Edge of Heaven

by Rhiannon Leith

  Angel and demon thundered up the stairs, bursting out onto the roof, into the chill embrace of the morning. Sam followed Micah, but just beyond the doorway the angel stopped, as if he had run into the same invisible wall that had held Sam back earlier. The wind howled around them, tearing at skin, clothes and hair. But Micah didn’t move. He stood like a pillar of stone, his body tensed but still.

  Sam’s head swam in horror. At the edge of the roof, Hopkins stood over Lily’s kneeling form. A length of black leather around her neck acted as a noose, cable ties secured her hands, and his foot pressed against the small of her back.

  “Stay away or she dies,” Hopkins yelled at them.

  “You’re planning to kill her anyway,” Sam growled, edging closer. “What are you? Why do this?”

  “I do it for the Lord,” Hopkins shouted, lifting his face and his voice to the stars. “I do it for the path of righteousness.”

  Light sparked in his eyes, like sparks of static electricity, and his body shifted subtly, a dark shadow straining to be free of the puny body housing it.

  “He’s a Nephilim,” Micah said, his voice shockingly calm on the tumultuous air.

  Sam hesitated. How could he not? The children of angels and humans were the stuff of legends, even in Hell. Mankind had thought them giants, or monsters, and Sam found it hard to disagree. Demons operated under certain restrictions. Not so for the Nephilim. They couldn’t die. They were stronger than all but the Nameless himself. Short of the intervention of an angel of the highest order, they couldn’t be stopped. And angels were forbidden from interfering.

  The Nephilim ran amok in the world, pleasing themselves. It had taken the Great Flood to wipe out the first generation, an act of the Creator himself. Yet Nephilim were still born. And sometimes, with that sort of power, without the proper guidance and care, they went bad.

  Hopkins grinned at them, jerking his arm up so the noose tightened around Lily’s neck. She whimpered, her chest heaving with a sob. She tried to keep still, but how could she with her whole body trembling?

  “Stay where you are, Sammael,” Hopkins warned. “I haven’t decided how she should die yet. Hanging would be more traditional but a fall from this height will leave her smeared over the pavement and be just as effective. Quite a mess though. Bound to cause a snarl up in the rush hour traffic.”

  Sam clenched his hands into fists, his nails gouging into his palms. He had to do something, anything. He had to distract him, to get close enough.

  But close enough to do what? Rush him? Even if he could overpower Hopkins, Lily would fall.

  “Micah,” he hissed, “we can take him, can’t we? If we go together?”

  But Micah stood still as a statue, his teeth chewing on his lower lip.

  Humming to himself, Hopkins began to tie the other end of the noose to one of the spars securing the aerial.

  “They’re your lovers, aren’t they?” he asked Lily. “A pathetic demon and a corrupted angel? You did that, didn’t you, witch, corrupted him? A slut with appetites so depraved that one wasn’t enough. You weren’t the first and you won’t be the last. And yet they betray you now. For all your wiles, they stand back to watch you die.”

  Hopkins faced them, grinning from ear to ear, his mouth stretching far wider than a human’s. Behind the taut lips, his teeth were too sharp, too bright.

  “Come on then, both of you. Try it. I know you want to.”

  Sam threw himself forward, building up the momentum for his attack in his rush across the rooftop. Lily struggled, trying to free herself, but she couldn’t, not in her precarious position. Ready to tear Hopkins limb from limb, Sam barrelled into him. Alone.

  It was like hitting a rock. The air burst from his lungs and he crashed back to the rooftop. Hopkins stood over him, laughing, but as Sam tried to rise, the Nephilim slammed a foot down on his chest, crushing the air from him. He bent down and lifted Sam by the throat, holding his struggling form high in the air over his head.

  “You’re a fool, Sammael. An egotistical, sex-crazed fool. You could have been so much greater but you let your loins lead you for eternity.”

  “Micah,” Sam tried to say, but the word escaped his lips as a feeble bark. “Micah, please. Help us.”

