by Tillie Cole
Uriel walked through next, Sela after him. Each of them froze when they saw Gabriel waiting. Saw the manor in which they now stood. Raphael soon followed, leading Diel by the chain around his throat. Raphael’s token piece of string was wrapped around his finger. His golden eyes flitted around the entrance. Diel’s survey was next. His face seemed to relax with relief on seeing Gabriel. It looked like he exhaled a pent-up breath.
Gabriel smiled at Diel’s reaction. Then he held his breath as Michael finally came through the door. They all wore the white shirts and pants of the Fallen. Michael was no different. But around his neck hung the vial that Gabriel had given him, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel, showing the vial off. Michael stopped beside Raphael, then his eyes clashed with Gabriel’s. Michael blinked at his brother, then stared off over his head, the way he had always done. But Gabriel saw it. The flicker of relief, or maybe gratitude, that sparked momentarily in Michael’s blue gaze.
Gabriel’s gut squeezed when he realized how much he had missed his brother. Seeing him, alive and well—if not a little broken—almost brought Gabriel to his knees.
Gabriel looked at his brothers. And, like a puzzle, he felt the scattered pieces of his soul click together.
When the doors were shut and locked, Gabriel stepped forward. “Welcome home.” He smiled, happiness settling his frayed nerves. “Welcome to Eden Manor.”
“This is our reward?” Bara said, slowly smirking. “For surviving Purgatory?”
Gabriel nodded. “It is. Your reward for surviving life.”
Bara assessed him, then, “You kept your promise.”
Warmth burst in Gabriel’s chest. “I told you I would.” Bara nodded slowly, as if he couldn’t understand Gabriel at all. As if he didn’t understand how his morals worked in comparison to his own.
Gabriel moved before them all. He studied their faces. Some had acquired more scars since he left them. They were thinner, appeared more exhausted. For that, he would never forgive himself. But they were here now. They were free and safe. He had to give himself that.
“This home was left to me by an ancestor I didn’t know we had.” Gabriel looked at Michael when he said that. As predicted, Michael didn’t seem to care. “This is now our home. It is protected. Plenty big enough for us all.”
Gabriel stepped back. “But I need to speak with you first.” He turned and made his way through the ground floor of the manor and to a set of stairs at the rear of the house. He walked down, knowing the others followed. He had gained their trust in Purgatory. Rescuing them had only cemented his place within the brotherhood. He saw it on their faces, their acceptance. Gabriel entered a dark room that was lit with candles. A stone altar stood at the end. A knife waited on a nearby wooden desk.
The Fallen entered, frowning at the oddity of the room. Gabriel stood in the center, at the altar. “What’s this place?” Uriel asked.
The door shut, keeping them inside. “I know who you are,” Gabriel said, all attention now on him. “I know what desires reside in your hearts.” Gabriel paused, pushing through the slither of fear that what he was doing was wrong. But seeing the Fallen’s gaunt faces, their bones jutting from their too-slim bodies, their dull and broken eyes, he knew this couldn’t be wrong. He had to give them a chance. “The hunger to kill. The different ways you all envision doing it.” Gabriel had their undivided attention. Not a single one looked away from him. “But I can’t let you hurt innocent people.” Bara glanced to Uriel, eyebrow raised. Uriel’s gray eyes narrowed on Gabriel. Before they could speak, argue, or question what Gabriel was doing, he continued. “I can create a life for you here. One where you get to feed that hunger, live out your greatest fantasies. But you will only kill people who deserve it. Those who have no place on this earth.”
“What are you saying?” Sela asked.
“You’ll live here, in the manor. And one day in the future, you will be given the green light to kill. You will sate your desires. But it will be controlled. Monitored. You will kill when you are ready—”
“But?” Raphael interrupted, arms folded over his chest. His thumb ran over the string on his finger, causing his flesh to turn purple.
