don't even remember drawing it...Christ, maybe I need a nap...") and we set to work about our assigned task. I don't remember the sun setting - it must have happened fast - but I do remember sprinting with Greg and the man who had come to get us, down into the entrance courtyard of the hotel, the expedition returning with a mob of the dead behind them...

My eye caught Ishmael's for a moment and I had to fight hard not to flinch. Uriel was known in some scriptures as The Fire of God. It was easy to see why. I stepped forward, making a decision at that moment that I desperately hoped I would not regret.My voice was pitched low, aimed directly at Ishmael, carrying hopefully to only him and him alone. "Uriel... how can I help?" I could already feel the glow welling up inside of me. How radiant I must have seemed to a creature like him.