by G. A. Rael
When Jordan finally dared to lift her head, the creature took her face in his hands and swept a hand over her eyes. "Look at me, Jordan," came a voice as soothing as it was commanding.
She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head with all the stubbornness of a child. She knew what this creature was, this heavenly monster. As gentle as his touch might feel, she was sure she would be blinded forever if she dared to look at him.
Rather than the violent retribution she expected, the angel lifted her to her feet. "Come on, little lady. We don't got all day."
Jordan's eyes flew open. “Samael?” she cried. He still glowed but he wasn't the blinding spectacle he had been moments earlier. His naked form had become more golden than white in its luminescence and his wings were unfurled in their true glory. They easily spanned the width of the labyrinth's core and smoky light clung to each feather. His eyes, like his voice, gave him away. They were soft and twinkling with amusement at her reaction, not cold and dull like the last time she had seen him.
"This is your true form?" she whispered, too enthralled to care that he was undoubtedly there to kill her.
"Don't get too attached," he warned. "This is the last time you'll see me like this."
Before she could ask what he meant, Samael knelt beside the crater and pulled out a blade that seemed to be made of light. It scraped along the earth, revealing that there was something solid beneath the glow. Without another word, he walked past her and his entire countenance changed in an instant. She followed him as he cut a trail directly through the maze and out into the garden.
The light began to fade, but there were still a dozen or so unconscious men on the ground. Jordan had previously failed to notice that they were clad in nearly identical suits and masks and her heart quickened. Angels...
Movement stirred from within their ranks and Jordan recognized the first waking angel immediately. "Raguel," she said, shivering.
"I should have known it was you," Raguel said, dragging himself to his feet. Blood leaked from his mouth, but he seemed to be healing himself by the second. "Gabriel called me mad when I warned him you had been corrupted. He told me no angel of your caliber would ever be seduced by the Whore. I called him a naïve old fool."
"Looks like you won that bet," said Samael, raising his sword. "We're no longer colleagues, so that's the last time you use that word in reference to her that don't end with me choppin' off your head."
No longer colleagues? It took Jordan a long moment to process the statement. Slowly, her overburdened mind began to piece things together. Samael’s strange behavior earlier. The kiss. The falling star.
"You fell," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. That didn't stop the other rousing angels from turning their attention on her.
"Lucifer's bitches fall. I took a dive off the high board," Samael corrected her before turning back to face the other angels. Each one except for Raguel drew his own blade.
"You would draw your sword against your own brothers?" one of them asked, clearly wounded.
"I don't want to," Samael said in a grave tone Jordan didn't recognize as he stared the other angel down. "But so help me my former boss, I'll cut every last one of you marching band boys down before I let you lay a finger on her. By the way, Rag, what are my chances of getting a letter of recommendation after this?"
The other angel didn't seem to find the flippancy that Jordan could tell was masking Samael’s grief to be amusing. Neither did he seem to have as much reluctance as the others to fight his brother. "Take him out," Raguel said, all pretenses of regret melting away. "We've wasted enough time."
The angels were as still as their stone counterparts for a moment. Before Jordan's mind could fully process their movement, the clash of metal signaled that the battle had begun. Two of them attacked Samael at once. The first one stayed standing only for a moment before Samael’s blade lopped off his head. The angel's head rolled onto the grass like a stone. The second angel hung on long enough to graze Samael’s arm before the Watcher's blade found a sheath in his chest. The fallen bodies erupted in blinding white flame, one after the other.
Samael seemed to move without pausing as he charged blade-first into the throng of his brothers. Jordan watched in horror and mounting guilt with each piece of flesh that fell. Every drop of holy blood that watered the garden was a stain on her hands. Someone grabbed her from behind and before she could open her mouth to scream, a blade identical to the ones the angels of judgment carried jutted past her head. Blood flowed down the length of the blade and she heard the desperate gurgle of a man's last breath before his body fell to the ground. She hadn't even seen the angel coming at her and didn't have time to look at her savior before he threw her to the ground and covered her body with his as the angel exploded behind them.
When her rescuer let her up, Jordan was as surprised to discover that it was Darren as she was that he had transformed into a barely recognizable version of himself. His features themselves hadn't changed, but his skin was a dull bluish-gray and the spot on his tuxedo shirt just over his heart leaked dark, coagulated blood. His eyes were glazed over with a veil of white that dulled their ordinarily silver color. He stared down at her with what she could only register as shame in his eyes.
Before Jordan could ask a question neither of them wanted an answer to, Darren took her hand and pulled her to her feet. "I have to get you out of here."
"I can't," she cried, looking back to see Samael flanked by the five angels, including Raguel. "I can't leave Sam.”
"Let him handle his own kind," Darren growled, his voice slow and strained as he dragged her away from the battle. Her resistance didn't even seem to register to him.
"He's outnumbered!"
"He's an archangel, he'll be fine. You're human, there's nothing you can do."
"They're here for me," she argued, straining against his hold. "I can turn myself in. This isn't right, I never wanted him to fall because of me! I never wanted any of this."