“But first you train, hone your . . . talents. You learn how to kill, efficiently. You learn to be stealthy. I have people—discreet people—who will help.” Gabriel felt his heart crack. He knew he was out of his depth, but he had made this decision to proceed. He had to follow it through. “But first, you learn to be patient. You are young, and reckless. And as of tonight, we will have targets on our backs. Fatal targets. The Brethren will never accept our escape. We all know how determined they are. They see us as demons. Evil beings who are now let loose in the world.” Gabriel walked forward. “We are the Fallen. And we must be better than them.” Gabriel pointed at the door. “I’m not your jailer or your keeper. If you don’t want this life, this home, if you don’t want the rest of us as your family, you are free to leave. Winston, our driver, is waiting by the van to take anyone who doesn’t want this away. Anywhere you wish.”
“And if we want to stay?” Diel’s veins strained against the chain around his neck, now held by Sela, his closest friend.
“There are rules. Expectations.” Gabriel nodded in the direction of the altar. “And an oath to sign. One that can be broken only by death. A blood oath, cementing you as one of us for the rest of your lives.” Gabriel grew solemn. “It has to be this way.”
“Rules?” Sela asked. Gabriel moved to a pile of papers on the desk. He handed one to each of the Fallen. Everything was explained there. Michael didn’t read his as the others did. Gabriel hadn’t expected him to.
Gabriel’s heart was in his throat as he waited for them to decide.
Finally, Bara stepped forward, raising his palm. “Where do I sign?”
Gabriel blinked, shocked that it was Bara out of them all who stepped forward first. Gabriel moved to the altar and picked up the knife. Taking hold of Bara’s hand, he sliced a cut down the palm and watched as Bara’s blood fell in large drops onto his contract. “Barachiel, do you pledge yourself to the Fallen, abiding by our commandments?”
“Hell yes.” Bara smiled his disturbingly cold smile.
Gabriel took the quill from his pocket and handed it to Bara. Bara kept smirking as he dipped the tip into his own blood and signed his name on the dotted line.
One by one, spurred on by Bara, the Fallen stepped forward to sign their names. Michael was last. Gabriel feared his reaction most. He didn’t know what he would do if Michael chose to leave. Michael’s cheeks were flushed as his eyes drank in the sight of the blood spattered all over the desk and contracts. His breath was coming in short, sharp pants. Then he stepped forward, the vial of Luke’s blood hanging around his chest, right over his heart. The attack on Luke, Gabriel realized then, was the genesis of the Fallen. The sin that set them on this dark and painful path.
Michael dropped to his knees before Gabriel and held out his hand. Gabriel didn’t take his eyes off his brother as he sliced the blade down his palm. Gabriel almost fumbled the knife when he saw Michael’s upper lip curl into a whisper of a smile at the sight of his spilling blood. But Gabriel found his voice to ask, “Michael, do you pledge yourself to the Fallen, abiding by our commandments?”
“Yes,” Michael said, taking the quill and signing his name in blood. As he dropped the quill, he ran his tongue along his wound. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep, gratified breath. Michael got to his feet, and Gabriel faced his brothers, now sworn in blood to their creed. “I know this doesn’t need to be said, but the staff here are off-limits. You all have self-control and have shown over and over again that you can hold back your urges when necessary. You have read the rules of the Fallen. The people in this house are our family; anyone who enters is not to be harmed.” When his brothers silently nodded their heads, Gabriel calmed and said, “Patrick will show you to your bedrooms. The house is yours as much as it is mine. Dinner is at seven. It’s a requirement that you be
there every night.” Miller had explained that, although it seemed arbitrary on paper, the evening meal was important to strengthen bonds, but mostly to help his brothers hold onto their humanity—no matter how little of it remained.
Gabriel led the Fallen back up to the first floor. The staff were there to greet them. The greetings from most of Gabriel’s brothers were cold, but he saw no hunger in their eyes. Gabriel found that he could finally breathe. As his brothers were led to bedrooms, filled with closets of clothes and anything else they could need, Miller came to stand beside him. “They pledged?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said, fighting a smile. “Every last one of them.”
“They trust you,” Miller remarked.
