The Rising

by L F Seitz

  “Your neck looks like you tried.” Micah’s hand lay across my throat, cool and comforting against my throbbing skin. I felt his energy seep in and the light grow between us. The pain was gone, and I was relieved. Then his hands held either side of my face; ice against swollen skin. I leaned into it, into the comfort, and he didn’t seem to mind it as he worked. I reveled in the contact. His hands lingered there as I took in their chill but dropped once I peeked up at him. Worry lingered on his face.

  “Don’t get upset,” I said, knowing I needed to heal all my wounds. Even the old ones.

  “About what?”

  “Can you heal these ones, too, from Tuesday?” I whispered. I pulled off the jacket I still wore and yanked my shirt off my left shoulder, revealing badly healed scars from the claw marks of the creatures we fought.

  “You’ve just been walking around with these?” Micah asked. “Aren’t you in pain?”

  “Learned to live with pain, especially with you here.” I tried to make light of the situation, but Micah wasn’t having it. He breathed out heavily, gently rested his hand on my shoulder, and began to heal. I watched his expression as his hand moved across my collarbone, concentrating hard as he went. The glow enhanced his irises, making them appear as molten blue flames.

  Thoughts of what Leo and Hamon said about him came to mind – how Micah might have feelings for me, that he’s happier now than he was before – but I pushed them away. Maybe their accusations were partly wrong, but some of it was right; I could see it when he healed me. He cared about me. He cared a lot. But love – that was something else entirely.

  “Why?” His voice was gravely as he closed his eyes, looking almost pained. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His hand still lingered on my skin and ignited the desire. In that moment, I wanted to hold him, to hug him tight and tell him I was sorry. That pain on his face was because of me, but I couldn’t tell him, I couldn’t bring him more pain. I couldn’t even bring up the words to explain why. “I’ll let you sleep,” he whispered, his hand dropping as he finished.

  My light olive skin healed perfectly. When I smiled at him, his face was emotionless. He was upset with me. When Micah reached over and turned off my lamp, I caught his hand without thinking.

  “Please, don’t be angry with me,” I whispered, though no one was here but us. “I’m sorry.” I felt his fingers move against mine. Then he pulled away and left my room. I heard him lie back onto the couch, where I wish I could go and talk to him.

  Last night when Laylah attacked me, it was a problem I wasn’t ready to get into, especially since it involved Micah. There was too much at stake and nothing I could prove. We were too close to The Rising, and I wasn’t going to be the reason things were thrown into anarchy.

  And now this nightmare. Who was that man? Was he my father?

  “Is all that we see or seem,

  but a dream within a dream?”

  – Edgar Allan Poe

  ✽✽✽

  It was morning. I wasn’t in pain, so that made it a good morning. Unless Micah tried to start something with me about last night and not having healed my injuries, it would remain a good morning. I peeked out into the apartment before journeying to the coffeemaker and, to my surprise, found Micah was gone. He’d left a note on a white piece of paper on the counter:

  Gone to hear the update from the Counsel about The Rising. Your attendance isn’t mandatory. Be back soon. We will be talking about your face. ~ Micah

  I took his absence as a win and began brewing some happiness. The smell of the ground coffee made my mouth water as I scooped it into the filter. The sun shone brightly through my living room window, giving me a burst of energy to start the day. It reminded me of my summers between school, when I would get excited to wake up and go to the beach. I asked my foster father Phil to drop me off on his way to work, and always claimed I was meeting friends there. In reality, I would go alone, throw my headphones on and walk the beach of Simmons Island looking for shells or pretty rocks. I would unroll my towel and bake on it in the sun for hours, basking in the warmth. Summer was my time, and the lake was my happy place. I should have known then that something was up: my skin never burned once, even without sunscreen. Just turned a deeper warm olive tone.

  As I poured myself my first cup, I noticed a distinction in the coffee. It smelled like vanilla, like Micah. The bag looked fancier than what I recalled buying, too; it looked more expensive. I pressed the rim of my mug to my lips and took in a sip of the new coffee Micah had bought. I would have to thank him for it sometime; it tasted heavenly.

