Uriel's grace

Uriel, meanwhile, had paced over to stand at Michael’s right hand. I took up station on my friend’s left.
“The bargain was made,” Nicodemus purred, to Uriel, “his word freely given. You cannot stop him from fulfilling it.”
“Correct,” Uriel said, “but I can help him do so.”
Nicodemus’s smile slipped.
Calmly, Uriel turned to Michael. He put a hand on Michael’s shoulder and gently took his cane away.
Michael blinked at Uriel, his arms going out for balance, his body tightening as if he expected to pitch over without the cane’s support. And then he abruptly relaxed. He put some of his weight on his bad leg, and then a little more. And then he let out a little laugh and hopped on it a few times.
Just then, Butters came running back around from behind the house. There was a twig with a soggy brown oak leaf still attached to it in his hair, his knees were scuffed and marked with sap, and he was carrying a slender package wrapped in canvas and duct tape, almost as long as he was tall. Butters was tearing at the package as he ran over and then offered it to Michael.
Michael’s eyes widened and went to Nicodemus as he stretched out his right hand, without looking, without needing to look, and withdrew from the canvas package a Sword, a shining length of straight steel with a cruciform hilt. As Michael’s fingers closed on it, Amoracchius exploded into white light, and for the second time in an evening, the quiet, ominous power of one of the Swords filled the air.
Nicodemus’s eyes widened. “You cheat!” he snarled.
“I said I would come out to you,” Michael said.
Then he lifted a work-booted foot and kicked the white picket gate off its hinges. It struck Nicodemus across the torso, driving him back into the street, and Michael Carpenter, Knight of the Cross, strode out of the open gate onto the icy sidewalk while the archangel looked on, silver-green eyes blazing in answer to the light of the Sword in Michael’s hands.
“I’m out,” Michael said. “In nomine Dei, Nicodemus, I have come to face you.”

Skin Game Chapter 30, Page 245-246


Michael caught the direction of my stare, and his clear grey eyes widened. He straightened, staring at Uriel in shock.
“What have you done?” he asked.
“It was not within our power to heal what was done to you,” Uriel said. “I’m sorry. It was not chance that brought you to harm, but choice.”
Michael looked from the angel down to his leg and back. “What have you done?” he repeated.
Uriel looked from his shaking, bloodied fingers to Michael and said, “I have loaned you my Grace.”
Michael’s eyes became completely round.
“Wow,” I said. “Uh . . . Isn’t that . . . that kind of important?”
“It is what makes me an angel,” Uriel said.
“Merciful Mother of God,” Michael said, his voice awed.
“Uh,” I said. “Isn’t that . . . kind of overkill? I mean . . . Uriel, you’ve got the power to unmake solar systems.”
“Galaxies,” Uriel said absently.
“Harry,” Michael said, “what are you saying?”
“Why?” I asked Uriel.
“I had to do something,” he said. “I couldn’t just . . . stand there. But my options are limited.”
“Oh,” I said. “I get it. I think.”
“Harry,” Michael said. “What are you talking about?”
“Um,” I said, and rubbed at my aching head. “Uriel wanted to help you, but he couldn’t exert his will over the situation to change it. Right?”
“Correct,” Uriel said.
“But he could act in accordance with your will, Michael. Which was to go out and meet Nicodemus.”
“Yes,” Michael said.
“So he couldn’t change you,” I said. “And he couldn’t change the world around you, at least not of his own will. But he could change himself. So he gave you his power in order to make your body function the way it used to. That way it isn’t his will that’s using the power. It’s yours.” The throbbing had begun to recede, slowly, and I looked up. “It’s way more than you needed, but it’s the only unit he had to work with. It’s as if . . . he loaned you his giant passenger jet because you needed a reading light.” I eyed the angel. “Right?”
Uriel nodded and said, “Close enough.”
Michael opened his mouth in understanding. “Loaned,” he said. “It won’t last.”
Uriel shook his head. “But this task is an important one. You need it. Use it.”
Michael titled his head. “But . . . Uriel, if I were to misuse it . . .”
“I would Fall,” Uriel said quietly.
I choked on the air.
Holy crap.
The last time an archangel Fell, I’m pretty sure there were extended consequences.
Uriel smiled faintly at Michael. “I’m confident that you won’t.” His smile turned a little green. “I would, however, appreciate it if you . . . did not push any buttons or pull any of the levers in my giant passenger jet.”
“How could you do this?” Michael breathed.
“You need the reading light,” Uriel said. “You have more than earned whatever help I can give. And you are a friend, Michael.”

Skin Game Chapter 31, Page 251-253