by C. Gockel
“It’s too early for stealth mode,” he said, grumbling.
“It’s the opposite of early.” Michaela turned on the lights. “You’ve been sleeping all day.”
“Ouch.” Clark shielded his eyes. “Are you feeling okay? How’s your arm?”
She shrugged. “Fine.” Michaela sat on the edge of the dresser and chewed on her fingernails. Her feet jigged frantically.
“Super duper.” Clark groaned into his hands.
“Did you not sleep that well?” Michaela asked.
Clark yawned; his jaw popped with the effort. “Like a baby,” he said. “I just need about twenty more hours, and I should start to feel normal.”
“I offered to drive some.”
“I was fine.”
“Oh, well in that case, get up.” Michaela slapped his leg eagerly. “Get ready and let’s go.”
Clark collapsed back onto the bed. “Go where?”
Confused, Michaela said, “To find the place Cassie is working?”
“No.”
“No?”
Clark sighed heavily. He sat back up on the bed and grabbed his phone off the bedside table. “This isn’t the 90’s. You should go find coffee, and I’ll Google research facilities and hospitals around here with an angel in their logo.” He burrowed farther down in bed to emphasize his point. His phone’s screen lit his face blue in the dim lighting.
“Google?” Michaela asked.
“It’s a human thing.” Clark’s voice sounded muffled. “But seriously, coffee.”
When Michaela returned with a large thermos of coffee from the lobby, Clark was still in bed. She opened her mouth to yell when he waved the phone at her. She didn’t see the screen, but Clark had a cocky smirk on his face, which told her all she needed to know.
“Sometimes I’m so good I impress myself. Did you bring sugar?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Wow,” Clark said in awe. “It’s bigger in person.”
They stood across the street gawking at the mammoth building. With all the glass and complicated angles set against the night sky, the effect was similar to a modern castle. According to Clark’s Google research, it was a multi-billion dollar medical research facility that was in the news almost weekly.
“Did you check the address?” Michaela asked. She had never seen the fallen work out of a place so public. Something like dread curled in her stomach. Clark only nodded as he was still too busy gawking.
“Any great ideas?” Clark asked after another few minutes of silence.
Michaela turned back at the building, ignoring Clark. She counted ten stories, all of which were hidden behind tinted glass. Whatever the fallen did here, they had access to some of the top scientists, research data, and equipment. The more Michaela thought about it, the more she figured Lucifer was probably the one who owned the company, which meant getting in wasn’t going to be their biggest problem.
She scanned the building, the lawn, the side streets. Her eyes slid past the street they were on and back again. A manhole cover was situated directly in front of them on the street. Inspiration struck. She glanced both directions.
“Clark, you’re not going to like this,” she said. She pulled her cap down lower on her head.
“What?” He watched her wearily. Michaela eyed the manhole in front of them. Clark groaned. “Dude, I like these boots.”
Five minutes later they were down the ladder and plopped into some very suspicious smelling water. Clark’s silence was loaded with accusations. It wasn’t her best plan, but it was all Michaela had.
Michaela heard Clark shifting behind her, trying to find a cleaner path. The air was surprisingly hot and sticky; it thickened in Michaela’s nose causing a dull ache in the back of her head. The shadows masked the scurrying rodents, whose red eyes glinted in the semi-darkness.
“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”
“Oh, you tell me that now.” Something scuttled by, and Clark jumped, splashing himself with the murky water. He swore some more. Michaela rolled her eyes in the darkness.
Michaela paused, her nose turned up. Clark bumped into her. The only sound was the constant plopping of water. “What do you smell?” he asked.
“Angel blood,” she said finally.
Clark didn’t speak again until Michaela navigated them to a dead end. On the wall was a large oval grate held on by thick, rusted bolts. Through the grate, they could see a narrow, upward sloping drain. From the expression on Michaela’s face, Clark knew the drain would lead into the basement.
“How are we going to…?” Clark stopped when Michaela positioned herself in front of the grate. He shined the light from his cell phone over the rusted bolts.