  Making my way to the couch, I sat in Micah’s usual spot on the right and pressed my toes into the heated patch of sun on the left. It toasted my toes as the fabric baked in morning light. The cats suddenly came out of the bedroom, but instead of going to their food, they came to me. Nox jumped onto my lap and purred under my fingers. Lux surprisingly lay against my feet. This was a good morning, quiet and comfy. Something I hadn’t had in quite some time now, ever since I met Micah. We trained every morning now. Though quiet solitude was amazing, I wouldn’t want it any other way; I couldn’t imagine my life without Micah anymore.

  “You’re up,” Micah said as he walked through the door, slamming it and scaring the cats away as they disappeared into the bedroom.

  “Goodbye good morning,” I whispered. I scooted to my side of the couch, the sun shrouding my back like a warm blanket. Micah stared at me, his arms crossed as if he were waiting for something.

  “How was the meeting?” I asked.

  “Informative, but unless you explain to me what last night was about, you’ll hear nothing.” Micah was more irritated today than most days when I woke up, probably because he had to help me yet again last night. I guess being woken by screams in the night, only to find your friend’s bloody face staring up at you, would definitely put a dent in your beauty sleep and make anyone sour.

  “Would you believe me if I said I fell, multiple times?” My jokes weren’t going to get the relaxed Micah from last night back, and I’m glad he at least had that time to enjoy himself. I can’t imagine bringing my beaten face to him after only an hour of being there. He was so stress-free at the party, for the first time in who knows how long. What would it have done to him to know that among his friends, his people, someone he trusted tried to kill me?

  “No jokes, Lamia, this is serious. Do you even realize how screwed up it is for me to be responsible for you and find you the way I did last night?”

  “I didn’t want to upset you,” I said.

  “Why would I be mad at you for getting mugged?” he demanded. My face scrunched up at his words. “Not mad at me – mad because I was attacked at the compound yesterday.”

  Micah went unnaturally still. “Wait, this didn’t happen on your way home? You were attacked by Nephilim?”

  My words stirred up rage in him. His shoulders tensed as his hands dropped to his sides, balled into fists as he began pacing. I couldn’t help the guilt, for the problems this could cause Micah. I didn’t want him to feel he couldn’t trust the Nephilim. They were his family.

  If someone I trusted hurt Micah, I don’t know what I would do. Probably something very comparable to Micah’s state now: pacing with rueful intent to kill whoever hurt him. I didn’t have family, though, not like he did, so I didn’t know how it would feel to be that betrayed. But I assumed it would hurt very badly, to the point of heartbreak. Micah cared so much for his people, so much so he broke rules to get information to save their lives. I could only imagine how he felt about his friends. To know one of them went behind his back, against his wishes and attacked me ... I think I’d choke the life from whoever put their hands-on Micah if the roles were reversed. That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell him.

  “Nothing bad happened,” I said. “They pushed me around a little. I’m fine.”

  Micah’s face reddened as he glared at me, his anger growing with the words.

  “Pushed you around,” he said, seethin
g. “They cut your throat, and I know a dislocated jaw when I see one, Lamia.” He ran his hands through his hair. Micah was quiet as he stared out the window at nothing but brick. I worried for him, what this meant to him, what imploding might happen in his head.

  “Who was it? Describe them to me.” His voice was terrifyingly calm.

  “I don’t know; it was dark,” I said.

  “What about their voice? Guy or girl?”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  Micah turned to me, his face still as stone.

  “You’re lying,” he snapped.

  “What will this information get you?” I asked, setting my coffee on the table as I stood from the couch.

  “Justice for those who have broken the Nephilim laws,” he said. “I saw your neck. You could have died.”

  “Whoever did this wants me to be afraid, to run, but I refuse to. Making this a big deal gives them power to divide everyone, and The Rising is coming; the Nephilim need to be a united front.”