Darren lifted her into his arms without effort. "That's not your choice to make."
"Where is Hermes?” she seethed, realizing that the only way she was going to get away from Darren was if she was willing to set him on fire.
"No idea. He disappeared as soon as Chase gave him the Moonstone and I haven't seen either of them since.”
Jordan clenched her jaw. Hermes had abandoned her before, so she wasn't sure why it came as such a shock that he had done it now, when she needed him the most.
"Where is everyone else?" she asked, looking around the empty garden.
"Inside the club," he replied. "I convinced that prick of an angel to move them inside right before Hermes and Chase showed up. The Moonstone distracted Raguel from killing me, so I owe them that, I guess."
“Chase wouldn't have just left," Jordan insisted, struggling until Darren put her down. Rather than try to run, she found herself looking up at the sky. The stars were still out of alignment, which meant that the sigil was still in place. The demon couldn't have left, even if he wanted to. “Hermes!” she cried. "Get out here now, I need you! Cat or not, you still have to listen to me! We have a contract, remember?"
Nothing.
"You might want to look in the other direction," Darren suggested.
Over Daren's shoulder, Jordan could still see the fight raging. Samael seemed to have taken out a couple of the remaining Horns of Judgment, but now Raguel was involved and it didn't look like it was going well. She was contemplating the idea of lightly roasting Darren's arm to get away when the sound of a distant engine drew closer.
Soon enough, even the angels took notice. Samael used the opportunity to bring his blade down on another angel's skull. Jordan was both relieved that there was one less angel to hurt her friend and guilt-ridden over the fact that she was the force that had driven him to kill his own kind.
As the roar of the engine grew closer, so did a set of spinning lights. Jordan ceased struggling against Darren and her entire body went stiff as the past and present i
ntertwined. A massive black motorcycle was headed straight for the garden and didn't seem about to stop. The rider's face was obscured by a sleek white helmet, but hair as black as ink whipped wildly against a backdrop of tiered white wings. The largest set of wings was nearly identical to Samael’s in size and color, but two sets of slightly smaller wings flanked them top and bottom.
Jordan was sure that she had already felt every degree of fear possible that night, but fate seemed set on proving her wrong time and time again. Unlike the other dangers the evening had offered, this new arrival was a known threat. After all, it had haunted her dreams every night for the past thirteen years.
It was the Ophanim, both unfathomable and unmistakable. As the bike lifted into the air and the wheels slowed down, Jordan could make out the awful glowing eyes that ringed them. Her childhood impression of the machine began to mesh with a reality that was more sensible but no less terrible. The last time she had seen this angel, she had lost everything. The thought of what was going to happen this time filled her with enough dread that taking the blade at Darren's side and ending her suffering before it could become theirs seemed like a viable solution.
This time, she had so much more to lose.
Chapter Twelve
Darren
Darren covered his eyes as the motorcycle approached. At first, it was as blinding as the comet had been--the comet he now knew had been a fallen Samael—but the light slowly began to dim enough to make out the shape of the rider. He took off his white helmet and shook out his long black hair.
Every angel Darren had seen so far had been beautiful in its own way, but this one was different. His features were soft, almost feminine, and his six wings were poised with all the grace of a statue. His long, lean limbs were stretched out over the bike with the possessive familiarity of a horse and its rider.
"Raphael?" Raguel's tone was one of disbelief. Nonetheless, he raised his blade again.
The faintest smirk graced the angel's lips. He was almost too beautiful to find him intimidating, Darren thought. Could this really be the Raphael?
"I haven't been able to put our last meeting out of my mind, brother,” said Raphael, his voice soft yet deeper than Darren had expected it would be. The angel drew the blade at his side and Darren saw that it was unlike the swords the other angels brandished. It was smaller and lighter but curved to provide swifter movement and a more precise cut. It looked more similar to a katana than Raguel's broadsword. Raphael's blade also appeared to be more physical than ethereal, but the same white glow that emanated from his wings shone through a series of strange letters along the edge.
Darren pushed Jordan back behind him when he felt her try to move. He remembered what she had told him so long ago in the park about the Ophanim with spinning rings made of eyes, and this angel matched her description too well to leave anything to chance.
"Stop it," Darren warned as Jordan continued to strain against him, forcing him to pin her arms behind her back.
"You don't understand," she seethed. Her eyes burned with hatred and fear as she struggled to get at the angel, as if it hadn't even occurred to her that an altercation between them could only end in her annihilation.
"No, you're the one who doesn't understand," he snapped. "I don't want to have to knock you out, but I will if that's what it takes to keep you from getting yourself killed."
"You don't know what he is!"
"He's an angel," Darren said pointedly. "That's all that matters. Right now, he's also the only reason Raguel isn't trying to kill us, so calm down."
Jordan relaxed slightly, marking what Darren was sure was the first and only instance of those words having their intended effect on a woman, but he wasn't going to risk it by letting her go.
