Cutting through the crowds like a knife, Tamiel headed straight for the doors at the rear. Clearly she had brought us into Quincy Market only as a diversion and a way to shake Ezekiel. Michael and I kept her pace and fol owed her to the far end of the marketplace. I was so happy when I final y saw the exit doors next to a smal stage.
Just as Tamiel reached for the door handle, I heard a loud slam reverberate throughout the busy hal . We spun around. Al the doors to Quincy Market had simultaneously shut and locked. But the people continued eating and drinking and chatting as if nothing had happened.
We turned back toward the exit doors. There, on the stage, stood Ezekiel. It was the scenario I most feared.
Ezekiel pasted on that sickening smile of his and started pacing the stage. He stared at us, but spoke to Tamiel in a triumphant voice. “I am going to tel them who they are.”
“Please don’t, Ezekiel.” I heard begging from the seemingly invincible Tamiel, and it terrified me. I looked over at Michael, but he didn’t meet my gaze. He was transfixed, watching the showdown between two angels.
“Does it scare you to think of them knowing the ful story, Tamiel? Oh, I forgot. You would rather they learn the pretty little bits and pieces that you and the others feed them in sanitized places like the Harvard libraries.”
“Have you no care for what wil happen if you tel them everything?”
“Do you mean what might happen to you, Tamiel? And the other fal en?” He gestured around the room. The people were oblivious to us; he must have used some trick to cloud us from their view. “Or do you mean what might happen to al of them? Oh, I was al for keeping Michael and El speth in the dark at first, but now they probably know enough to start the clock. So I would like to be the one to share the entire story—instead of the watered-down versions those simpering fools who cal themselves their parents wil tel them. Michael and El speth should know the truth and the role they are destined to play at the end.”
Her voice became a thunderous clap. “Stop, Ezekiel!”
But her voice was no match for the roar of his own. He yel ed back, “You wil let them listen! Or I wil set this place into a conflagration that matches hel ’s own fire. And that wil only be the beginning.”
Tamiel stayed where she was, but she withdrew from the fight. Ezekiel’s voice quieted and took on that lul ing tone that he seemed to find effective for his purposes. Then he met our eyes for the first time since we saw him in Quincy Market.
“Michael and El speth, I have hoped to find you for a long, long time. Ever since that day when He”—Ezekiel spat out the word like a curse
—“destroyed your fel ow Nephilim, your brothers and sisters, in Noah’s flood. From the very moment I learned about your conceptions, I’ve been looking for you. The people who claim to be your parents made my search difficult, surrendering their immortality so that your presences would be dark to me. They shrouded you in humanity that made you hard to find. But I final y found you, when your own powers surfaced. You became like a beacon to me. Or Michael did, at least. And through him, you, El speth.”
Ezekiel then asked, “Shal I tel you why I have longed for you?”
Michael and I didn’t reply. How could you react when evil itself told you that you are the answer to its prayers?
“The key lies—in part—in the Book of Enoch.” He smirked, and said, “El speth, I believe you uncovered that during your little research today.
“When the congregation of the righteous shall appear,
And sinners shall be judged for their sins,
And shall be driven from the face of the earth;
And when the Elect One shall appear before the eyes of the righteous,
Whose elect works hang upon the Lord of the Spirits,
And light shall appear to the righteous and elect who dwell on the earth. . . .
From that time those that possess the earth shall no longer be powerful and exalted; And they shall not be able to behold the face of the holy,
For the Lord of the Spirits has caused his light to appear
On the face of the holy, righteous, and elect.
Then shall the kings and the mighty perish
And be given into the hands of the righteous and holy.
And thenceforth none shall seek for themselves mercy from the Lord of Spirits For their life is at an end.
“Do you know what that means?”
Michael and I had absolutely no idea, and Tamiel hadn’t uttered a word since Ezekiel had shut her up with the threat of fire.
