by Amy Miles
Gabriel growls, admitting defeat as he glances down the hall. “What should I expect?”
“Answers.”
Sias turns and heads back the way he came, his feet swiftly attacking the sharp incline.
No backward glance. No goodbye. Gabriel watches until Sias rounds the corner.
A deep sense of abandonment falls over Gabriel. He finds it hard to get out the words, “Goodbye, Sias.”
Pushing aside his regret, Gabriel turns slowly to face the door at the end of the hall. It seems small, insignificant in light of the endless hallway, but Gabriel is not fooled. He can feel something emanating from that room - power.
His steps are slow as he approaches, hesitant as he halts before the door. Placing his hand on the doorframe, he can feel it - the shift in the air, the electric current that makes the hairs on his arms rise.
Gabriel takes a deep breath as he curls his fingers around the doorknob. The wooden door squeals on its hinges as it swings open. Pitch darkness greets him.
Chapter 23
Gabriel steps into the room, instantly noting the chill in the air. The drastic drop in temperature surprises him. He peers through the darkness, unable to see much beyond a couple feet in front of him. Pale light shines from above but fails to stretch to the floor.
Shear stone walls line the open crevice. Moonlight drapes the ceiling with its luminescent silver glow, but the floor is bathed in pitch darkness. Gabriel moves hesitantly into the room. His footsteps echo all around him. How big is this place?
The further he enters the cavernous room, the more certain he is that his mentor waits for him. But why not speak to him, to call him forward? Is this a test?
Despite being visually hampered, Gabriel can sense an electricity on the air. Closing his eyes, he stops and turns, nostrils flaring as he hunts the scent. It is directly above him. Gabriel glances up.
A man sits on a ledge perched high above him. Although the moonlight does not reach him, an aura of light suddenly appears to envelope him.
“Impressive.” His deep voice booms through the room. “Sias has taught you well in such a short time.”
Gabriel backs away, to have a better view of his mentor. His enormous frame is draped in white. A leather strap around his hairline holds back his windblown, gold-flecked hair from his eyes. A large sword rests in a scabbard at his side, too large for a human to manage. Two golden crosses, like oversized bracelets, adorn his biceps.
He smiles, leaping to the floor. Instead of plummeting, he seems to float gracefully. His descent slows as his toes touch the floor a few feet ahead of Gabriel.
Even at this close proximity, Gabriel’s head barely reaches the man’s neck. He stands over seven feet tall, his stance wide but non-threatening. Bright lavender eyes stare back, neither uninviting nor curious.
“I am Elias. I have been chosen as your mentor.” Even his voice exudes power. Gabriel tries to think of some snide comment, about how he would rather be jousting with Enael instead of stuck in this dungeon, but the words fail to form. He simply stares, in awe.
Clearing his throat, Gabriel rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. You’re just a tad intimidating, but then I’m sure you already know that.”
Elias nods, solemnly. Light shimmers around him, chasing the shadows back several feet. Gabriel hesitates, wondering what Elias must think of him, but his mentor says nothing. “So, um…how does this work? Sias mentioned we are leaving.”
“Yes.” His gaze shifts heavenward. “But it is not time yet.”
Uncomfortable with the cryptic answer, Gabriel shifts from side to side. The inner lining of his cheek grows sore as he chews at the tender flesh. Elias glances back down at him. “How much has Sias told you about me?”
“Not much. Actually, nothing at all. He just said that you have answers for me.” Elias nods and waits. Gabriel clears his throat again. “And that you know about my destiny, whatever that means.”
He would not have believed it possible for Elias to appear any grimmer than he already did, but he was wrong. The man’s sweeping brow lines with concern. “You will know everything…in time.” He glances again to the ceiling.
Gabriel’s anger, trailed over from his conversation with Sias, boils over. Patience and respect be darned. He wants answers.
“Really?” he snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. Any hint of awe or self-preservation flees in the face of indignant teenage rebellion. “That’s all you’re going to tell me after what I’ve been through?”
No doubt, angering this giant is the worst possible thing he can do, but Gabriel doesn’t care. He shakes his head, refusing to back down.
“I’m sick of being told to wait. I’ve been kidnapped, nearly starved to death and then given a blood transfusion against my will. I’ve been poked, prodded, had meaningless ancient history facts shoved into my brain and gone to bed every night with more bruises than I can count. Now, either you start talking, or I’m going to walk right back through that door and act like none of this ever happened. Are we clear?”
Elias stares hard at him. He folds his arms tightly across his chest, an imposing sight to behold. Gabriel resists the urge to step back. “You feel strongly about this?”
He nods firmly. “I do.”
“You are impetuous,” he muses, “Sias would not approve.”
Gabriel shrugs. Elias steps forward, bearing down on him. He holds his ground, even as the giant’s shadow covers his face. His pulse remains even, despite the pounding he is sure to receive.
Instead, Elias smiles. “Good. I like that.”