  With a disgusted snarl, Hopkins hurled him down onto the roof again. “He won’t help. He isn’t allowed. So many rules, dictating what you two may and may not do. Some you can ignore, but not this. The Creator himself laid this down as an incontrovertible decree. The Nephilim are the children of angels. You have no power over us and he is forbidden to intervene.”

  “Why are you here?” Micah asked, his voice wavering. “Why are you doing this? Witch hunts are below you, surely?”

  “Not for one such as her. And the other two. Interfering in destinies, in the destiny of the righteous and the damned, in the pre-ordained paths of their souls. And when they’re strong, when they’re really strong, like she is, they call me, time and again—Ashkelon, Wiesensteig, Essex, Salem, Whitechapel. I know what a witch is. I can smell out their sin. They have concourse with the Nameless himself, make themselves his whores and entertain his creatures.” He slammed his foot into Sam’s side and blood filled his mouth. Sam coughed, trying to drag himself up again, but Hopkins was too strong, too quick. “My task is to cleanse the world of them, but I offer them the chance of repentance. I’m not without a heart, Sammael. I will be welcomed back to the Holy Court and into the arms of my father. Which is more than will ever happen to you. To either of you.”

  Sam spat out his own blood and strained to free himself. Lily was so close, almost within reach, but Hopkins held him pinned to the roof. And Micah—Micah was just standing there. Just standing there.

  Micah’s first instinct was to give in to the rising wave of righteous fury that swept through him like a purifying fire at the sight of Lily in such peril. As Sam hurled himself forward, the angel surged forward to help him, to join the fray and attack.

  A cool touch of light on his shoulder stopped him.

  “I told you that you should have come home, Micah,” said Enoch’s voice. It rippled through the air, like dawn itself. “There’s nothing you can do. Not against one of our Lost Children. She must die.”

  “No,” he breathed. “No, Enoch. It’s wrong. Our Creator wouldn’t want this.”

  “He’s Nephilim,” said Enoch. “If you harm him, you’ll be damned.”

  Sam fell, his body crushed and broken. Blood drenched his chin and his eyes, his black and endless eyes, filled with agony, with despair. Lily shivered on the edge of the building, the noose and her precarious balance the only thing holding her back. He would lose them. If he listened to Enoch, he would lose them both.

  “I wanted to spare you this,” Enoch sighed. “Why wouldn’t you listen to me?”

  The cold gripped him then, the wind of the morning, the chaos that swirled around them.

  Sam was pleading for help, for rescue, for both of them. Lily sobbed, her shoulders shaking. Micah could hear her saying his name under her breath, over and over again.

  Hopkins sneered at him.

  “He won’t help. He isn’t allowed…” Hopkins ranted on, giving his convoluted reasons. But Micah could no longer hear him. Enoch swirled around him, trying to draw him away.

  “Come home, Micah. You crossed the line with her. It’s over. There’s nothing else you can do.”

  “I can’t leave them. You said I had a week!”

  “And you interfered. You pushed him and he acted earlier than expected. You can’t save them. Sammael might survive. His masters will realise he didn’t fail, but they want her soul. They want her dead as much as anyone so they can collect.”

  The callous way he said it exploded like shards of betrayal through Micah’s body. “She isn’t evil! They can’t take her.”

  “She had sexual congress with a demon, Micah. And with you, both of you. By her own standards, she has transgressed. She doesn’t have a hope. She’s damned.”

&
nbsp; “We’re all damned,” Micah snarled and tore himself free of Enoch’s restraints.

  He sprinted across the open roof, bearing down on the startled Hopkins, who instead of readying himself to face the furious angel, stood there, staring in shock. His mouth gaped open like that of a fish.

  Micah took him about the waist, bearing him forward towards the edge, diving headlong into the space beyond.

  “Save her, Sam,” he sent, not even sure if the message would reach him, but trusting in his need to punch it through to the wounded demon. “Save her.”

  Hopkins screamed, a high and desperate sound of denial, of rage. He clawed at Micah’s hands and face, but the angel held on, pushing him off the edge of the building.

  “NO!” Sam screamed, trying to reach him, trying to stop him.

  But Micah couldn’t let go. He had to be sure.