Gabriel nodded, his heart expanding at that fact. Closing his eyes, Gabriel prayed to God that he had the strength to be the leader his brothers needed. And that when his judgment came, God would not smite him for the crimes he would commit protecting killers. He had created rules for his brothers, but he had also created rules for himself. Like the priest he was always destined to be, he would pledge himself to God and his brothers. He’d live a chaste life in exchange for the sins that he would aid and abet. For every kill made by a brother’s hand, he would take from his own flesh in sacrifice.
Blood for blood.
Flesh for flesh.
When Gabriel opened his eyes, he walked into his grandfather’s study, the study that was now his. Sitting behind the desk, he took a deep breath and gestured for Miller to sit. “Do we have the trainers ready?” He’d already begun planning the training sessions for the Fallen. Miller opened the black book that was his grandfather’s very own version of a bible.
“Ready,” Miller replied. And so they began making schedules for each of the Fallen. How to kill quickly and efficiently, how to remain undetected when walking around the city in broad daylight. Their work led them deep into the night, a bottle of whiskey on hand to see them through the hardest parts of the job—how to secure the victims, and how to dispose of the bodies.
Gabriel felt part of him die as he discussed such topics with faked neutrality. But he did it, with a little help from the whiskey by his side.
When Miller left Gabriel alone, Gabriel turned and stared up at the painting on Jack’s wall. At Jesus, at the archangels shielding him from evil. The swords in their hands and the wings spread wide. Gabriel ran his hand down his chest, over the scarred upturned cross. He reached for the black book on the desk, found the contact he was looking for, and made a call. The Brethren had given them the brand in mockery. Gabriel would change that into something new—a brand of strength. One of unity and faith.
The Brethren would no longer rule their lives.
The Fallen were brothers reborn. Baptized anew.
Gabriel reached for an empty journal he had found in his grandfather’s hidden drawer. He opened the first page, a blank space, waiting to be filled. He took a pen and started to write.
In the beginning . . .
*****
Father Quinn opened the door to the Brethren’s hold; Fathers McCarthy and Brady followed behind. Mass had ended later than expected. Father Quinn was tired, but more than that, anger spiked the blood in his veins. Gabriel had vanished. No trace of the demon they needed to exorcise. A demon that was now free in the world, somehow protected by someone powerful. He didn’t understand who it could be. But he would find out. In time.
The minute the lights came on, he knew something was wrong. Holding up his hand, a signal to his brothers to be on guard, he made his way slowly down the hallway. It took only the first right turn to see one of his men sprawled on the ground. Blood seeped from his chest, and his eyes were open in death. On closer inspection, Father Quinn noted stab marks on the priest’s chest.
The three priests traveled the hallways toward the dorm room. Their footsteps got quicker the closer they got. Priest after slain priest littered the floor. But Father Quinn had no time or regard for the fallen men. He had to get to the dorm. When they rounded the corner and threw open the door, seven empty beds stared back at them. “No,” he spat and ran to every other room in the building. “No!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “How did this happen?” Father Quinn turned to his brothers. “We need to go. Now.”
Thirty minutes later, the priests walked into the meeting room of the Brethren Hall, the Brethren’s stronghold far from Holy Innocents and out of the watchful eye of the higher church. Father Brady had called ahead for their local brothers to be present. Father Quinn walked to the front of the room. “Tonight, we have been violated. Seven demon-possessed boys are now out in the world. No trace, no clue as to their whereabouts. But they are dangerous boys. And if they are not found, they will unleash evil on the world.” Father Quinn looked out over his brotherhood. Hundreds of eyes stared back at him. The sight always filled him with such joy. The main church may not recognize the need for exorcisms anymore, but the men in the room did. They were true warriors of the Inquisition; they understood how evil worked. But more than that, they understood how important it was to retrieve the boys who housed such wickedness.
“Brothers, we will not stop until we have them in our custody. And we will not rest until their souls are purified and their evil is vanquished.” Father Quinn let the sense of purpose he was created for pulse through his every cell. “We will bring the Fallen Angels to heel. We will have their confession. And brothers . . . we will redeem their souls.”
Epilogue
Ten years later . . .