The rust from the bars crumbled under her fingers as she laced her hands around them. When she had a good grip, she drew in a breath and braced her body. She pulled with every ounce of strength she had.
Nothing happened at first. Then her body started to tremble; a long, bulging vein throbbed along her forearm. Finally, with a screech of metal, the bolts sprung free. Clark jumped out of the way as Michaela heaved the bent grate to the side.
Sweat gleamed on her face, which was ashen in the scant light. Broken blood vessels traced eerie gold lines across her blue eyes. More blood dripped from her cut hands.
“Ready?” she asked.
Her eyes started to heal; her vision cleared. Clark stared at her hands as the cuts slowly fused together. She wiped the excess blood off on her jeans.
“Sure.”
Michaela climbed up the drain, bent over at the waist. She pressed her hands against either wall as a guide through the darkness. Her feet fought for traction on the slickened concrete. Algae grew along the walls and bottom, making her slip backwards. Clark shined the light behind her, pulling himself into the circular drain.
At the end of the drain was another grate. Michaela wove her fingers through the metal and pushed until one side of the grate sprang free from the wall and bent open. She climbed through the narrow opening, avoiding the broken, sharp metal points. Clark swore and grunted his way through behind Michaela.
Before them was a narrow aisle in the basement of the building. On each side were rows of barbaric, ancient cells. The bars were corroded and bent. Dirt covered every surface. Inside the cells, chains were suspended from the low ceiling. Dark stains covered the entire surface of the floor. Clark’s phone cast long shadows into the empty cells. The air smelled dank and wet, the blood from the cells filling Michaela’s nose with its metallic tang.
“What do you think this place is?” Clark asked.
“Come on.”
Michaela walked down the narrow hallway, refusing to look into the cold and empty cells. The chains and bloodstains caused her heart to race. She felt light headed and sick. At the end of the aisle, with Clark close at her heels, she trotted up stone stairs toward a thick metal door.
When Clark saw the door had a keypad, he groaned. With a frustrated grunt, he gave the door a hard push. Surprising him, it swung open easily.
“It was unlocked,” Michaela said when he grew too pleased with himself. “I doubt this door locks from this side. Besides, if I’m right, they have better security than keypads and cameras.”
Michaela stepped through the door into the darkness. The air smelled like cold medicine so strongly Michaela almost preferred the scents in the drain. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. The door thudded shut behind them.
“What kind of better security?” he asked with a slight waver in his voice.
Michaela watched and waited. The motion sensor lights flipped on, illuminating a stark and overly simple hallway with only one door—the door at their backs. Michaela assumed it had locked behind them.
They were trapped, which wouldn’t be such a big problem if they could get through the hallway in front of them.
Except they couldn’t.
To answer Clark’s earlier question, Michaela said, “Familiars.”
> Five large Rottweilers slid around the corner, crashing into each other, and flinging huge droplets of drool onto the walls. Their growls echoed in the hallway. Their hungry, scarlet eyes settled on Michaela and Clark as they slowed, crouching like they were stalking a sixteen-ounce bloody steak. Huge muscles twitched and convulsed along the dogs’ bodies as they snapped their massive jaws at the air. Drool splattered red across the pristine floors.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Clark backed away, hands outstretched. Michaela snatched his arm before he turned and ran. The pain of her nails breaking through his skin had Clark’s eyes darting to hers.
“They are only familiars. They feed off your fear. Don’t look them in the eyes. Don’t even think about them. And definitely don’t be afraid.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Clark nearly shouted, eyes jumping from Michaela’s face to the dogs.
The familiars were within ten feet. Cold sweat spread across Clark’s forehead. His grip on her hand was painful. Michaela felt the spike in his pulse. He was terrified.
She yanked his arm, making Clark stumble closer to her. “Look at me!” Michaela hissed. “They are just in your mind,” she continued as the dogs snapped their massive teeth like they disagreed. “It’s just a trick,” she said calmly, almost bored.
