Angels Defying (Angels Rising Book 3)

by Harriet Carlton

  “This is mine now.”

  With a raucous giggle, Toddy staggered back to his feet and stumbled toward the door. Imorean laughed as Toddy’s straight line curved to the right. “Tod!”

  His warning came too late and Toddy smacked straight into the wall.

  Imorean’s eyes flicked back down to his watch. It was ten o’clock in the evening. The hands behind the glass face ticked away, methodical and unrelenting. He was alone in the bar now. Ryan and Roxy had carried Dustin out of the bar just a few minutes ago. Imorean knew they had no intention of coming back in. They had said as much. Alone again. He raised the glass mouth of the bottle to his own and swallowed again. What a blessing that the Canadian drinking age was eighteen. His birthday was only a month or so away and would anyone really report him for underage drinking? He sighed and considered his watch again. The only memory he had left of his father. It had been the last gift his father had ever given him. This was all. In a terrible way, this was all he had left of his family. His eyes roved over it. Numb fingers touched it. Glass face, leather straps, tiny metal hands. Details, details, details. Horrible, minute details. The little things that should never have been ignored. Could one little detail have saved his family? Was it possible that their time may not have run out? Time, time, time. Vicious time. Time that moved forward in a horrible fashion, without care or concern for those it left behind or those who got lost in its wake. A droplet landed on the glass face. Imorean looked at his drink in concern, but realized a moment later that his bottle was not leaking or gathering condensation. It was him crying.

  Imorean took another drink, but the fragile sense of strength and resolve in his chest snapped, caving inward. He slammed the bottle back down on the bar top, hands shaking, tears pouring. His body was hot, blood running warm and alive. Too alive. Surrounded by a life he didn’t deserve. He clenched his jaw and covered his face with his hands. This was impossible. Just wrong. He shouldn’t have been here. He…

  “Imorean.”

  Brown eyes lifted, and Imorean turned. Someone was leaning in the doorway. For a moment, Imorean thought Gabriel had come to the bar. The longer he looked though, the more he realized that this figure was taller and looked more severe, dark brown-haired and green-eyed. Not Gabriel, but Michael.

  “What are you doing?” asked Michael, standing upright.

  Imorean sniffled and wiped his eyes, pushing back the rising tide of grief hard. “Drinking. What are you doing?”

  “I came to get a drink. Sleep has not been coming easily to me for a few weeks. Just as in humans, alcohol helps angels relax. You had a party, I see. Good one?”

  Imorean shrugged.

  “Why are you here, Imorean?”

  “Mike, I’m drinking. I’ve told you,” said Imorean, tipping his bottle back again.

  “Obviously. I only hope that you are not drinking to drive away your sorrow.”

  “Of course, I am. I mean, come on, it’s not like you guys have been giving me grief counseling.”

  Michael crossed the room quietly and sat down at a barstool next to him.

  “We have all been here to listen to you if you needed to talk to us.”

  “You wouldn’t have listened.”

  “Do you know that for a fact?”

  “You never listen. You don’t care.” Imorean drank again, trying to cover the shake in his voice. He wiped his eyes clear of tears again as Michael reached over the bar and picked up a fallen bottle cap. The Archangel spun it idly between his fingers and addressed it, rather than Imorean, when he spoke.

  “I do care. My hindrance is that I do not know how to be a comfort to you. Death steals swiftly into life and leaves irreparable consequences. Nothing that I can say will make what you are feeling go away.”

  “Dude, you’ve dealt with death for a million years. You’re telling me you’ve got nothing?”

  “I am not that old, Imorean. Dealing with and understanding death myself has become easy, offering consolation to others where there is none to be found in what is given is not easy.”

  The deep, somber tone of Michael’s voice made Imorean smile. The rhythmic reach and pull stride of the words was as regular as waves crashing upon the sandy shore of a beach. Imorean found morbid humor in the moment, yet also a heavy sense of comfort. He closed his eyes hard, more tears tracking down his cheeks, and burst into laughter.

  “For an all-powerful Archangel, you’re pretty useless, you know.”

  “I may be useless, but you are drunk. We are even.”

  “Yeah. I’ll be sober in the morning, though.”

  “Must you be so abrasive?”

  Imorean shot Michael a thumbs-up as he chugged what was left in the beer bottle.

  “Would you like to sleep in your bedroom or in a bathtub, Imorean?”

  “Dude, put me in a bathtub. That would be hilarious.”

  Michael smacked the bottle cap back down against the bar and pierced Imorean with a green stare.

  “Things will get brighter, you know. I know that it does not seem that way at the moment, but things do get better.”

  “They can’t exactly get worse.”

  “Never say that. The world can always get worse.”

  “I don’t get you. ‘Things get better, but they can always get worse.’ You’re such a ray of sunshine.”

  “Such is the reality of the world. For example, I thought that the world could not get worse after my brother Lucifer fell from heaven. I… I thought that my world was ending. Then we were pitched into combat, sibling against sibling, and ultimately, we shed blood. I never imagined a war, yet here we are.”

  Imorean shook his head hard and fought to keep the slur out of his voice. “Come on, man, let’s not get all philosophical. I can barely do small words right now.”