  Micah looked disappointed, and I knew I should have had Hamon heal me before I left, if only to save him from his guilt. It was ignorant of me to think I could handle it on my own.

  “I know this isn’t right, but what’s more important right now: The Rising or me? Even I know the answer to that.” I said. I did what I thought Micah would do, which was keep it to himself for the sake of everyone else.

  Anger flashed as he glowered. I rested my hand on his shoulder. It was a bold move, but I didn’t know how else to comfort him.

  “I’m OK, and next time, I’ll be more cautious.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Micah said. “You will tell me eventually, and they will pay.”

  “I’m not going to tell you who it is, so drop it.” I smirked before turning from him and again grabbing my mug and taking a sip. I looked back to see Micah squinting at me, then striding over as he towered over me.

  “You know exactly who it is,” he said, fuming.

  “Please drop it, Micah,” I said as I moved away from him toward the kitchen. He only followed me. “Everyone is a stranger, so don’t ask me to describe them to you.”

  Micah was taking this hard, and to imagine his face if I told him it was someone he trusted – I’d ruin him. He worked so hard to get me pardoned until the Divine Counsel contacted us. It would break him to know his friend turned her back on him.

  “Please, Micah, let’s just put it in the past.” I pleaded with him as I pulled his mug from the cabinet and filled it with coffee. “They don’t matter, not when it comes to the bigger picture.”

  He took the mug from me. His breath warmed my face as we stood in close proximity. “Your ability to see past something like this is very becoming of you, and also very annoying.”

  My skin grew hot with the compliment. What’s with Nephilim men and the twinkle they get when I try to be the better person? Hamon gave me the same face yesterday.

  “The demons, they’re going to use the tunnels under the city – at least that’s what our intel says. We still don’t have a count of how many will be there, but we’re getting closer.” He downed his coffee in three gulps. I gave him a quizzical look. “I have to leave in a few minutes; I’m meeting Hamon. He wants to discuss something with me.” Micah set his mug in the sink before grabbing his jacket and moving to the door.

  “Tell him I said hi,” I said. I thought of what Hamon might say to him. I prayed that he kept his word and said nothing.

  The door closed. The apartment was quiet again. I had the morning to myself and surprisingly didn’t know what to do with it. I searched for my sketchbook but couldn’t find it. When I looked under my bed, there was only a small, old, leather-bound book. The one from the bookstore. The last time I’d looked for it, I’d torn my apartment apart and couldn’t find it anywhere. I dusted it off, and thoughts of last night’s nightmare came to the front of my mind. I went to the couch as I flipped through, scanning for something that described a beautiful face.

  The longer I came up empty, the more impatient I grew. There was nothing but serpents and gangly creatures that liked to steal body parts in the night.

  “Show me my demon dad, damn it,” I grumbled at the book.

  The next page was blank, as well as all the other pages after that. Nothing but white parchment. I flipped back to the front pages that I had just looked through, but they were also all blank. All the pages were white, like someone was playing a sick joke with invisible ink.

  “Useless,” I snapped and tossed it at the recliner. What use was a book that only showed its contents when it felt like it? My casual reaction to a magical book said something about these last few weeks: Nothing surprises me anymore, let alone an otherworldly book.

  I went searching for my sketchbook again. I knew it was in my room somewhere, but it continued to elude me. I found myself picking up laundry and pulling my dirty sheets off my bed after minutes of coming up empty. Doing laundry would pass the time. I stepped out of the room with my hamper and saw the leather-bound book, open in the middle of the living room. Words were scribbled across the page.

  My blood ran cold as I stared at it, waiting for something else to appear. Books didn’t just move on their own.

  “Who’s there?”

  No one answered as I stood in my doorway, a strange pull to learn whatever the book could reveal. I set down my hamper and walked over, looking at the page before me.

  Lucifer – our Lord and morning star

  Why would it land on this page? The question sent a quiver across my skin as it beckoned me to read on.