  The wind snatched him from the roof’s edge and he fell, still clinging to the Nephilim. Lily’s face was a snapshot of horror as he flashed by, her eyes wide, tears lining her face, and her mouth stretched in terror. She pitched forward, trying to throw herself after him.

  “No, my bright one!”

  Sam’s hand seized her, pulled her back, and Micah smiled as he fell, holding on to the screaming Nephilim. The shadows came from nowhere, swirling through the morning light like ink in water to coil around them, to snatch them both from the world and into the anguish of the new eternity he had chosen.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sam’s arms closed around her, his body warm, his touch gentle and desperate to ensure her safety, but Lily could feel nothing. Though he had quickly undone the noose and freed her hands, she still felt them there. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel her fingers. She couldn’t feel anything. Micah was gone. Her world was over.

  “What was he?” she asked, surprised to find she had a voice at all. Even more surprised to discover it sounded so calm and in control.

  “A Nephilim, the child of a human and an angel. Stronger, faster, demented. Micah was forbidden to confront him. All angels are.”

  “But he did.”

  “Yes,” Sam said, holding her as if afraid to let her go. “He must have stood high in the ranks of Heaven to be able to take a Nephilim, forbidden or not. Why did he never say anything?”

  What did his status matter? Her mind whirled with outrage. Micah was gone. The shadows had snatched him out of the air, right in front of her face.

  “I don’t care,” Lily snapped. “Where is he, Sam? What happened to him?”

  “He fell.”

  She stared at his pale, stricken face. “No he didn’t. I saw the shadows take him. He didn’t fall. He never made it to the ground.”

  “No, Lily.” That vicious edge of patience freaked her out. He sounded like a wire about to snap. He sounded like she felt. “He fell, as angels fall. He fell from grace. He gave himself up for you. The shadows took him to Hell.”

  She shuddered, her body jerking around a cold ball of shame in her core. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  Letting her go, he turned around slowly until he faced the spot where Micah had taken Hopkins over the edge. He stared at it for a moment as if it might hold an explanation, a reason, and then, flinging his arms wide, he howled.

  The noise tore through her, primal and agonised, tortured with rage.

  Lily wrapped her arms around the steel in him, tried to quell the tears in her eyes, the sobs in her throat, the reflected anguish within her body and mind.

  “The Nameless said they’d take a soul today.” Sam gasped out the painful words, words that grated across his ravaged throat. “Said they didn’t care which one. So when Micah offered, they took him. Instead of you. Fuck it, Lily, maybe this is what they wanted all along. They played us both to get him. To get Micah.”

  Lily dragged herself up to her trembling feet, swaying as she tried to stand. “We’ve got to do something, Sam.” She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him hard. “We’ve got to get him back. He isn’t dead. He can’t die. We’ve got to go and bring him home!”

  “Go where?” he yelled into her face. “To Hell? Like a fucking inverted Orpheus? You’d go to Hell to get him back, would you?”

  Lily slapped his face. The crack of skin on skin sounded sharp and loud in the morning’s brightness. Things like this shouldn’t happen on a spring morning, she thought absently. They belonged in the night, in the darkness or the storm. Not like this. Things like this shouldn’t happen at all.

  “You know I would, Sam,” she told him, her vehemence stunning him even more than her slap. He flinched back from her, his dark eyes full of the hard lines of her face. “I’d do it for either of you. And you’re going to take me there. Understand?”

  Sam didn’t move for a second, just stared at her. Slowly, his arms came around her again. His touch was tentative, careful. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I’m asking you to help me get Micah back. Whatever it takes.”

  “Lily, I’m a demon. Being here with you has changed me, but if we go there—if I take you there—I’ll be as I was. Worse than I was. I’ll be one of them again. And by the time we reach him, there’s every chance Micah will as well.”

  “He’ll still be Micah. You’ll still be Sam. I believe that.”

  He shook his head, little jerks of denial. “But you’re wrong, love. So wrong. You have no idea.”

  “I trust you. Help me to get him back.”

