by Ali Cross
Before he could get up I spun and threw myself into the air, rotating three quarters around until I landed on the guy, one knee on his chest, and a fist planted squarely on his temple. He lost consciousness immediately.
I lunged to my feet and took note of the guy with the broken ankle. It had barely slowed him down. He adjusted his breastplate, lowered his chin and swung his short blade once, twice, three times. I could hear the whoosh as it cut through the air.
But he kept looking from me to the man on the ground and he didn’t seem as confident as he had before.
I jumped into the air, landing a spinning hook kick on his head and knocking him out. Just as my feet hit the ground, I heard a wild, animal-like scream, echoed by an intense crack of lightning and the tumultuous boom of thunder. I turned, anticipating my next attacker, but Akaros’ endless training kicked in and I returned to the unconscious man in a heap behind me.
With my foot I pushed him over and grabbed the short blade from his hand then dashed toward the crypt, toward the sound of the fierce cry echoing through the air—Michael’s cry.
Running for him, I sped past a trio of towering stone angels before I stumbled into a clearing, pulling up short as the scene came into view.
A Spartan, his blade raised high, leapt into the air, poised to strike as Michael stood, breathing hard, his fists balled in front of him, his chin down.
Move, I wanted to scream. Move! And maybe I did scream it.
Or maybe the words remained as frozen as my body.
In the air, the Spartan began the downward arc of his blow—a killing one, for sure.
And then I saw:
Michael’s wings
golden and glorious
spread wide behind him
framing him
in an arc of golden light.
chapter twenty-five
Michael thrust a fist to the ground, his knees following the movement, while his right wing whipped around.
I thought for cover.
I thought for protection.
But instead, his glorious wing sliced clean through the Spartan’s body from shoulder to hip. Blood arced through the sky, glistening in the moonlight as it fell near my feet.
Time slammed into me and I was suddenly there. I took a step forward, but the slow clap of hands stopped me. Akaros emerged from the shadows.
“Well done, Michael. Well done.” He’d returned to his glory, his figure barely visible, so black was he. Even Michael’s light couldn’t illuminate him. One figure, golden and glittering, the other like an oil slick in the darkness. “I see you’ve learned a few tricks since last we met.”
Michael pulled his Halo into himself until he stood as a boy before a god. Akaros would never deign to reduce himself to human form unless he absolutely had to.
The cemetery, suddenly devoid of Michael’s light, fell dark and silent. I wondered where the Spartans were—they were deadly, silent killers and could come upon me at any moment. But I found myself creeping forward, wanting to see and hear more of what passed between Akaros and Michael.
“What are you doing here, Akaros?” Michael asked. He sounded weary—not tired so much as sad.
“Well, you’re here, my old friend. Perhaps I came to say hello.”
Michael just breathed.
Akaros turned his face, letting me see it in profile. He looked toward the school, toward me, and he smiled, his sharp canines coming into view as he did. “I see you’ve found some friends.” Akaros laughed, like you might for a child who believed candy grew on trees. “Do you think they can save you?”
Michael’s chin snapped up and his shoulders tensed.
And then everything happened at once.
A heavy weight landed on my back—a man, his forearm pressed against my throat. In his other hand he held a short sword, the curve of its cruel blade poised at my chest.
I rolled my left shoulder, allowing me the freedom to twist just enough to get my right elbow up and into the Spartan’s nose. His head snapped back, but his grip only tightened—he’d been trained by Akaros, after all.
But so had I.
Reaching around I linked my arms behind his knees and with all my strength I threw myself backward. We both fell to the ground, landing with a mighty thud—and the Spartan’s grip weakened.
I rolled to my right, snatched the short blade from his hand, then sliced it across his throat.
I thought I was free. But when I looked up, Spartans surrounded me once more.
Picking up the blade I’d dropped when the last soldier attacked me, I straightened.
Breathed.
Now with a blade in each hand, I swung them in circles at my sides, readying for battle.
With a ferocious scream I lunged myself at the nearest Spartan and let the battle consume me.
They came, blades drawn, spears beating a drumbeat on the tombstones around me. With a sidekick, I made the first man stumble, and when he righted himself, I had him by the throat, his back pressed against my chest. He took the spears meant for me before I dropped him to the ground.
Everything coalesced into a blur of parry, strike, duck, thrust, leap, punch, and slice. Slowly the Spartans drew away, but I heard others fighting nearby.
I felt a body bump into my back and I whirled to strike—but the man behind me was not a Spartan.
It was the tall, quiet man from the church. Longinus.
“What are you doing here?” I yelled, blocking the strike of an attacker while Longinus thrust a sword into his gut.
“I was drawn by the staff—lucky thing, too, as you and Michael were in dire need.”
“We’re not in dire need. We totally had this.”
“Indeed.”
There was no time for conversation as the battle raged on. Longinus and I fought against the Spartan attackers, whose numbers never seemed to diminish. Sweat poured into my eyes and blood trickled into my mouth from a gash on my lip. The air crackled with electricity, but still the rain didn’t come.
“Perhaps you should reveal yourself and put this battle to an end,” Longinus said behind me.
