The Archangel finished answering emails on his laptop and reclined in his desk chair with a contented sigh. His daughter was resting on his lap. He glanced at her pale skin, thinking she looked more pallid than normal. She curled against him, sleeping away, her chest rising and falling, evenly. Sara’s hair, looking like spilled ink, waved around her.

Michael’s office took about one-fifth of the Harmony Sanctum. The room was composed of a fireplace, its structure was white marble. There were pearl sofas and coffee tables that had Choirs designed on them placed in front of the hearth. Bookshelves filled with documents, folders, Bibles, and historical books lined along the wall. There were cushioned chairs and glass circle tables were set near the bookcases.

The floor had chiffon birch wood, and in the center of the room was a large white rug with golden swirls. In front of the two window walls was his desk, where he kept everything neatly organized. The other two walls were painted white and had golden picture rails and crowns, with a golden swirling motif on the friezes and baseboards. In the office, laced curtains were drawn back, revealing the night sky, forest, and parking garages.

He always enjoyed the way his office looked and designed for him. It suited his taste and kept him professional. Any Harmony could walk in and strike up conversations if they wanted to, and he always welcomed it. Yet, there weren’t many Harmonies that stepped into his office for a chitchat, only some Choirs to talk about business or his sidekicks saying hi and telling him where they were off.

Michael enjoyed the blissful silence in his office most of the time because when he stepped foot outside of his office, it was not to take a stroll around the Celestial Realm but to go to meetings, speak with the Harmonies, and make sure they were happy, and deal with any Galas that were destroying the world with their powers.

He groaned just thinking about it, and spending time in his office was only for a few hours if he was fortunate enough. Even in his office, Michael would review files and documents about the death tolls and complaints from the Harmonies and Galas around the world, sending most of the letters to his Choir to respond. He would write back if he found a true issue that caught his eye.

And that was barely the scratch on the surface of what Michael consistently poured out day after day.

At least he had his daughter to talk to about his work, and that gave him much happiness to express what he faced every day. Not like he was complaining, but more reflecting on what he did. He enjoyed being the Archangel and saving the world. That was what he was meant to do.

After he finished his emails, he had leisure time to read a romantic book his daughter selected for him. He wasn't fond of romance, but he cherished all genres that Sara presented him. Just as he was flipping the book open, the doors flashed open, and in walked his sidekick, who was more like his other daughter, Katerina Dixon.

After Kate declared that Pitch was alive, the book in his hands dropped to the floor, and he breathed out with blinked eyes, “What?” He snapped his fingers, and the book appeared on his desk. Glad his daughter was asleep or she would’ve gotten upset, he dropped a book on the floor.

He could already hear her reply: “You are going to ruin the cover and damage the pages!”

Kate shuffled her feet, her boyfriend placing a comforting hand on her. She repeated it but with more context. “A Gala attacked me who looked exactly like Pitch.”

Before Michael could cut in, she continued, “I am pretty sure he isn’t a shapeshifter, because they can mimic only a few powers of what that Gala can do. He was playing magic like Pitch was. I only remember him since I was nine, but I heard what kind of magic he could do.”

Sara let out a stretch. “What’s wrong?”

He loved his daughter, but this news was imperative. Michael pushed her off her lap. “Kate was just telling me that Pitch is alive.”

A slight redness came to the surface of the older Prowler’s cheeks. She stared down, responding softly, “Sorry, I might be overreacting.”

The Archangel furrowed his eyebrows and nearly spat out in a harsh tone, which was uncharacteristic of him. “You think?”

“I wanted to inform you as quickly as possible. He trashed me around.” Kate tried not to wince at his snarky voice.

Michael snapped his gaze at his sidekick to look for obvious signs of bruises, and if she was crouching down in pain, “What did he do to you?”

The young assassin flickered her eyes back and forth between her friend and her father. She went over to her friend, poking her to see if there were any spots she touched that would be painful.