Five feet away, the giant dogs stopped stalking and bounded from the slick, waxed floor. Clark squeezed his eyes shut, chanting, “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not—shit!”
One dog hurtled into him like a semi-truck. Clark’s feet lost contact with the ground as he flew backwards. His hand wrenched from Michaela’s.
Clark hit the floor hard with the weight of the dog pressing into his chest. Clark strained to keep the familiar’s snapping jaws from making contact with his flesh. Its fierce, ripping snarls filled the still air of the hall.
“Clark,” Michaela said. She crossed her arms. “You’re okay.”
Clark’s grip slipped. The familiar’s slimy teeth sank into Clark’s neck, pillaging for his jugular. He screamed with his eyes clenched close. Michaela heard a crunch.
Michaela stood over Clark as he kicked and struggled on the floor. His eyes were desperate and begging her to help him. She leaned over, her eyes soft and reassuring, and slapped him across the face.
“Ow!” Clark glared at her, his hand on his face. A second later he realized the dog was gone.
Michaela stretched out her hand. She pulled him to his feet, steadying him for a moment. Clark took a shaky breath.
“Just a trick, huh?” Clark said shakily, but he managed a slight, trembling chuckle. His hands went to his neck, feeling for the bite mark.
“There’s nothing there but red marks,” Michaela answered for him.
“Could they have killed me?”
“Yes.” Michaela shrugged. “It’s how the fallen influence the human’s behavior.”
“I certainly feel influenced.” Clark took a shaky breath. He studied Michaela. “Are you okay?”
Michaela stared at him blankly until Clark rolled his eyes. She said, “Come on, let’s keep going. We don’t have long before more familiars come back.”
They already saw one jail here, but as soon as they rounded the corner, they found another. Instead of bars and chains, this jail consisted of white walls and padded cells. Simple numbered doors with no handle and only a small square viewing window indicated the cell’s position. From where Michaela stood, she guessed there was close to a hundred doors spanning the length of the hall. The lights hummed quietly above their heads, but otherwise there was no sound.
Clark walked to the nearest door. Standing on his toes, he pressed his nose to the thick glass, straining to see inside. Michaela assumed they would find something different in this jail, and, confirming her suspicions, a pale, skinny hand slapped the glass inches from Clark’s face.
He leapt backwards. “Did you see that?” he sputtered, looking at Michaela with wide eyes.
Michaela approached the window slowly. She stood only as close as she needed to see into the room. Positioned in the middle, standing with its arms limp and hanging, was a creature. It returned Michaela’s stare with hollow eyes. It had no pupils, only dull colorless orbs. Its skin was nearly translucent although Michaela detected a subtle shimmer radiating from its body. Its head was pointed and bald; its face was sharp angles and hollow lines. A white gown hung loosely from its skinny frame.
The creature turned and shuffled away. On its back, in a cutout space in the nightgown, knobby, boney wings protruded. The wings were featherless, merely hollow bones tucked against a skeletal back. They had grown so contorted Michaela wondered if they even worked.
She withdrew from the window, running a hand over her face in thought.
“Well?” Clark stared at her. His arms were crossed over his body like he warded off a chill. “That’s no angel,” he added.
“No,” Michaela said quietly as she stared back toward the window, which remained empty. “It isn’t an angel.”
“So what was it?”
“I think it used to be an angel…” She allowed her eyes to close for a moment. She needed to keep moving, but her body was a lead weight. Her heart broke for the creature inside the cell even if it was a fallen. Her mind went back to the word Asz had used to describe Cassie’s work: monsters. She fought off a shudder and forced herself to move away from the door.
“That’s messed up,” Clark said behind her.
Michaela continued down the hall, checking each window as she went. In each cell was an angel like the one she had seen in the first cell. They all had varying degrees of decay. Some slumped on the floor, nothing but useless bones and flaky skin. Others surged against the door with a strength that strained the barrier.
