by L F Seitz
“How is this possible?” I asked as we made it across the room to him. Micah and Jimiah nodded at one another.
“He was such an advocate for you,” Jimiah said, “but honest about what he felt. We thought no one else would be better. He does see the dangers and understands the risk, but he is willing to learn about you and help you understand yourself better. He also is willing to observe and report back with daily logs of your activities. The Nephilim are willing to help you, but we have to make sure everyone is safe while doing so.”
Jimiah sounded so proud of Micah. He was vague, and I couldn’t help but feel like a project. They were watching me. Was I still going to just be this job to Micah? It seemed like we were back to where we were before, but now, with the Counsel backing him, would he change?
“Micah is your official guardian. He will be responsible for you and make sure you are taken care of.” Jimiah’s face was unreadable, and my mouth grew dry with the preeminence he emanated.
“Thank you, Jimiah, for everything.”
“Don’t thank me; thank him,” he said, patting Micah on the shoulder. “It’s a big deal becoming a guardian and being responsible for another person, as well as that person’s actions.”
Put it like that, and it sounds as though Micah graduated to becoming my official babysitter. I peeked up to find Micah’s gaze on me, and I turned away, lightheaded from all the stress I’d gone through the last few days. I didn’t need Micah’s gorgeous broodiness staring at me to the point of making me pass out. I know he’d done a lot for me, on my behalf, but they didn’t know what I have truly done to help Micah get the information they have now.
“You guys know your way out,” Jimiah said as he and Micah shook hands.
Once Jimiah and his men walked off, the tension in my shoulders released. I didn’t realize how much having guards watching my every move would tire me out. Then again, I didn’t know how much stress being considered a danger would be.
“You all right?” Micah asked softly As his voice fell across my skin, I finally felt safe again.
“I’ll live. You?” I asked, turning back to him. His expression was gentle, tired, and almost like I was looking at myself. “I know we argued about coming here,” I said, focused on my feet. “And things have been tense with all of this. I don’t mean to be a burden, and I appreciate everything you have done for me. I –” I looked back to find Micah halfway across the Counsel room, moving toward the stairs.
“I want to thank you. You’re such a pain in my ass,” I yelled. When I caught up to him, he was laughing, and I chimed in. I’d do anything for that laugh.
We walked out of the building together into the icy night air. I quickly zipped up my jacket and shoved my hands in my pockets before any of the air touched my skin. It was snowing big fluffy flakes, and the wind was calm. It was the first time I appreciated the sight of snow. I peered over to Micah, who was zipping up, we beheld one another then, the snow falling and landing on his white hair. He was everything I thought I could ever want.
“I want to give you something.” Micah said, unzipping his leather jacket again before digging inside his inner jacket pocket.
We continued to walk side by side toward the entrance gate where the same men from before still stood guard.
“Here,” he said, holding out a blade to me. “Every Nephilim carries a knife.”
I hesitated, astonished by the knife’s beauty. It was as long as my forearm, powerful and intimidating. Its black handle was etched with a golden swirling scroll pattern. The pummel had an owl taking flight, identical to Micah’s. The same Latin arched around the symbol: Familia Ante Omnia. Family over all. I wonder if that was something all Nephilim had on their weapons. As I pulled off the sheath I observed the knife: it was curved out, and on the blade’s spine were symbols just like the ones on Micah’s neck. They spelled out: Lend us strength in Heavenly Fire to combat the Evil that threats to consume all thine creations. “I’ve never used a knife before.” I slowly took it from his hand and held it out in front of me.
“I’ll teach you.” He smirked at me, and I grinned. “Someone told me once that it isn’t just our training that helps us fight, but our blood, too. It’s the angelic powers in us that make us unique. The DNA in our blood is so old it carries the memories of our past ancestors as well as their abilities.”
His words send a shiver through my bones. More than that, the word us spread a thick warmth throughout my limbs I admired the knife as we walked through the gates, enchanted by its design.
“It’s a Nephilim blade, so it was blessed in our capital and can kill any demon outright. With Cambions, the incantation has to come first,” Micah said as he dug through his pockets again. He then handed me a clip that hooked to my belt.