“No?” Ezekiel said with a smile. “Let me explain. El speth, I believe that Hananel and Daniel told you that God cursed certain of us angels when we descended to earth and created a race of our own by mating with humankind; that race was cal ed the Nephilim. God—in His infinite hubris—
was so furious at our act of creation that He wiped out al humans, save for his pet Noah and his kin. God then prohibited angels from procreation and banished us from heaven, leaving us here on earth as the so-cal ed fal en. Did Hananel and Daniel tel you of this, El speth?”
I nodded.
“The Book of Enoch describes how the fal en angels—like me and like your parents and even like Tamiel over there—wil rule mankind until the end of time. Then, at the end, a select being wil emerge whose purpose wil be to judge the fal en angels and mankind. That select being—who Enoch cal s the Elect One—is a Nephilim, part man and part angel.” He smiled. “So you see, Enoch tel s us that, regardless of God’s specific command that the angels not procreate, the Nephilim wil indeed come again. And one of those Nephilim wil decide the fate of al beings on earth
—angels and humans.”
I felt sick. Suddenly, I knew where Ezekiel’s story was going. He stretched out his hands toward me and Michael. “You are those Nephilim. And one of you is the Elect One.”
Chapter Forty-six
Come on. I had gotten used to the fact that I was different, something other than human. But this? Ezekiel expected me and Michael to believe that one of us was a chosen being, here to judge al creatures on earth at the end of time.
I shot Michael a look, but he seemed mesmerized once again. So I glanced over at Tamiel to gauge her reaction. She looked defeated. She also looked as deadly serious as Ezekiel.
“How does this explain why I have longed for your births? For centuries, even mil ennia?” Ezekiel said as he paced back and forth across the stage, lecturing to his captive audience.
He continued. “I knew that, once I found you, and the Elect One stood at my side, the fal en would be judged fairly at the end. For when the Elect One has learned what I have learned and has seen what I have seen, the Elect One would understand that the fal en are not sinners, but indeed the
‘righteous and elect,’ as Enoch said. And the fal en would continue to possess the earth—maybe even the heavens again.”
It al became clear—whoever control ed the Nephilim control ed the end. But why did Ezekiel think that Michael or I would ever judge him to be
“righteous and elect”? Ezekiel would be at the top of my list of sinners.
Ezekiel took center stage. With a flourish, he stretched out his hands in our direction and announced, “The answer lies in your name, El speth.”
What on earth did he mean?
He chuckled, as if I’d said my question aloud. I guessed that my face spoke volumes. “El speth means the Chosen One. You are the Elect One.”
“Me? Why not Michael?” The words just blurted out.
“Oh, Michael has a special role. But more in the nature of protector, a knight to his lady, if you wil . Except you are so much more than a lady.”
Stretching out his hand, he said, “Come with me.”
So it was me. The Elect One. This was insane. And why did Ezekiel think I would go anywhere with him? Better than anyone, I knew his darkness; I had seen it firsthand through his own eyes.
I spun around and looked at Tamiel and Michael for help. Michael’s face stil bore th
at glazed expression. And Tamiel hadn’t left, but she had averted her eyes and stepped away from me and Michael and Ezekiel. Almost as if she was forbidden to join us in this battle.
Only Ezekiel met my gaze. “El speth, you have a choice. You can come with me and save Michael. Or you can choose Tamiel and her kind, and I wil destroy Michael.”
So that’s how Ezekiel thought he could get me to go with him. He believed that I would never, ever risk Michael’s life. Even for a greater good.
And Ezekiel could be right. How could I choose to destroy Michael?
“You cannot have her!” Michael suddenly awoke with a scream.
Inexplicably, Ezekiel cast an amused look in Michael’s direction. “I’ve heard those words before. I think Hananel and Daniel said them to me the day you were born, El speth.”
Michael lifted off the ground and flew at the surprised Ezekiel, who stil stood on the stage. He landed on him with such force that Ezekiel fel off the stage with a crash, narrowly missing an exposed iron rod that supported the platform. But the rod must have grazed Ezekiel’s face, as blood trickled down his cheek. It was unsettling to see the immortal Ezekiel bleed.
Ezekiel stood up, wiped away the blood with his finger, and then licked it. “You would kil me instead, son?”