Michael sighed at the news and stared at Sara, thinking how strange his daughter could be sometimes. His mind churned from what he heard, the statement was jarring, and he had a gut feeling already that this Gala didn’t seem easy to handle.

“He tossed me around like I was a football.” Kate muttered, “I am surprised I don’t have any broken bones.” She jumped a little from the sharp pain where Sara poked.

There was concern written on Sara’s face when she commented, “Well, if you can heal yourself from any injuries, then he’s a shapeshifter; if not, he’s Dr. Pitch, that warlock guy.” She turned to her father and said, “That you killed?”

“Yes,” Michael nodded. His daughter did make a valid point. If Kate couldn’t heal herself from the injuries, then this Gala was more powerful than a shapeshifter.

Kate lifted her shirt slightly, and some bruises could be seen. She shook her head in a bit of distress. “I can’t heal myself.”

The Archangel knew when someone was lying, especially his daughter because she was badly talented at it. Kate wasn’t lying to the least and made his soul twist with uneasiness. She was a very powerful girl. Nothing could harm her that she couldn’t heal easily. He walked over to his sidekick, placing a hand on her shoulder, his healing powers clearing away her bruises. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” answered Kate, grabbing her boyfriend’s hand for

Sara chewed on her finger, thinking. She stated the obvious: “Well, Dad killed Dr. Pitch, so it’s impossible he’s alive unless someone resurrected him.”

Killing with Pitch from his hand, Michael had a sharp memory from recalling events centuries ago. Whoever this Gala was couldn’t be Pitch. If the High-warlock was alive, just figuratively, it wouldn’t make sense. He saw worried glances his way, and he clarified, “Let’s keep this between us besides the other sidekicks. Let me tell them, and no spreading the word around. Everything will be fine.”

He nodded to Kate, glad for her boyfriend to be there when she needed him. He didn’t mind Andrew and trusted his loyalty, but he would never fully trust him like his two girls. “Thank you for telling me right away.” Michael had to think this over. If Pitch was indeed alive, how did he mess it up?

The Archangel didn’t make mistakes; he couldn’t leap to conclusions. Before he could say anything else, the telephone rang. Even though Michael was adamant about picking up the phone, he answered, “Hello?”

“Hello, brother,” his twin brother coyly replied. He wanted to slam the receiver down, unsure how Lucifer got his phone number, but the Devil’s smooth voice chirped, “There was a man that looked exactly like Dr. Thomas Pitch—who is supposed to be dead, causing some havoc—and I don’t know how he got into Hell. Anyhow, Michael, do you care to explain?” He growled, “What the fuck is happening?”

Michael froze, swallowing down the fear that he had never fathomed before. Unsure of how he’d respond, he slammed the telephone down, cutting off the line. “I need to be alone.” He pointed to the door and said, “Sara, have you had dinner?”

“Well,” began Sara, “no.”

“Then go on,” Michael ordered. He was trying to remain calm, but if this Gala was being stupid and running around in Hell, this was a bigger problem that he had to deal with. “Kate, why don’t you rest? I want you girls to stay here until I tell you otherwise.” He eyed Andrew and stated, “You too.”

He watched the three of them look at each other, and Kate and Andrew left. Sara hugged herself, looking down at the floor. “Father, is there anything I can do?” He could tell she wanted to know who was on the other line, but that wasn’t her business.

Michael replied, feeling his tone a bit on the edgy side, “Sara, I need to be alone.”

His daughter backed away, staring at him with concern, and then strolled out of the office with her head down. He groaned at himself, hating acting that way toward his daughter; that was unfair of her.

Once the girls and Andrew left, Michael collapsed in his office chair, exhaling heavily from the news. He took a deep breath to let his nerves whine. His golden eyes glared at the red telephone, knowing he had to face whoever this Gala was. He had to call back his evil twin brother, whom he wanted to just break away from.

They haven’t talked since that incident that Michael wished to forget. His fingers slid on the surface of his cool desk, and he grabbed the telephone.