by L F Seitz
I stared at him, astonished. What was he saying? That he’d do anything to save my life, just like I’d do for him? The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I stared speechlessly at him. His Adam’s apple bobbed, breaking the stillness, and I finally looked away.
“Is anything from last night hazy to you?” I asked.
He squinted at the floor, then shrugged.
“Everything seems pretty clear aside from one part, but I think that was the blood loss,” Micah said. I brushed my onyx hair behind my ear as I willed myself to look at him again. There was a brief moment in time last night when I would have given anything to see him looking at me, and I don’t want to waste those precious glances with silly anxiety.
“Tell me from your point of view, and I’ll fill you in if I need to,” I said.
He let his head fall back as he recalled the night. He recalled us being on the road, and that I was about to walk toward the streetlamp. That’s when he was hit. He couldn’t see me but heard me scream. Micah remembered the second Cambion came after him. He spoke the incantation and got the first one as it got him in the belly. He heard me yell his name, and tried to get around the creature to see, but it got him in the ribs. Everything blended together from there.
“Breathing became extremely difficult. Then the Cambion was gone, which I’m assuming you took care of. A moment later you were next to me telling me to put pressure somewhere.” He took a sip of coffee, avoiding my gaze. “Then there was a bright light, and you lifted me and carried me, I think.”
My fingers tingled and my pulse increased as I thought about him still being lucid while I carried him to the apartment. I struggled all the way here. I’d had to act fast, since the old guy was calling the police. Police were human, and there was no way they’d understand the difference between demon hunters and demons. They’d just freak out and throw us all in a cell, and Micah probably would have died.
“I felt like I was floating outside my body after that. It's a similar sensation when I’ve lost a lot of blood. I think I heard you crying, then I jolted awake. Almost like I had been holding my breath. Then there was darkness.”
I was relieved he didn’t hear any of the things I had said while he was dead, especially those three words I’d like to keep to myself. It all made sense with why he acted the way he did this morning. It seemed to be a pattern with him: he got distant and unemotional when he was upset or irritated, but when he was angry, he exploded and said things he seemed to regret later. It still didn’t tell me why he acted the way he did on a regular basis.
I pointed out that he still hadn't answered my question as I fidgeted with my mug. “Why are you such a roller coaster of emotion? Be honest with me.”
He shrugged. “I just have a hard time expressing emotions.” We beheld each other for a few breaths. I could see it in his eyes that he spoke the truth, that he was entrusting me a great deal by being this open. Even across the room, I could see specks of gray in them.
“I didn’t have the same rough upbringing you did, but I know how it feels to be alone and to carry a burden that is so much more than anyone can understand,” Micah said. “When I ascended, I literally obliterated my life, killing everyone I cared about. I’ve been making up for it ever since, and making a mess of it no matter what I do. I carry the weight of people I’ve killed; my parents, my friends. That pressure makes it hard to function. I’m better off holding everything in, but sometimes, I let it out. Being Nephilim, too, being part angel, it’s a level of responsibility and power where I’m not supposed to make mistakes or get hurt or have feelings.” He struggled to find the words. “Like I have to be better, perfect, always good all the time. But at the same time, I’m still supposed to act human, have reasons for my actions, be they merciful or whatever.”
I felt like I had an epiphany as he spoke, like we understood each other in that moment – or at least, I understood him.
“And these two parts of you, when it comes to me, have been tearing you apart?” I asked. His raised his eyebrows as I continued. “I was originally just a Cambion and your enemy who should be killed. As a human, though, you saw my fear and decided to be merciful?”
“Essentially, yes,” Micah said, surprised I understood. “I noticed how far that responsibility would take my people yesterday, when they wanted to condemn you, and had to remind them that we, too, are human. That you are also part human, and humans deserve a chance. This situation we’re in isn’t something that someone can give advice for. Like Jimiah said, we know nothing of what you really are, as well as your abilities. You could be dangerous.”
I thought about how some of the Nephilim in attendance at the assembly glared at me in disgust yesterday. It made me wonder what Micah said about me when he was alone in that room with all those people, and how many enemies he might have made.
“But I know you better than most, and I’ve seen your innocence. I’ve seen you absorb information about this life for the first time. You have helped my people and taken care of me. I know you aren’t evil, and you’re not my enemy.” He almost seemed to be talking to himself, working to justify what exactly was going on inside his head.
Honestly, as he spoke about me not being his enemy, it only made it more apparent: I am not just a Nephilim, and as much as I wanted to be, I’d never truly be like him.
“I’m not the only one who thinks this way, either; there are others: Hamon and Leo are open-minded. Zachriel and Laylah struggle with their feelings, suppressing their human emotions more than most. They live by the law, and the life they’ve built is black and white. Welcoming you has been ... difficult for them.”
I stood to refill our coffee mugs. As I took Micah’s, I noticed him rub his palms on his pants, and the hand of his mug was damp. Was he sweating? I tried not to smile. I guess I wasn’t the only one who got clammy when talking about myself. “Moving forward, can we make a compromise?” I asked, handing his mug back to him.
“What’s the compromise?”