“Son? I’m no son of yours,” Michael yel ed.
“That is precisely who you are,” Ezekiel answered calmly.
Michael then flew off the stage toward Ezekiel. This time, Ezekiel was ready. He propel ed himself upward, into the rafters high in the ceiling of the hal . As Michael fol owed him, I started to lift off in pursuit. I couldn’t let Michael fight Ezekiel alone.
Tamiel pul ed me down to the ground. “Michael must combat Ezekiel unaided.”
I struggled to free myself from her grasp, but she was incredibly strong. “Michael is trying to protect me from Ezekiel. I can’t let him do that by himself. He needs me.”
Tamiel took me by the shoulders and stared into my face. “El speth, only the child can kil the parent. Let Michael fulfil his destiny, if he can.”
“Ezekiel is real y his father?” I was shocked, although it explained the link between them. I thought Ezekiel had been speaking metaphorical y.
“Yes, he is. Only one with Ezekiel’s blood in his veins can destroy him.”
The news tore my attention from the battle raging overhead. “But I thought angels couldn’t procreate?”
“They usual y can’t. But you and Michael are unique.”
“So we real y are Nephilim?”
“Yes.”
“Where are our mothers? Our human mothers?” I felt a sudden, deep yearning for mine.
Tamiel stared at the floor. “Your birth mothers are no longer with us.”
“They’re dead?” I wanted to cry, but knew I couldn’t. I had to keep my focus.
She nodded slowly, stil not meeting my eye.
“What about my father? Where is he?”
A crash sounded out above us. Ezekiel had flung Michael into the metal scaffolding bolstering the ceiling, and I screamed despite myself. I twisted and turned, trying to get out of Tamiel’s grip so I could help him.
“Stay here, or you wil only complicate matters for Michael,” she ordered.
Tamiel’s hold was unbreakable, leaving me no choice but to stare at the war above us. Michael and Ezekiel dove up and over and around the massive rafters reinforcing the ceiling. Each took equal turns harming the other, and for a time, I felt heartened that Michael might actual y win the battle. But then Ezekiel caught Michael by the foot and swung his head into a huge beam. Michael flew away, but I knew he was badly hurt. I could smel the blood flowing from his wounds, and I could sense him weakening.
Suddenly, I knew how I could help. Somehow I wrenched Tamiel’s hands off my shoulders and raced to the side of the stage. I looked up. Michael and Ezekiel were hovering directly above me. It was my moment.
I forced a sob and cried out, “Ezekiel, stop. I can’t watch you hurt Michael any longer. Stop. I’l go with you. But only if you deliver him to me—
unharmed and flying of his own accord—right here.”
“No, El ie!” Michael yel ed back.
“Yes, Michael.” I pointedly looked down at the exposed iron rod, hoping desperately that Ezekiel didn’t catch my meaning as wel . “It is the only way.”
“You have made the right choice, El speth,” Ezekiel cal ed out.
Side by side, they began their descent. Ezekiel was careful not to touch Michael, but he didn’t let him out of his sight either. I stood near—but not next to—the iron rod, and watched as they neared the floor. Just before they touched down, I stretched out my arms to Ezekiel, to distract him.
“It is almost time,” I said. As if to Ezekiel.
Ezekiel reached out his arms for me. With an expression of triumph, he looked away from Michael and smiled at me. Just then, Michael flew at Ezekiel’s back and shoved him into the iron rod with al his strength.
We raced to Ezekiel’s side to make sure the deed was done. But we needn’t have. Within seconds, the smel of the blood pouring from his body was overpowering. He seemed weak—even near death—but his eyes were stil open and blinking.
“I am not alone. There are others. Others even more powerful than me. Like your father,” Ezekiel whispered, and smiled his sick smile out at the crowd. And then the blinking stopped.
I looked out at Quincy Market, in the direction of Ezekiel’s final gaze. There, in the throngs, I spotted a man with black hair and bright blue eyes staring right at us. As if he saw us. Then he disappeared.