“Since you don’t know how to flip it yet, I would put it on your left. That way, you can grab it out and come across someone right away.” Micah made the motion of grabbing it from his left side with his right hand and swinging out in one fluid motion.
I handed him the blade and attached the sheath to my belt. When we talked about the ancient language before, Micah said he couldn’t read it, that no one could. I wanted to be sure though, to make sure I wasn’t crazy after all. “Any idea what the markings say?” I asked.
“Again, that’s the ancient language, the Punic language. I was told it says something about lending powers to combat evil, or a saying to that extent.” He pulled the zipper higher up on his coat.
Even with my jacket, the thought of knowing something Micah didn’t chilled me to the bone.
“Does anyone know how to read the language?”
“The last person able to read it lives in Porta Caeli,” Micah said. “I heard she’s, like, a hundred.”
I slide the blade into its sheath. Despite this new confirmed ability, I wasn’t eager to tell Micah – at least not yet. Today, I turned nineteen, was nearly jailed or executed, and got an unexpected gift from Micah, though he didn’t even know it’s my birthday. I wasn’t going to ruin it. Tonight was going to end on a good note.
Twenty-One.
WE WALKED SIDE-BY-SIDE saying nothing, watching the snowfall in the light of the streetlamps. We were three blocks away from the apartment, in a small neighborhood of clustered houses, and there was about half an inch of snow on the ground now. It was quiet through here, no cars passed by on the road, and there wasn’t a single light on in any of the houses. The snow made a squishing sound with every step. I wondered what Micah was thinking, what he felt about the assembly and the decision the Arch Counsel made. I was on probation for a year, and he was my guardian, deemed to watch me constantly. He looked exhausted, which meant he was under just as much stress as I was. They’d asked him a hundred more questions than they asked me, given the length of each of our interviews. After I left to get my tracker, they probably made him fill out a mountain of paperwork.
“Lamia,” Micah said in a hushed tone.
“Hmm?” I mumbled, still lost in thought.
“Mia.” Micah’s whisper was sharp. His hand caught mine.
I snapped back to reality and stopped walking any further. Micah was frozen in place, looking off to the left of us. The street was empty – no lights, no signs of life, just quiet, besides the wind.
I stood motionless with Micah’s grasp tightening around my fingers. Instantly, his hand was gone from mine, and wrapped around his blade, his body taught as he stood facing the darkness. Something was happening. Something was coming.
“How many?” Fear threatened to pull the air right from my lungs as I stared at him wide-eyed. He grew pale, and his eyes shifted quickly as he scanned between the houses in front of us. He held up three fingers on his left hand.
I drew my knife from its sheath as panic threatened to shake me into a frenzy. My quick exhales turning to steam as I tried to take comfort in Micah’s presence, but my heart would not settle, beating so fast my arms shook with every thump. I searched the houses around us, straining to see.
Evil had free reign to play while we stood in the dark. The closest streetlamps were on the block we’d just passed, seeming farther and farther with every passing second.
“To the lights?” I started backing up, but Micah held up his hand.
“No, it will draw –”
A darkness collided with him, a heap of legs, claws, and death sending him and it back clear across the street. It looked like a gangly human, with a protruding spine, onyx eyes, and transparent skin as it viciously mauled its prey.
“Micah!” I screamed.
Something slammed into my side like a freight train. Claws carved at my skin as I hit the ground, smacking my forehead on the icy street. Survival instinct ignited inside me, and I reached around as the creature went for my neck, grabbing its arm in one hand and stabbing it hard with the other. It shrieked and jumped from me. My head pounded as my vision blurred, the pain of it vibrating my skull. I flipped over, searching the dark for Micah. I could see the colors across the road: red and blue moving against one another. Two of those things were on top of him.
“Micah, I’m coming!” I yelled out, huffing as I scrambled to stand.