“What, are you getting tired, old man?”
“Tired, no. Old, yes.” He grunted as he dealt with another attacker. “But if you embraced your gift, you could save our friends from harm.”
I looked back at him then and he gestured away from us—when I followed his gaze I saw Father Cornelius. He had a book open in his hands, his mouth moving in words I couldn’t hear—before him Knowles stood, a spear crossed in front of himself, holding a lone Spartan at bay. Though he held his own, I knew he couldn’t last much longer.
But I felt unsure of myself—unsure I could control the otherworldly power inside of me. Would I Become a demon and risk killing even my friends?
“Why are they here?” I shouted.
“Because of the staff. Because of him.” I couldn’t see if Longinus indicated anyone, but I could see Michael’s light again, shining across the way, and knew Longinus meant him. “And because of you, Lady.”
And that was a burden I just couldn’t bear.
Without a word I whirled around and brought a thundering kick down on the back of the Spartan in front of me, followed by a hammer-fist to the top of his head. As soon as he hit the ground, I ran toward Knowles. Then a thought occurred to me—maybe I could convince Father to intervene, to call off Akaros’ dogs. I veered toward the crypt and the Door waiting within.
When I entered the small, stone building, a sudden fear gripped me. What if Father took me, along with the demons? What if I couldn’t resist him?
At least I would be home, my friends would be safe, and I’d have returned to the world I was familiar with. A world that made sense. Still, the feeling of doubt fell upon me like a cape.
The temperature fluctuated from icy cold to burning. I stood still, cocked my head to the side and closed my eyes. I willed my Shadow to cross the threshold of the Door.
Father, I called out in my mind. Call the Spar
tans home.
No, Father boomed, and I jumped. The sound of his sibilant voice echoing with ferocious intensity through my mind made me shudder with terror.
Come to me, he said. I took a step backward, and bumped into a hard body. I nearly hit the roof, and I’m not proud to say that I screamed. Just a little. But still.
“Desi,” Michael’s warm, honey voice whispered in my ear as he took me in his arms. “Desi.”
I relaxed into his embrace, releasing the fear for his safety I’d held close to my heart.
Come, Father commanded again.
“No.” My soul quaked like a plucked bowstring, Father’s command cancelling out every other thought. I swallowed hard against the rising need to obey him.
“You will return to me,” Father said aloud, the sound reverberating around the tiny room. The walls cracked, dust and bits of stone fell from the ceiling. “You are my child,” he bellowed.
“We’ve gotta get out of here,” I shouted, as a devastating boom rattled through the crypt. The Door cracked open and light, cold and luminous, filtered through the seams. “Now!”
Desolation!
The cold, red light from Hell slashed through the dark room like a knife.
The zabaniyah howled.
Michael pulled me to the ground and crouched beside me.
Golden light engulfed us, burning bright, so encompassing I had to shut my eyes against it.
Father shrieked.
And Michael echoed him.
The heat and light overcame me as Michael Became, throwing his wings over me, just as the Shadow of my father pounced upon me.
Upon us.
I was caught in a tornado—encircled by Michael’s arms, buffeted to and fro. Air pressed down all around us, suffocating. My father cried in wild fury as his wings continued to beat a maelstrom around us.
Michael held me so tightly I thought my bones would break—if the burning heat of his glory didn’t kill me first. But the excruciating pain in my heart and head—the battle with myself to not heed Father’s command—threatened to tear me apart.
A sound like a sonic boom cracked through the room and suddenly the cold lifted.
Michael slowly retracted his wings. Chunks of stone fell to the floor as he shook himself free of debris.
“Father?” I asked, just as a low croaking moan resonated through the room.
“Gone.” Michael pulled me to my feet. The building quivered, threatening to fall at any moment.
“Come on,” he yelled, grabbing my hand and running from the building.
We sprinted across the cemetery, leaping and dodging tombstones. I didn’t look back when the ground rumbled and the crypt collapsed on itself.
We ran all the way to the school, then stopped in the shadowed entryway at the back of the cathedral. I dropped Michael’s hand and leaned against the building, not out of breath in the physical sort of way, just . . . stunned. Shocked.
Father had come, and returned to Hell. And I was still here.
Michael had found me, and sheltered me from my father’s wrath.
And now Michael stood next to me, breathing hard.
So close I could feel his breath on my lips.
Feel the rise and fall of his chest.
So aware was I of him that my own breathing settled to match his.
His hands hung just near mine. Not touching. Not yet.
“The Spartans?” I asked between short gasps of breath.
“Also gone,” Michael said. “Sucked back through the Door when Satan called.”
Oh.
He shifted so his left leg leaned lightly on my right.
At first I kept my eyes level, seeing his shirt quiver over his chest. But then I raised my eyes—and found him watching, waiting for me. Even in the darkness I could see the gold in his eyes, feel their warmth.
His fingers reached for mine.
He stepped nearer, closing the small distance between us.
Our noses touched, his breath mingled with mine.
The sweet smell of orange blossoms swept over me.
I tilted my head up, our lips a breath apart.