“I won’t pry so much emotion out of you anymore, not if you don’t want me to,” I said. “In return, I want you to be honest with me, with things I should know, either about you or a situation we’re in. Tell me when you’re not comfortable or something makes you uneasy. I know you see yourself as some supreme being compared to little old me, but it will make it easier if we are honest with each other.” I thought about cleaning him up last night after everything that happened. “If you know how it is to lose someone in a fight, then you know exactly how I felt last night. For a moment, I thought you didn’t have a pulse, I felt –” I cleared my throat and stepped away from the topic. “It aids us in working better together.”
“Agreed.” Micah said, holding out his hand. I regarded it for a moment and then shook it.
✽✽✽
“Step back. Use all your weight. Keep your balance,” Micah shouted as we practiced. He was teaching me more offensive moves today. He said if I killed two Cambions using what little self-defense he’d taught me, I was better than I was letting on, and we could move on to harder skills.
Using my sparsely furnished apartment as our gym, we’d been working since sunrise, and now it was about two in the afternoon. It had been two days since the Assembly and since Micah and I had made up after he got mad at me for saving his ass. I’d recovered for the most part but still hadn’t been able to heal my own healing wounds. The ones he couldn't see. Every time I tried, I got light-headed or passed out. I wasn’t about to tell Micah about it; it would only lead to questions I wasn’t ready to answer about my purple light.
So we trained. We started with recapping defensive moves and coordinating several together to create a full action that could be used for an attack. My muscles were the consistency of mashed potatoes and the strength of a baby sloth, but my brain was having a field day with all this new information pouring in.
“When I come at you with this knife, you twist yours like this,” Micah instructed, showing me the movement again. �
�Then come around and dodge as I come in.” He moved past me. “Then swing.” He finished by poking me in the side with the tip of his knife.
“We should use fake knifes. What if I stab you?” I was uneasy about his long knife poking me in the side.
“You won’t,” he chuckled.
I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know?”
“Because you’re not quick enough.” He smiled sinisterly, and heat crawled up my neck to my face.
He was doing this on purpose. He wanted me pissed off. He liked making me mad because every time he egged me on, I got sloppy, and then I got yelled at. This time, I’d take a deep breath, secure my movements, and watch my stepping. I need to win this one.
“Come on, little Lamia,” he said, taunting me. I already knew what to expect.
He ran toward me with his knife drawn and aiming. I flipped my knife but instead of dodging like he told me to, I dropped down and kicked his legs out, grabbing his wrist and poking the back of his neck with my blade. I let go and stood as I saw blood; I’d poked a little too hard.
“Sorry,” I said, wincing.
I went to the kitchen to fetch a paper towel, then my skin tingled; it knew something I didn’t. I twisted, ready to strike, but he caught my wrist and pulled it up and away so my body was against his, pressed into the sink so I couldn’t get away. He held his knife right between my eyebrows.
“Never turn your back,” he whispered.
Micah was so close I could smell the spearmint toothpaste as his breath passed between his lips. It only made me want to move closer. I shoved him away before my face could betray me. I faced the cabinet as I composed myself again. This all-day session was good, the information was great, but being around Micah like this – nothing was better. He wasn’t standoffish at all; he was fun, like the Micah I knew was in there.
“You’re learning faster than I thought,” he said as he sat against the wall by the window. I turned, making a vulgar gesture as I inhaled a glass of water.
“Sure.”
I filled the cup again and walked it to him. He took it from my hand and chugged it.
“No, really,” he said as he handed back the cup. “You’re doing really well, better than I was when I started.”
“Yeah, you were also thirteen and probably still hadn’t gone through puberty. I’m an adult. I’d hope I’m doing just a little better than you did when you started.” I plopped down on the couch, beat.
“I started puberty at ten, for your information, and you are doing better than a thirteen-year-old, but only by a little, so don’t get too excited.”
I threw the pillow he used on the couch at him, and it made a poof sound as it hit his head. I howled in amusement, so hard I teared up as his squinted from above the pillow.
“Clearly, you aren’t more mature than a thirteen-year-old,” Micah grumbled, throwing it back at me. I caught it and tossed it back on the couch. His phone began to buzz on the TV tray next to the couch. I grabbed it and peered at the caller’s name. Unavailable. I tossed it to him before he could get up.
“Hello? All right, I’ll bring her,” he said, hanging up.
My insides fluttered. Was he talking about a mission or something?
“That was Hamon, my team leader. On Friday, there are a few groups of Nephilim coming from Illinois, Minnesota, and Michigan for a strategy meeting with the Counsel to talk about The Rising. After that, there’s essentially a meet and greet to get to know some of the Nephilim who’ll be aiding us during the mission at Miller Park. It’s a giant party hosted by the Counsel. It won’t be great, but it’ll be decent,” Micah said. Being without Micah for a night wouldn’t be terrible. I’d just go to bed early. “Your attendance is mandatory,” he added in a sarcastic but authoritative tone.
I was going to have to be there and socialize. Which I am terrible at. “Oh, please don’t tell me this is really happening,” I said. Anxiety nearly choked me at the thought of meeting new people.