Tamiel raced to our sides. She nodded in agreement with Ezekiel’s last words. It was over, but only for the moment.
I didn’t care. I stood up and hugged Michael as hard as I could. Even if we had only a short time of peacefulness together, even if I was this other, elect, strange creature, I wanted this moment, this moment of peace.
We looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. I closed my eyes and surrendered into the warmth of Michael’s arms.
Chapter Forty-seven
I opened my eyes. I was in my bedroom.
My bedroom.
I had no memory of returning to Til inghast from Boston.
How had I gotten here? The last thing I remembered was holding on to Michael in Quincy Market, after we looked down at the body of Ezekiel. Oh my God, Ezekiel.
I sat up in my bed. I lifted up my quilt, blanket, and sheets. I was in my flannel pajamas. Who had dressed me in these? I looked at the clock. It said seven A.M., but I had no idea what day it was.
Pushing off my quilt, blanket, and sheets, I stood up, a little unsteady on my feet. I tottered over to my desk, where my bag sat. I picked it up, looking for any scrap of evidence that I’d been to Boston. I found my notebook fil ed with the usual scribbles, my wal et with my identification and money, and my toiletry bag stocked as always. There were no ticket stubs or receipts or even any of the lists of questions I’d made on the train to Boston or during that long night in the Harvard Square coffee shop. But my cel was there. The cel phone I’d thrown into the garbage can at the Til inghast train station.
Had it al been a dream? The flying and the blood? Ezekiel and the trip to Boston? Al that stuff about the Nephilim and the Elect One? Was Michael a dream too?
I ran downstairs, not sure what to hope for. My mom stood at the kitchen counter buttering toast and pouring orange juice, like she did every morning. She looked up at me, unsurprised that I stood in the kitchen. But she was surprised at my state, given the hour.
“Dearest, why are you stil in your pajamas? You have to leave for school in five minutes.”
I stared around the kitchen, as if I hadn’t seen it in months. The kettle sat in its typical place, and the magnets on the fridge held up the normal pictures and reminders. Everything looked the same as when I left. But I felt entirely different.
My mom marched over to me and placed her hand on my forehead. “Do you feel sick, El ie? You
look a little peaked, but you don’t feel warm.”
I was afraid to speak. Almost any sentence that came out of my mouth could be real y out of place. Even crazy.
“Dearest, is everything al right?”
Words final y croaked out of my mouth. “I’m okay, Mom. I just woke up from a real y weird dream.”
Her eyebrows rose in alarm, but her voice sounded calm. Very, very calm. “What was the dream, dearest?”
“Nothing. Just a dream. I’d better get ready.”
I walked back upstairs and opened my closet to pick out an outfit. Hanging on the rack were some of the more daring clothes I’d bought since I started seeing Michael. And the red dress I’d worn to the Fal Dance. That wasn’t a dream, at least. Maybe Michael wasn’t either.
I grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater and headed into the bathroom. Standing against the closed bathroom door for a long moment, I final y went over to the sink and turned on the hot water. As the steam rose up, I stared at myself in the foggy mirror. How could I look like the same old El ie when so much had happened? Or had it?
But what choice did I have but to go through the motions of normalcy? I washed my face with my favorite lemony soap. I brushed out al the knots in my hair. I put on some blush and mascara, and I got dressed. Al the while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Dreading the uncertainty of school, I trudged back downstairs. “I’m ready to go, Mom.”
She looked at me curiously. “But Michael’s picking you up today.”
“I’m not grounded anymore?” Michael hadn’t been al owed to drive me to school since the Fal Dance. We were only al owed to see each other in supervised settings, like school or home.
“No, dearest. Your grounding was over this weekend.” She paused and then asked, “Are you sure that you’re al right, El ie?”
“I’m fine, Mom.” I hoped I sounded more convincing than I felt. I didn’t want her to be worrying about me; I had enough troubles. “I’l just go wait by the front window for Michael.”
“Do you want me to wait with you?”
“No thanks, Mom. I need to review my homework anyway.” I needed a moment alone. And she seemed pleased that I mentioned something as normal as homework.
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