His lips tasted sweet as they pressed lightly against my own. I melted into his kiss, and he drew me closer, sending all thought away.
There was only the delicious feel of his mouth against mine, his body, his hands.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and curled my fingers into his hair.
Michael stroked his hand down my hair before pressing me to him and deepening his kiss.
I felt transported, borne away on angel wings.
When he pulled away I leaned forward, wanting more. For the first time in my life I didn’t need the passion—I only desired the closeness and love I felt with him. My love.
Gone were the doubt and fear I always felt with James and worried over with Aaron. All I felt now was . . . love.
Loved.
Michael leaned in once more and I looked up expectantly for his kiss—but he only rested his forehead on mine and let out a long, wavering breath. He slipped one hand under my hair and gently trailed his fingers over the sensitive skin at my neck.
He kissed me near the corner of my eye, then whispered, “Later.”
He stepped back and locked his eyes on mine. I nodded, speechless, completely incapable of words. He’d said Later. Which meant we had a later.
He took my hand and, opening the school door, led me inside.
chapter twenty-six
In the basement room, we found Longinus and Father Cornelius huddled over a book, arguing quietly. Miri sat with her sleek, silver Mac on her lap. Knowles slumped in his chair, kneading one temple.
He looked up as I crossed the threshold and his mild eyes met mine.
“You’re here,” he said, his face wide open with shock. Everyone looked at him, but I knew what he meant. He ignored them, staring at me. “I heard him come.” His voice quivered and when he lowered his hand from his temple, I noticed it was shaking, too. “It took all my strength not to fly to him when he commanded you to come.”
His face was as pale as the moon and his jaw hung slack. “How did you resist him?” He looked at me with such awe, like I’d just committed the greatest act of heroism in the universe.
“I—I didn’t.” I gestured to Michael who stood so close behind me that my hand touched his chest when I lifted it. “Michael did.”
Knowles’ gaze left mine and crawled above me to Michael. He stared at him for a moment, then nodded, slowly, just once.
Raised voices drew my attention from Knowles and toward Longinus and Cornelius.
Longinus brought his fist down onto the book with such force the table shook.
“He will not get it—I will protect it with my life!” Spittle flew from his mouth, giving him the appearance of a crazed dog.
Father Cornelius placed a hand on Longinus’ arm. When he spoke, his voice had the soothing timbre of a parent consoling their child. “I know you would never willingly allow Akaros to acquire it, my friend. I know. But you’ve never yet had to face a foe like this demon, and we need to be prepared for every possible outcome.”
Though the concession seemed to cost him much, Longinus took a deep breath and stepped away from the table. He ran his hands over his military-short hair. The man was covered in marks. A jagged line ran across his forehead and down his left temple. A row of nasty scars around his neck matched those around both wrists—they looked like barbed wire, and I wondered at the torture he must have endured.
“Forgive me, Father,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. He looked up, as if noticing for the first time they were not alone. “Forgive me.”
I didn’t know what to do but nod, my eyes never leaving his face.
He took another step back and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked directly at me, and the blue of his eyes startled me. They weren’t the dark pools of James, or Miri’s bright diamonds—his eyes were as blue as the Aegean Sea, and seeming
ly as deep.
“Forgive me, Lady,” he said with such passion it embarrassed me. His hands dropped to his side as he bent into a low, formal bow.
“Uh, it’s okay?” I said, looking around at the others for some sort of clue as to what was going on. Miri raised her eyes from the computer screen and tried to smile—but there was so much weariness etched there, I didn’t know if it would count as an actual smile. Still, she was here, and her presence meant something to me. Made all of this somehow less psycho.
Father Cornelius cleared his voice and when I met his eyes he gestured toward the chairs. “Have a seat, child—we have much to discuss.”
I sat beside Knowles, our shoulders touching. There was a part of me that knew normally I’d have recoiled from such familiarity, especially from him—but this time I thought maybe he could take some comfort from me. I wondered what was happening to me. Shouldn’t my Becoming have claimed me? Defined me? Instead, I felt more divided than ever.
Miri leaned over a little so she could see me past Michael. “Hey,” she said, her gaze holding mine for only a second before turning back to her computer screen.
“What are you looking at?” I hoped to turn the conversation away from whatever it was Cornelius thought we had to talk about. I needed a moment to process . . . everything.
“Well, that is one of the things we have to discuss.” Cornelius took his glasses off and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes.
Michael and I relaxed—a little. Sitting in that room, there was precious little evidence of what had just happened in the cemetery—Longinus sported a new scar that crossed the bridge of his nose and down his left cheek. Otherwise, everyone seemed unfazed—well, with the exception of Knowles whose body still quivered from time to time. Impossibly, I longed to squeeze his hand, to let him know I understood. Because it seemed that I did.
Instead, I snapped, “Well, get on with it.”
Father Cornelius bent over the papers on the desk, muttering, Longinus leaned against the wall, studiously examining the floor at his feet. In the distance, thunder rumbled. I wondered if it was finally raining. Michael traced patterns on the palm of my hand. Miri closed her laptop and fixed her gaze on Cornelius.