  Brief history: Lucifer was one of the first angels of Heaven created by God, along with his brothers you may know: Michael, Gabriel, Utherial, and so on. According to Lucifer, God commanded his angels to venerate Man, but Lucifer refused and fought his brother Michael, and eventually was cast out of heaven. As an act of defiance, Lucifer twisted a human being’s soul to create the first demon, Lilith. Since then, Lucifer has created the knights and princes of hell, multiplied many demons, and created a world beneath the world filled with hideous creatures, demonic souls, twisted beings, and everything in between.

  His name: Lucifer is known in many languages. In Hebrew, it means Son of Dawn. In Latin, it means Morning Star, and in Greek, it means Bringer of Dawn. He is known throughout the world as the king or lord of the underworld. ​

  His abilities: Our king has more abilities than the average angel or demon. This is because he is an angel and he created demons, evolving their minds and their tainted souls into beasts no one could imagine. He has, in his angel form, abilities of the angels such as telekinesis, the ability to blind others, invincibility, and voice and image mimicry. And of the demons he evolved, he has come to have pyrokinesis and thermo resistance. Though it is not for sure, legends have it that our Lord can regenerate limbs, levitate, control demon souls with his mind, and combust any demonic creature with just a glance. Our king is most powerful – some say more powerful now than any angel, but no one has seen him since he broke from his cage in hell.

  His presence: Our lord is a tricky one, in that he can mimic both image, such as shape shifting, and sound, one of the rarest creatures to do so. Angels have the gift of voice and image mimicry, meaning they can look and sound like anyone or anything they please. His most frequent form is to disguise himself as his original form: an angel. He is frequently seen to all as a younger man sporting long, glorious hair and blue irises. He can show himself as visions in dreams; the Lord can reach you in any form of consciousness. A pleasant scent can accompany his presence to disguise the true smell of sulfur from hellfire. Legend says when he appears, he comes with purple light or purple flame, which is the mixture between his angelic soul and now darkened spirited, twisted by red hellfire.

  ​Turning the page, I was only met with white parchment; the rest of the book was empty. Nothing but the information on these two pages to give me information I don’t understand.

  Unknowingly, I was now kneeli
ng before the book, my mind in a fog as I tried to untie the ball of information I was just given. The book was blank moments ago, until I yelled at it, telling it to show me information about my father. And then this. It told me things that could never be true, that would never be fact in this life or any other.

  It couldn't be – for my sanity or anyone else's.

  Twenty-Five.

  “YOU’RE BETTER AT THIS than I thought,” Micah grinned. I threw one knife after another into the board Micah had borrowed from the training facility. It had been a week since I met Micah’s friends and was nearly killed by one of them, though Micah still doesn’t know who it was. In a way, I guess I was saving Laylah from his wrath as well as a trial.

  “I like doing this,” I said as I threw three in a row right in the center.

  Micah hasn’t lightened up on our training since I was attacked. If anything, it’s gotten harder. I was a million times more confident in my skills compared to that night with Laylah, but even now, the thought of fighting her made me cringe.

  “You like it because you don’t have to do anything,” Micah said. I turned around melodramatically and gave him a face of astonishment.

  “That is so not true. This takes skill.”

  He was right; it was a nice break from all the extensive movement he put me through. Though it did take skill. I think Micah was just jealous I was so good.

  “Well, a stationary board and a moving target are very different things. After this last pair of knives, I want to go over your defensive moves one more time. You need a little more critiquing.” Micah paced behind me as he watched the last knife fly from my fingers, joining its siblings in the center like the last three sets.

  “We always work defense. I’m starting to think you like doing it so you can attack me passive aggressively,” I said as I crossed my arms.

  Secretly, I liked it. It was fun to fight him, to get better and learn with someone so trustworthy. I also liked it because there was a lot of skin-to-skin contact. I mean, he’s handsome and I’m human. I walked over to the counter to grab my blade, knowing at any moment he’d attack. He loved trying to catch me by surprise – though, after so many times, it had basically become routine.