Micah tossed his phone on the couch beside me, shoving his fingers through his hair. “You’ll get to meet some of my people. There are a few I’d like to introduce you to.” He kicked my foot with his as I shoved my hands in my pockets. It was weird to think Micah would actually want me to meet some of his friends; but then again, he’s been nicer since that night we were attacked by Cambions. Less standoffish and kinder. He explained himself a little better and didn’t act so stoic all the time. He smiled more, he laughed at my jokes, and we were finally acting as friends should.
“What if someone tries to jump me?” My fears weren’t misplaced. I was positive Micah saw some of the faces people gave me the night of the assembly. There were some vulgar things said as well: demon cow, hell scum, and Satan’s whore, to name a few.
“I’ll be with you the whole time, so no worrying,” he said as he backed up and proceeded to throw his hair in a ponytail. “Now let’s do some more defensive moves.”
I groaned with fatigue as I stood. I wanted to know more about this meet and greet: How many would be there? Would the Council members be there, too? I wanted to know who he wanted me to meet and who all his friends were. I didn’t know who was friend and who was foe, and I had a feeling each would make an appearance Friday night. So I’d be prepared to do as I did in high school when I wasn’t pulling pranks: blend into the background, invisible, so it doesn’t all end in my bloodshed.
Twenty-Three.
I’M LUCKY I WORE DARKER clothes in high school: my Nephilim wardrobe was basically complete, aside from a snobby personality and long, luscious locks. A few of the younger girls the night of the assembly were dressed in a biker gang look: leather jackets, distressed jeans, boots. The older adults wore mostly normal civilian clothing from the quick glances I made. Most of that I had, and the rest I’d just have to make work.
I searched through my drawers to find something perfect. I didn’t want to appear too Marilyn Manson but also not average, either. Micah was gone, out getting clothes from his apartment and most likely showering as well. I just hoped he’d be back soon to save me from the madness that is my own thoughts. As I pulled on my clothes, I swore my entire body creaked like an old, abandoned house; my muscles ached so bad. Since Monday, Micah has been training me in almost everything: cardio, stealth, defense, attack, knife throwing, and more. We trained all day, and I was eternally grateful for it to be Friday and to finally get the night off. Micah was such a hard ass when it came to training.
“I’m back. You ready?” Micah called from across the apartment. I finished my eyeliner in the bathroom and fluffed my hair as I walked out.
“Is this OK?” I wore the only black skinny jeans I owned, which were so tight it took a set of lunges to get them past my hips. My Breaking Benjamin shirt, with their album cover Phobia faded on the front. Tied around my waist was a black-and-red plaid shirt, my faux leather jacket and, of course, my boots.
Micah tossed his duffle on the couch before he turned and headed to the door again, keys in hand. “Sure, let’s go.” He held the handle of the door and waited for me. He looked as good as he always did in the simplest clothes: a navy blue t-shift that fit snug to his body and loosened at his hips, tucked behind the silver buckle of a black belt. Dark jeans emphasized the length of his legs and ended by being shoved in his boots. Accenting it all was his fitted leather jacket.
“Micah, you didn’t even look. I don’t want to some like some skank,” I whined.
He mumbled something under his breath and turned back toward me, surveying from my face to my worn-out boots. I watched him watch me, a sensation I'd never get used to.
“You look fine. Can we go?”
I gave up and shuffled through the door. I didn’t know why I expected him to say something nice. We walked out into the hall and down the stairs before I stopped him again on the sidewalk.
“Hold on,” I wheezed, trying to catch my breath. My anxiety was getting the best of me, and I didn’t want to walk in there like a scared little mouse. I nee
ded to compose myself first.
“What?” He dragged out the word like an annoyed child, turning to me with lazy eyes.
“I’m not good at this, OK? Meeting new people freaks me out. Can you just empathize for two seconds?” I peered up at him, my palms growing clammy as I wiped them on my pants.
“I do, but you shouldn’t worry. I’ll be there the whole time,” Micah said, pushing me forward by my shoulder. I took a deep breath and hopped for the best.
✽✽✽
“How many people are supposed to be here again?” I asked as we walked up on the road just outside the compound.
“A few hundred,” Micah said. He greeted some other guys who stood guard at the gate. We walked past them without a word, and I felt like I had just snuck in, though it was obvious they saw me.
“Why did they just let me in? I thought I had to be authorized?”
“You are authorized now. They were at the meeting Tuesday. Everyone knows the decision the Counsel made.”
Suddenly, I felt sick. The realization that people actually knew my face set in. How many people were going to be here who didn’t want me to stay? This would be a train wreck. Micah told me not to hide my markings tonight, that I would only stick out if I did. I’d stick out regardless because of their color. Damn it.
The compound was crawling with people and cars, but it was an organized chaos. As we walked across the compound, which had basically turned into a parking lot, not many people noticed me, though it might have been the absence of proper lighting. It was dark and the moon was waning, not giving off much light to illuminate the compound. Lighting was sparce outside and only a few streetlights were scattered across the expansive concrete lot. Micah took wide strides as I tried to keep up. He was eager to get inside. They were holding the gathering in the assembly hall, which I was not ready to reenter. Though Micah wasn’t giving me a choice.