He is flabbergasted at the shift in Elias’ disposition. Strong hands reach down to pat him on the back. “I don’t understand,” Gabriel grunts, knocked two feet ahead. Elias reaches out to steady him.
“Sias warned me of your rash behavior, of the way you tried to wait out death. I commend you for that. A noble death, in the face of what you surely thought to be a horrendous alternative.”
Gabriel reaches behind him to massage his bruised shoulder. “Sias didn’t think so much of it.”
Elias laughs, the sound booms like cannon fire off the rock walls. “No, I cannot imagine that he did, but I know something about you that he does not.”
Gabriel leans in, letting his grasp on his shoulder fall free. “What?”
“You are much more than just an immortal, Gabriel Marston Enescue.” He looks heavenward again. A large shadow crosses the opening. “It is time.”
“For what?” Gabriel asks, craning his neck to see. Whatever passed over the opening does not reappear. He looks back at Elias, perplexed.
With the whoosh of a thousand winds, strong wings stretch from Elias’s back. Gabriel falls back, shocked at the magnificent sight.
The golden wings, like harnessed sunlight, fill the cavern with light. The shadows flee in the presence of his mighty wings. Their breadth stretches nearly ten feet on either side of him. His skin glows pure bronze in the dazzling light.
“What are you?” Gabriel asks, shielding his face from the blinding light.
“I am an Alraes but you would know me as an angel.” An urgent whistle spirals down from above. Elias holds out his hand to Gabriel. “It is time to fly.”
Chapter 24
An elderly man with waifish tufts of white hair shuffles into Malachi’s lounge. His gray uniform is slightly on the rumbled side, draping his emaciated frame. Teacups rattle atop an oversized silver platter as gnarled fingers struggle to sustain its weight.
“Ah Matis, how good of you to finally arrive,” Malachi calls snidely as he sinks back into his chair.
The servant hobbles around Malachi’s outstretched legs. A plate, containing a pyramid of assorted cakes, teeters toward the edge of the platter. Fane shoots Malachi a reprimanding glare as the host refuses to make adequate room for the man to pass.
Roseline darts forward to catch the rain of pastries as the man’s shoe snags the edge of the coffee table. Her hand blurs as it retrieves each item, seco
nds before they hit the rug. When she looks up, holding the rescued cakes aloft, she gasps.
Matis’ face melts away. His once pallid skin liquefies into blistered flesh. Boil on top of oozing boil piles onto his brow and cheeks. His white hair now appears to be swamp muck green and cockroaches crawl across his scaly scalp, skittering down his neck only to disappear into his collar.
His smile is grotesque. Several teeth are missing. The ones that remain, imbedded in gums as black as licorice, are mutilated. They look as if a dentist twisted them in attempt to yank out their roots and then simply gave up, leaving them partially detached. The scent of putrid meat slips between the gaps. The contents of Roseline’s stomach tumble wildly as he leers down at her.
It is not the man’s disfigured smile that curdles her blood. It is his eyes, black as midnight, and filled with shadowy things that slither around his pupils. Lifeless irises stare back at her, unseeing. Dead.
Roseline recoils, tossing the cakes onto the tray before hurrying back to her seat. Fane reaches out for her hand the instant her backside stakes its claim on the sofa. She curls her fingers into his, fighting back the irrational fear that clamps down on her mind.
“That is all,” Malachi says, shooing Matis from the room. He watches Roseline intently.
“Well, don’t everyone be polite all at once,” Nicolae grins, reaching for a small glazed tart. “I’m starving.”
“Don’t touch it!” Roseline shrieks, lashing out at Nicolae’s hand. She sends the pastry flying through the air.
“What the heck? That was the only strawberry one.” Nicolae’s face droops with disappointment. He stares longingly at the pastry, now coated with eggshell white carpet fibers.
Roseline gapes at Nicolae. Why isn’t he freaking out too? Didn’t he just see what Matis turned into? Fane squeezes her hand, pulling her attention away. “Are you ok?”
She shakes her head. Her skin feels like it is on fire. Malachi steeples his fingers in front of his face, observing. Fane ignores his host’s piercing gaze. “What’s gotten into you?”
Choking back her shock, she searches his face for any hint of fear or revulsion. She sees none. Only concern for what he must think is erratic behavior.
“No, it’s nothing,” she smiles weakly, brushing aside thick tendrils of hair that have fallen across her face. “I think I just need some fresh air.”
“A splendid idea,” Malachi announces, rising to offer Roseline his arm. “Would you like to see the grounds?”
She hesitates at the sudden pressure against her fingers. Fane’s grip tightens enough to snap human fingers clean off. “I’ll be fine,” she smiles down at him. “I just think a stroll through the garden might help to clear my head. I guess I’m still a bit jittery from last night.”
“Of course,” Fane smiles tightly. He reluctantly passes her off, but not before shooting a lethal glare at Malachi. He simply smirks back.
Just before Malachi steers her from the room, Roseline turns back, “Do me a favor and don’t eat anything.”