  “Go to bed, Imorean. Drink water. Hope that you do not wake up with a hangover.”

  “Don’t worry, I got this. I’ve drunked before.”

  “Clearly.”

  Imorean stood, the room spinning, folding and unfolding around him. Shapes distorted. He reached out for the back of one of the couches, needing balance. His hand fell short and he dropped to his knees. He hardly felt the jarring crash of kneecaps hitting the hardwood floor.

  “I’m good,” Imorean murmured. He tried to scramble back up. “I’m good.”

  Overhead, Michael sighed heavily. In the far reaches of his mind, Imorean heard Michael snap his fingers. The world dissolved around him and Imorean grabbed hold of the floor to keep his bearings. He blinked hard, dimly recognizing the orange drapes in his bedroom. How had he gotten here? Surely, he hadn’t walked. Brown eyes saw through a drunken fog and made sense of the bed nearby. Bed. Sleep. Something he desperately needed. Imorean barely had the presence of mind to take off his shoes as he staggered toward bed, toward sleep, toward a reprieve. He crashed down onto his bed a few tottering steps later and his eyes drifted shut. In spite of everything, in the face of overwhelming grief, he felt slightly better. It was as though a balm had been applied to a wound. Beneath, the injury ran just as deep as it had before, but a curative agent was at work. A scar would remain, but it seemed that maybe, just maybe, some form of healing had begun.

  Chapter 9

  Brown eyes opened. Imorean shivered. He was in the woods. He looked around. This was wrong. There were no woods near Felsenmeer. This couldn’t be right. He inhaled. Pine. Leaf litter. Summer. He knew this smell. He would know this smell anywhere. He was home. The Blue Ridge Mountains. Tentatively, he took a step forward. It was silent here. Silent and dark.

  “Imorean?” called a voice. It was familiar.

  White hair fell into Imorean’s eyes as he peered through the trees. “Hello?”

  A second voice called, childlike. “Imorean?”

  “Hello? I’m here,” replied Imorean, keeping his voice low. The silence here demanded that it was not disturbed, as though it was sentient. A fierce moon beat down from overhead, outshining the surrounding stars.

&n
bsp; Together, the voices called, forlorn and lost. There were pleas in them this time. “Imorean?”

  Imorean raised his voice very slightly. “I’m here.”

  Disregarding how loud his own footsteps sounded, Imorean started forward. He had to find the person summoning him. The moon above lit his way as he traced a path through the forest. For no good reason, his heart pounded in his chest. The trees broke, opening for a small clearing. Imorean stopped. Chills ran over his skin. True horror pricked him. In the very center of the clearing stood Rachel and Isaac. As one, the twins faced him. Imorean froze.

  Round faces were smeared with blood, clothing torn, dirt matted their hair.

  “Why did you leave us, Imorean?” asked Rachel.

  “I had no choice,” whispered Imorean.

  “You said you’d keep us safe,” said Isaac, moving across the clearing toward him. Imorean trembled. Three of Isaac’s fingers were missing. The stumps where they had been were still spouting blood, dripping a trail behind him.

  Imorean couldn’t reply.

  Isaac reached at him. “You promised.”

  Imorean screamed as the ground caved in beneath his feet. He beat his wings. They were useless. He clawed at the leafy dirt. The black hole beneath him had no end. It was a plunge into nothingness. His fingers shook and his feet paddled wildly as he tried to pull himself up. A dim shadow fell across him. Imorean looked back up at Isaac. Rachel was next to him now. Both twins stared down at him in something that could only be hate.

  “You abandoned us,” whispered Rachel. Blood leaked from her eyes.

  “I tried,” begged Imorean. Isaac reached down to him. Imorean heaved as his younger half-brother’s blood smeared across his cheek. Stickiness followed in its wake.

  “We needed you,” said Isaac.

  Rachel followed him. “You weren’t there. You let this happen.”

  “You did this.”

  Together, Rachel and Isaac kicked dirt and leaves into Imorean’s eyes.

  Imorean looked up at his half-sister. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “We needed you,” said Isaac again.

  Imorean screamed as Isaac rested a foot on his forehead and shoved. The gaping pit of endless earth swallowed him. Blackness enveloped him. Wings useless, fluttering at his sides. Imorean fell. He could not stop. He was powerless.

  Imorean screamed. He lay rigid in his bed, trembling. He was soaked in sweat. Electronic screeches made him jump. Imorean turned, fumbling for his phone as the alarm went off. He lay back in bed, panting. He didn’t want to get up. The dream began to dissolve, broken up into fragments of nightmare. He drew a few deep breaths and coughed a sob. It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. It wasn’t real. He had to remind himself of that. It wasn’t real. It had to be forgotten. It wasn’t real. He couldn’t afford to dwell on his nightmares. He just couldn’t.

  Shuffling his wings, Imorean rolled over, shoving away his nightmare. His head felt as though it was splitting. Last night. Of course, he would be hungover. He thanked all the powers above that the hours of daylight were shortened here. Darkness was easier to wake up to with a hangover. The teenager checked his phone and noticed an email notification from Michael. He threw his blankets back with a groan. What did Michael want? It was a mass email to all the Felsenmeer students. Imorean breathed a heavy sigh. This couldn’t be good. Surely a reprimand for getting into the booze the night before.