My legs were pulled from under me before I could run, and I dropped like lead, the skin of my knuckles tearing as they made contact with the road beneath me. I turned as the creature mounted me, clutching my throat in its bony hands as it squeezed the air from my throat. Pain riddled my windpipe as I struggled to free myself, dropping my knife as I yanked at its fingers to let me free. My eyes bugled as I gagged, its face growing near as it screeched at me.
I know how to get out of this. I pulled on its wrist with my hand while I twisted and elbowed it in the face with everything I had. It cried out, and while it was injured, I shoved the creature and seized my blade. Its claws caught my face, tearing at the skin as I threw myself on top of it, baring all my weight on it as I choked the life from it with my forearm. I came at the creature with my knife as it caught my wrist and pushed back. I bellowed and forced my body to combat it, begging every cell in my being to fight to kill. Its hand found my throat again and claws dug deep, and the thought of pure strength came to me.
“Et reducam te in caligine Demon nunc urbs est patris tui. Ostende mihi faciem tuam, et non est misericordia, quae est a carne daemonum interficiam corpus, perit in aeternum misericordia ignis. Et incarnatus est de Angelo, anima tanted ostende.”
Our bodies ignited with red light. The creature’s eyes were swallowed up in black, but even then, the fear in them was apparent.
“You are one of us? You –” its shrill voice made me cringe.
I dug my knife into its neck straight through to the street below. Its orbs looked as if they caught fire. The creature seized for a moment then fell still. Warm blood coated my hand as it held the blade buried in the creature’s corpse.
I could hear another and turned my attention toward it- to where I saw Micah last, his sapphire light being swallowed up by a ruby glow. Micah was still there as he struggled under the Cambion’s weight. I forced myself to stand and sprinted over. I yanked the slick skin of the Cambion's head and rip it back, the thing shrieked as I pierced its thorax with my blade, twisting to make sure it was in. The Cambion convulsed as it died on top of Micah. I gripped under the creature’s arms and dragged it off him, falling off the curb and onto the concrete again. I shoved the creature’s body with a grunt as it stopped moving. I panted, breathless, shaking with the energy that still lingered in my blood as my red light slowly faded. Overwhelmed by emotion, I shook violently with tears as I surveyed the aftermath: three bodies on the ground and dark pools of blood splattered against the white snow. It made a surreal scene before me, my mouth dry as I swallowed back the urge to vomit. I blinked furiously, turning my sights to Micah, who laid unmoved on the snow-covered grass in someone’s front yard.
I clamored to my feet, tripping as I ran to him, and collapsed next to his tattered body. His sapphire light still glowed dimly as he drew ragged breaths, struggling as he lied still.
“Micah.” My voice shook as I wiped his blood-stained hair from his forehead. He gasped as he snatched my hand and swung up with the other. I caught his wrist, like a reflex, inches before his knife found its way into my throat. “Micah, it’s me, Lamia.”
His blinked, shock filling his features, and let go of his knife as he began to cough viciously. Blood coated his lips and splatted a across his face. His hand went to his abdomen, where I saw a wound. I pulled his hand away to assess the damage: a deep, gaping hole was seeping a steady stream of blood. I gripped his wrist and pressed his hand onto the wound, making him grimace in pain.
“Need pressure on that,” I breathed. I searched his body, finding more holes and injuries than I could count, including claw marks across his ribs, holes in his arms, and fresh blood flowing faster than I could control.
“Leave, before more come,” he gagged on his words. Micah’s breathing was so shallow, his speech sounded more like cries in pain. I reached to grab his other hand and put it on another oozing wound, but the moment I let go, his hands fell to his sides, too weak to be of any help. My hands shook as I again placed them over his wounds. I healed Clayton’s broken arm. I can patch up a few holes.
“Micah,” I said, patting his face, leaving bloody fingerprints in my wake. His eyebrows lifted slightly as he moved into my touch. “I’m going to heal you. Stay with me.” I rested my hand against his ribs. His hand lazily came up and caught mine.