  “I won’t leave you. I’ll stay here with you. I will keep you safe. Don’t ask this, Lily. I’ll be everything for you, and more. Don’t, Lily, please.”

  She pressed her fingertips to his bloodstained lips to silence him. She knew what he was saying, what he was offering. But how did you tell a man willing to sacrifice everything he was for you that it wasn’t enough? She needed Micah too. And if it had gone another way, she would have asked Micah the same thing, for help to rescue Sam. So even though she feared it might shatter his newly reacquired heart, she asked.

  “Help me get him back, Sam. Take me there and help me rescue him.”

  Sam slumped against her, bowing his head so his forehead rested on hers. How could he resist her? Nothing would sway her. He knew that now. Slowly, he nodded.

  It wasn’t until Lily got back to her own apartment that she started to shiver. Sam left her in her bedroom, muttering something about getting ready which she didn’t catch. She didn’t care. Her skin crawled, as if insects swarmed beneath it, burrowing through the epidermis, and she stood in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the rumpled bedclothes where the three of them had lain. It seemed like an eternity ago. But the imprint of his body was still warm. She picked up the pillow, pressing it to her face, and inhaled the scent of warm cinnamon and musk.

  Micah.

  Dropping the pillow back down, Lily turned away. She rubbed her arms, trying to rid herself of the feeling of Hopkins’ touch. Condensation still blurred the mirrors in the bathroom, where Micah had showered, and water dewed down the length of the glass door.

  Where he had been.

  “Micah, please talk to me. Please be here.”

  There was no answer. She knew there wouldn’t be, but she had to try anyway.

  She stepped into the cubicle and turned on the shower. Hot water drenched her—hair, robe, skin—pounding onto her and sluicing down her body. She ripped off the robe, leaving it like a wet rag swirling ’round her feet. She picked up the soap and scrubbed at her skin, trying to rid herself of a taint, a curse, something vile. She didn’t know what. But for this to have happened to her, for Micah to be snatched away from her, there had to be something wrong with her, something evil. The type of thing that deals with a demon to seduce an angel, that couldn’t be satisfied by just one. A Lilith, as Hopkins had called her. A Jezebel. A witch.

  Sam’s voice came from the bedroom. “I’m ready.” He sounded different. Lily switched off the water and stood there, suddenly cold. Sam’s voice came again, hollow, dangerous.
“Lily, come here.”

  The lilt of humour was gone. She’d forced him into this, she knew that. He was hurting too and she had disregarded that, pushing past his feelings in her need to get Micah back. She had created this new, bereft Sam, this hollow man.

  Another sin to face. Something else to atone for.

  Wrapping herself in a towel, she rubbed the water from her hair. It stuck out in tufts, dishevelled, and she ran her fingers through it, scraping it back from her face. It would do. What did vanity matter now?

  When she stepped out of the bathroom, however, she froze. Sam waited for her, blocking the doorway, her only means of escape. But he didn’t look like her Sam anymore. Sammael. That was the being standing opposite her.

  Clad only in tight leather trousers, his skin seemed to glisten, as if the olive complexion carried a permanent sheen of sweat, a glow from within. His eyes, dark and endless, had melted from their dark brown to an endless black, the black of his hair, of a demon’s soul. His lip curled into a sneer and Lily took an involuntary step back.

  “If you’re ready, if you still want to come, we should get going.”

  She glanced down at the towel. “Like this?”

  His eyes raked over her body so intimately that she felt naked, even if she wasn’t. But there was no affection there, no tenderness. Her Sam was gone. The demon had taken his place. “Hardly. As inventive as you are with sex, I doubt you’d survive five seconds naked in Hell. They’d have you every way before you took six steps.” He nodded towards the bed. “I brought your clothes.”

  Clothes was an overstatement. Lily cast an appalled look at the small pile of leather and metal on her bed.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said with a laugh. “I’m not wearing that!”

  He moved faster than the eye, slipping between moments. His hands seized her upper arms, and he shook her, not gently. His face bore down on hers and she didn’t know him anymore.

  “You’ll do whatever I tell you.”

  “What? So Hell is a big old S&M party?”