  Good morning, Students,

  I understand that most of you engaged in some lively entertainment last night. Considering that most of you are quite probably still hungover, I have deliberately chosen today to hold flight assessments and appointments for squad positions. Please see the attached schedule and meet me in the gymnasium during your allotted time. You will see that you are all to be recalled to the gym after the appointment of the final student. Please see that you do, in fact, return. Please keep up with emails today as well as possible, due to the fact that the schedule may be quite hectic.

  -AM

  Imorean sighed heavily. At least they weren’t being punished for breaking rules. Michael’s sense of humor seemed to get crueler and crueler the longer he knew him. Quickly, Imorean checked the schedule and saw that he was going to be last in the gym. Good. That gave him a bit more time to get dressed. He yawned and sloped across his room to get his clothes ready. This would be his first time wearing the Felsenmeer uniform. He darted another glance at the email. He was to go to the student health center to have his wing checked out. Of course, Michael wouldn’t let him have a moment to breathe. So much for more hangover recovery time.

  Imorean waited idly in the exam room in the student health center, bouncing his knee in anticipation. It felt good to have a purpose again. It focused his mind. He felt less as though he was just wandering. Even his lingering headache from the night before had diminished. Imorean blinked hard and looked around, familiarizing himself again with his surroundings. Felsenmeer’s emergency center was smaller than Gracepointe’s, but, in a way, it was even more morbid. A skeleton staff worked in the clinic. If he hadn’t seen them when he checked in a few minutes earlier, Imorean wouldn’t have even known they existed. There were all the facilities for an operating theater, over seven exam rooms, along with x-ray and MRI machines. The center even supplied a small medicine pharmacy, however, it only stocked over-the-counter medication. Imorean had to wonder if they stocked harder medicine or if there was too much risk of a student finding it. Two knocks at the exam room door pulled him out of his quiet musings. The doctor to examine his wing. A dark-haired head stuck into the room. Vortigern! Imorean leaped to his feet, wings flaring, looking for a window. A way out. Nothing! Imorean spun and gathered himself, heart in mouth, ready to fight his way out if he had to.

  “Easy, easy, Imorean! It’s me.”

  Imorean stopped and looked more closely. It was not Vortigern in the doorway, but the Archangel Raphael. Imorean swallowed. Raphael was in charge of the medical department, and bore a horribly striking resemblance to the demon commander. Both were tall and slender, complete with fine, aristocratic features and short, black hair. While Vortigern himself had stony, gray eyes, Raphael had clear, blue ones rimmed by wire glasses.

  “Sorry,” said Imorean, letting his wings drop. “You… first glance, you know? What are you doing here? I thought you were at Upper Morvine.”

  “I was. I’m here for several reasons. Michael and I decided to let Raguel run things for a few days to see how he does. It’d be a good test of his leadership skills, yes?”

  “I—I guess?”

  “I’m also here to bring Uriel. He has been in heaven recovering after being taken prisoner by Vortigern. We think that bringing him here to Felsenmeer would be a good step in his recovery. Finally, I am here for you.”

  “Me?”

  “Sit down, Imorean. You still have ninety minutes until you are scheduled to meet Michael in the gymnasium.”

  Imorean sat back down on the exam table and watched Raphael as the Archangel crossed the small room and leaned on one of the counters, pen held ready to make notes on his clipboard. He smiled softly and tilted his head to one side. Imorean steeled himself and exhaled. Something about Raphael’s stance put him on edge.

  “How are you?”

  Suddenly, Imorean felt angry. “Are you seriously doing this?”

  “What do you think I’m doing, Imorean?”

  “Did Michael put you up to this?”

  “Up to what?”

  “Checking on my mind. Making sure I’m not super disturbed.”

  Raphael hesitated for a moment, then gave a slow nod.

  Imorean sighed sharply. “I thought I was here to have my wing looked at.”

  “You are.”

  “Then look at my wing. I don’t want to play these games.”

  Raphael dropped his clipboard to his side. “Imorean, these games are an important part of the healing process for what you have undergone.”

  “I don’t want to talk ab
out it.”

  “You would do better to not bottle up your emotions.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You will willingly go out and get too drunk to think straight, but you will not talk with a qualified doctor, one who can help you, about how you are feeling inside?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “There are no secrets among the Archangels, Imorean. Now, let’s talk.”

  “Well, what do you want to talk about, Raphael?”

  “Let’s start with the death of your family. Where is your mind?”

  “No. I’ve already told you twice. I’m not ready to talk about them. I can’t. I just can’t. Just examine my wing. Please.”

  “All right, Imorean. I will not force you. When you feel that you are ready, let Michael know and he will make arrangements for you to talk to me or one of the others.”

  “… Fine.”

  Raphael smiled and Imorean felt that he could breathe a sigh of relief. A weight seemed to pull back from his shoulders. At least he knew he had the support he needed. To know that he wasn’t alone, or as alone as he had thought, gave him a sense of comfort.