Light blinded me as I clutched my blade, holding it out to protect us. “Oh, my lord, I’m calling the police,” said an old man holding a flashlight toward us. He stumbled back toward his house to make the call. I took in Micah’s blood-covered body, his lips and fingertips growing blue from the cold. Bright blood stained the sparkling white snow around us. He’s going to die if I don’t heal him, but I can’t do it here. I shoved our blades into their sheaths, and I grasped his arms to sit him up. With an immense struggle I lifted him onto my shoulders and moved quickly to the sidewalk. Micah’s blood drip down my back as he hung motionless on my shoulders.
“Micah, we’re almost there,” I grunted through my teeth.
There was no time to find him help, to call Jimiah, or the compound. The pressure of Micah’s life in my hands pushed me to move quickly and soon I made it to my apartment building. No one was here to help him: not his brethren, not the Nephilim, and not a hospital’s staff. No one but me. I could save him; I just needed to get him somewhere safe first. Somehow, I made it to my door, unlocked it, and brought us inside. I didn’t waste any more time as I nearly dropped him against the front door and ripped off my jacket. My body felt boneless, like a noodle, as his weight was suddenly gone from my shoulders.
“Micah, we’re safe now. You hang in there.” I pushed the hair away from his face again, looking for movement. His rib cage didn’t expand. “Micah,” I urged, patting his face, but his eyes didn’t flutter, nor did his skin feel warm. I held my hand in front of his mouth. There was no air movement. I held my breath as I pushed fingers into his neck, but no pulse pushed back. His face was frozen in time, asleep.
“No,” I grunted. “No.” It was incomprehensible. Lying him flat I pressed my hands on his bare chest, starting CPR. Tears blurred my vision, but I kept compressing, hearing his bones crack as I pushed down, attempting to get his heart to beat. This wasn’t happening. This is a dream. I pushed harder as the tears soaked my face.
“You don’t get to leave me, Micah,” I yelled as I leaned back to see if he was breathing. But he was still. I pinched his nose and blew into his mouth, then pressed my hands over his chest again. He was going to come back; he always came back. He’ll come back to me.
“Come on, come on,” I grunted, my face wet as the muscles in my arms shook with exhaustion. Violent despair clawed its way through me. Falling into a black abyss as I pounded on Micah’s unnaturally still body. The blood that coated us grew tacky in the still air.
“Micah, Micah, please,” I wailed at
the top of my lungs. Every moment together, every laugh, every fight, every glance – it all flashed before me as I struggled to breathe. Come back. Come back. “Please don’t take him, please...” I cried, barely audible as I tried to think. Maybe if I said the angel incantation, the angel blood in him would heal him.
“In nomine Lucifer enim ostendis tu qui ad eum. Ut nepos, adversus se superiorem. Et ignis ardebit quasi infernus animam piam contaminant iterum ad vos mittere. Qui dedit nobis confirmasti tibi finis erit secundum operationem Satanae.”
The burn filled my breast, and the room lit up with blue glow – but it was only my skin that gave off the light. “Micah,” I screamed, not caring who heard. Resting my forehead on his mangled body, I let sobs shake my entire being, consuming me in agony. I gasped for breath between the moments of begging for his life. I took in his face, covered in dirt and dry blood. He still looked perfect. I’d never wanted anything more in my entire life than for him to open his eyes.
I cupped his cool cheek with my hand, rubbing away the blood that stained his skin. “Micah, wake up,” I wept. I lifted him and laid his shoulders in my lap and his head in the crook of my arm. Cradling him in my body as I surrounded him, sharing my warmth with him. He’s too cold; he shouldn’t be this cold. I began to rock with painful sobs as I tried to contain it.
I swallowed hard as I put my lips to his ear and spoke gently. “Micah, I love you. I can’t – I can’t do this without you.”
But he didn’t wake up. He stayed there, forever still, his glowing white hair in the light of the night and his pale skin glistening from the melted snow. I screamed in my apartment, my anguish twisting with rage. Cried out into the air as if God himself would hear me. This place was empty without him sitting in his spot sipping coffee and glaring at me like he was annoyed. I rested my head on his as my blue light set his pale skin aglow. He was the one who was supposed to survive this story, not me. He was the one who was supposed to kill me. He was the smart one with all the strength. He could do anything. My Micah.