Michaela turned, peering behind her for Clark. He leaned into one of the doors like he was trying to pour himself through the metal. His fingers pressed against the window’s ledge, drawing him up so he could get a better view. Something akin to reverence clouded over his nearly neon blue eyes. The air warped around his body until Michaela blinked her eyes a few times.
“What is it?” she called to him.
“I don’t know.” He didn’t avert his gaze when he answered her in a quiet, awed voice.
Michaela had to push him aside when she reached the door. She took in the creature’s long, luminous strawberry blond hair. Beguiling eyes, a mixture between gray and green, stared back at Michaela. The skin along her body glowed under the intense lighting. And a simple smile graced the tiny bow of a mouth, like the creature recognized Michaela.
“What is she?” Clark asked feverishly. He pointed at the door. His eyes were impatient as always. “What is she?”
“She’s a Nephilim.”
Clark’s mouth popped open to form a little ‘o.’ His eyes were wide and comprehending. Michaela was glad to see the reverenced haze gave way to a slight sheen of fear.
“They weren’t all killed in the flood along with the Watchers?” he asked.
Nephilim were the Watchers’ bastard children born of human women. They were an angel of sorts, without wings but still powerful beyond measure. They bore the powers of their fathers—sorcery. They also had the beauty and perfection of the angels, only their bodies were of the weak, human variety with red blood. The Archangels, with Michaela leading, had sought to kill off the Nephilim with one great flood.
“We missed a few,” she answered. Every now and then she would hear rumors of one popping up. They were animals to be hunted, to be despised.
“But what is she doing here?”
“I’m wondering that too,” Michaela said. Her gaze leveled on the red marks on Clark’s arm. He saw the direction of her stare and hid his arms behind his back.
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence?” he volunteered hopefully.
“I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” she said softly.
“That’s really reassuring.”
“Come on,” Michaela commanded.
/> They walked almost to the end of the hall. Michaela paused in front of a set of double doors. She saw bright laboratory lights shining inside a large room.
“What is it?” Clark asked, peering over her shoulder.
Michaela didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed through the doors and into a long, expansive laboratory. Machines of all sorts hummed and whirred above the noise of the lights clicking above their heads. Cabinets, sleek and clean, lined the white walls above neat metal counters. The frigid air smelled like alcohol. Nearly twenty metal gurneys lined the length of the room.
But that wasn’t what Michaela noticed first—it was what was on the gurneys.
Strapped down to each gurney was a fallen angel. Large leather bands encircled their shoulders, hips, and ankles. Each angel’s black powerful wings were tucked tightly against their back, flush with the table. The confinement had to be uncomfortable, yet none of the angels moved even as the double doors swung shut loudly behind Michaela and Clark.
Standing next to each angel was a pole containing a bag of red, thick liquid. It ran from the bag down a small tube and into the angels’ arms through a needle. Michaela sniffed the air to confirm her fear. The IV was full of human blood, which explained why the angels weren’t moving. Human blood was like a drug to angels. It was also toxic.
“This isn’t good is it?” Clark asked. He sounded nervous.
Michaela stepped closer, drawing between two gurneys. Now she noticed the angels’ jaws were pried open by a metal contraption wired around their heads. Above their mouths, like a little cloud, was a shifting, hazy bubble of air. It blurred the angels’ faces beneath it, contracting and expanding to match the angels’ breaths.
“What’s that in their mouths?” Clark’s voice was right over her shoulder. Michaela peered closer through the hazy air. Squinting, she managed to make out the blurry outline of a white, tiny object.
“Maybe we shouldn’t…” Clark started.
But Michaela was already reaching inside the wide, dry mouth of the fallen next to her. As her hand passed through the cloud of air above the fallen’s mouth, an electrical surge shocked her. She gritted her teeth and forced her hand to stay steady as the shock worked its way up her fingertips to her wrist and up into her forearm. Before the shock went any farther, she pinched the object off the angel’s tongue and withdrew her hand.