Eden Manor, Massachusetts
Gabriel straightened his clerical collar. He flattened the white card against his black shirt and ran his hand through his ear-length blond curls. The bell for dinner rang, and Gabriel took a deep breath. His back ached in pain, and the metal cilices around his thighs dug into his flesh as he walked. But Gabriel clenched his jaw and endured the walk from his room and downstairs into the Nave—the Fallen’s dining hall. When he entered the room, his brothers were already seated.
Gabriel took his place at the head of the table. Gabriel cast a glance around his brothers. Bara sat opposite him at the other end. Like all of the Fallen, he had grown his hair longer than they were ever allowed to in Purgatory—a rebellion against the beaten boys they were made to be. Bara’s red hair fell to his shoulders. His haunting green eyes roved over the brothers, and the smirk that seemed permanently etched on his lips was firmly in place.
Uriel sat to Bara’s left, his blond hair a similar length to Bara’s. Uriel was broader in the shoulders than the rest of the brothers. The tallest too. Sela sat to Bara’s right. Sela’s brown hair fell down his back. His dark eyes were fixed on Gabriel. All of his brothers waited each night for a Revelation to be delivered. For the order to go to the Tomb after dinner . . . for a kill to be given out, for a desire to be fulfilled. They hungered for it. Thirsted for it.
It was the lifeblood of their existence. Little else mattered.
Diel sat beside Sela. His shoulders were relaxed, his messy black hair falling over his blue eyes. He wore a metal collar that never came off. A collar Gabriel had had crafted specifically for him. A collar made with electric currents running through it. One that, with a press of a button, would incapacitate Diel the minute he lost his grip on himself—Gabriel held the only control to administer the blow.
Raphael sat opposite Diel, wrapping the same string around his finger as he had for years. His golden eyes watched Gabriel, his dark hair brushed forward over his forehead. Long messy hair, but not as long as the others. He was searching for any sign that the next kill would be his. Gabriel could feel his quiet desperation.
And to Gabriel’s right was Michael. Dressed in a black silk shirt that was unbuttoned to his navel and tight leather pants, Michael played with the vial of blood that still hung around his neck. One side of his dark hair was shaved, and the other side hung in natural waves to the bottom of his ear. Michael’s blue eyes focused on the red wine in his hand. His tattoos—imitation veins, lines and li
nes of veins smothering his body—covered every bit of bare skin. Most of his brothers were tattooed in some way, most expressing the echoes of pain that haunted their disturbed hearts. Sela was an artist of the highest caliber. He could draw their stories on their skin for the world to see.
“Everyone good?” Gabriel asked.
Bara smiled and sat back in his seat, arm over the backrest. He wore a green shirt that matched his piercing eyes. “We’ll be even better if you tell us we’re going to the Tomb after this.” He leaned forward. “We’re getting tetchy, Angel.”
Gabriel closed his eyes when the temperature in the room seemed to rise. He felt the sting of the cilices around his thighs, the pull of his scourge’s fresh wounds on his back, and nodded his head. Opening his eyes, he took a sip of his wine and said, “We eat as a family . . .” Gabriel breathed, in and out, feeling yet more depravity fill his soul. “Then one of you will get a kill.”
The End
The Ten Commandments of the Fallen
Thou shalt not kill an innocent
Thou shalt not stray from the Fallen’s righteous path
Thou shalt not bring prey back to Eden Manor
Thou shalt not kill in Eden Manor
Thou shalt not betray, injure, or kill a brother of the Fallen
Thou shalt kill only the Chosen
Thou shalt not put any other above the Fallen
Thou shalt not kill another brother’s prey
Thou shalt only kill within the realms of one’s desire
Thou shalt practice self-restraint
Glossary
The Fallen: Comprises Gabriel, Raphael, Selaphiel, Barachiel, Jegudiel, Uriel, Michael. Seven men from Holy Innocents; later, Purgatory. Named by the Brethren after the archangels of the Catholic faith in hope that their holy names would inspire redemption. They became the Fallen in reference to their archangel names and their rebellious natures.