“Why not?” Nicolae frowns, halting a chocolate covered scone in front of his mouth.
“Just trust me.”
***
Malachi shortens his stride to match Roseline’s. He remains silent as they exit the sweeping double doors and enter the garden. Topiary hedges and bushes are shaped into tall, majestic beings, capped with snow. Some stand tall, hands resting on the hilt of a curved blade at their hip. Others crouch, ready to pounce on unsuspecting visitors.
They look fierce. All warriors. All delicately trimmed to include rather realistic battle scars. The sight is unnerving.
She follows Malachi on through to a smaller garden. A large fountain, trapped within a deep winter’s sleep, lies empty in the middle. Snow mounds over the edges. She can easily imagine how the bubbling fountain would blanket the garden with serenity on a warm spring morning.
Malachi holds out his hand toward a low concrete bench. “Shall we?”
Roseline lowers onto the rough slab, her legs bouncing with unease. From here, she has a good view of the sprawling estate and its many darkened windows. Forty rooms in total and only a couple are actually used. The rest lie dormant under a coverlet of dust.
A shiver runs down her spine. Could Matis be looking back at her now? Or is he busy preparing her room with his little bug-infested hands.
“You are quiet.” Malachi’s voice breaks the fountain’s peaceful symphony.
“Yes,” she replies, rubbing the bridge of her nose, “I’m afraid I’m in desperate need of sleep.”
“I can imagine,” he smiles, glancing over at her. “I fear after seeing Matis you might have nightmares.”
She stiffens. Malachi tosses back his head to laugh. “Come now, Roseline. You didn’t think I failed to notice your little escapade, did you? I am not as naïve as your friends back there.”
Her throat clenches as the memory of Matis fills her mind’s eye. “What was wrong with him? Did I imagine all of that?”
“Not at all. You were merely seeing Matis in his true form.”
Roseline frowns. His answers are not giving her much to go on. “Then why didn’t Nicolae and Fane want to run out of that room screaming, too?”
Malachi angles his body toward Roseline. “What your friends saw was a nice old man, just as you did when he first entered the room. But his true identity, concealed by a mask of human flesh, was only seen when you made eye contact with him.”
“Fane looked him in the eye, too. I’m sure of it.” The words come out breathy as her chest constricts.
“Matis is a Laerah, a Fallen One.” His gaze shifts toward the far horizon. His expression wipes clean of all emotion, making it impossible to judge his thoughts. His infuriating control over his pulse and hormone levels leaves Roseline woefully in the dark.
Fallen One…does Malachi speak of the fallen angels? She struggles to dredge up memories of her time spent in church as a human child. “So he was one of the angels removed from Heaven?”
“Removed?” Malachi snorts, his tone dripping with insult. “They were cast out. Ripped from their home and bound to this Earth. It was a terrible cost for free will.”
Yes, she remembers reading something similar in the ancient text in church, but she had never stopped to consider it before. Roseline eyes Malachi, noting the tension in his jaw. “Sounds like someone is taking all of that very personally.”
Malachi stiffens, nostrils flaring, but his muscles visibly uncoil as she smiles at him. He shakes his head, chuckling. “Yes, well, I’m just not a fan of the whole power struggle thing. If affects us all.”
“So why could I see his true form, but Fane and Nicolae remained blind?” Roseline asks, rubbing her hand along her arm. The tiny raised bumps along her skin reminds her of how disturbing Matis was to behold
Shifting on the bench to cradle one knee in his hand, Malachi leans back. That position looks far from relaxing but somehow he manages to pull it off. “Because you are bonded with Gabriel. Although you may not possess his attributes, they appear to have trickled over to you somehow. You see what he now sees - the world in its true form.”
That is a truly terrifying thought. Are there more creatures like Matis walking the face of the Earth? Surely there are. Malachi said legions were cast to Earth. How has she lived among them all this time and never realized it?
Malachi’s deep rumbling laughter breaks through her thoughts. “Don’t worry,” he says, watching her rising panic. “They don’t all look like Matis. Some look just like you and me. Others are something in between. It depends on how grave their sin was at the time of the Fall.”
Roseline thinks this over, deciding she is definitely not a fan of this new ability. A thought strikes her. “Why can you see him in his true form?”
He smiles, eyes twinkling with delight. “I’ve already told you. I am complicated.”
She laughs, nodding. “Indeed you did. Will you tell me someday?”
Releasing his
grip on his kneecap, Malachi shifts close. The scent of his cologne expands in Roseline’s sinuses, making her a bit heady. “Someday I will show you.”
A faint blush tints her cheeks as she leans back ever so slightly. “I look forward to it.”
His intense gaze flickers over her face, pausing briefly on her full lips. He clears his throat and pulls back. “I assure you, it will knock your socks off.”
Roseline laughs, grateful that he has moved away. Their close proximity has caused the end of her hair to frizz. She cannot help but wonder what causes the electric current that hovers along his skin.