"Please don't tell me you're ending your unauthorized retirement just to be a thorn in my side," Raguel muttered.
"No, but it's good to see that you're still as narcissistic as ever," Raphael said flatly. "To say that I've come to prevent you from making a mistake of apocalyptic proportions would not be an understatement."
"No offense, but you lost the right to give me orders when you disappeared," said Raguel. "Unless you want your second coming to be a brief one, I suggest you leave this to those of us who stuck around to fulfill our duties." He gave Raphael a distasteful once over. "Stealing the Ophanim's chariot, Raphael? Is there nothing beneath you these days?"
"You know how I love to make a dramatic entrance."
Darren froze. There was something familiar about that voice, in its tone if not its pitch. He wasn't allowed long to consider it before Raphael's attention turned on them.
"Don't think I haven't been keeping up with current events just because I've been away from Heaven," Raphael said, clearly addressing Raguel even though he never took his eyes off Jordan. “Now you're just overstepping the bounds of your authority. You're wrong about this girl; she's not who you think she is."
"Let me guess," Raguel sneered. "According to you, she's not the Whore of Babylon, but rather some new age messiah. As if we didn't have enough of those running around already.”
Raphael fixed his gaze on Jordan and Darren pushed her further behind him. Jordan was clearly terrified of him to a degree even Raguel couldn't match, and Darren had been given more than enough reason to trust her instincts where people were concerned. That and there was possession in the angel's gaze when he looked at her. Despite the fact that it was the very thing that motivated Darren himself to protect her, it filled him with blinding rage to see it in the eyes of another man. Even an angel.
"Oh, she is the Whore without a doubt," Raphael replied casually. "You just don't know the half of what she's capable of. The Apocalypse has already begun, Raguel, but it won't end tonight. The Protocol of Revelation will be followed. Your reign in the absence of any real leadership in Heaven, however, is coming to an abrupt end."
"On whose authority?"
"Mine."
Raguel's wings struck the air violently as he strode toward Raphael. "You think you can just show up late to the party and take over? We're at war and Heaven is better off being led by a real soldier who knows what it takes to win than a weak-willed former guardian who would sooner act like a simpering human than a messenger of God."
"Is that really what we are?" Raphael asked in a bored tone. "Name one divine message any of us have delivered in the past thousand years. I mean those of us who have actually been in the Throne Room, of course."
The comment hit its mark. Raguel stopped about ten feet away from Raphael, his blade raised. "You can either join your brothers or turn against us, Raphael. Either way, Alyssa Hurlow dies tonight. Just remember, there's no going back on your decision once it's made."
"There never was," the angel said cryptically. He moved and in an instant, his blade clashed with Raguel's. Darren could tell the other angel had only seen it coming a moment before he did, but the second strike did not catch him unprepared. The sound of metal scraping against metal lasted only a moment before the Ophanim's wings lifted him a few feet off the ground to recover.
Raguel charged the six-winged angel while Samael raised his broadsword and engaged one of the other angels in Raguel's squad. Jordan tried to run into the fray again and Darren's arm shot out to grab her. Assessing how much pressure he was exerting was still hit or miss, but he knew that she was in far less danger from an accidental broken arm than what would happen if she escaped.
"I can't just stand here and do nothing," she cried, straining in Darren's grasp as he adjusted to hold both of her arms. "They're fighting over me!"
"That's exactly why you're going to do nothing. You'll just distract them and I know if I go in there to help, you'll only follow me."
She stopped struggling. "I don't want you going, either."
"Then stay put," he said sharply, turning her to face him. "These are angels we're talking about, Jordan. You can't trust any of them."
"I can trust Samael,” she said, casting a forlorn glance in his dir
ection. He had already dispatched another angel and Darren frowned as he noticed something strange for the first time. Samael’s wings weren't glowing anymore. In fact, they weren't even the same brilliant white they had been only moments earlier.
Just as Darren was beginning to wonder if it was a trick of the light, Jordan stiffened up and said, "Something's wrong. Something is happening to Sam.”
"What are you talking about?"
"His wings," she said worriedly. "They're turning gray."
Darren frowned as Samael’s blade rammed through yet another angel's chest. Samael tore it out and swung again with mounting ferocity. The angel's face, once that of the boy next door, was contorted into a wild, almost savage expression. The glow of his wings seemed to have found a new home in his once benevolent eyes as he searched for his blade's next victim. The redder his gleaming sword was stained with blood, the grayer his wings became.
Raphael and Raguel had seemed to be evenly matched in the beginning. What Raphael lacked in strength, he made up for in speed, and vice versa where Raguel was concerned. Just when Darren was sure that the angel of judgment's broadsword was about to connect with Raphael, the latter's wings would sweep him to safety just out of range. When the other battle raging by the bandstand became a nuisance, both Raguel and Raphael lifted into the air and the sparks that flew from their clashing swords could easily have been lightning from a distance.
Here and there, their blades grazed flesh, but neither had managed to land a serious blow. Darren had to wonder if it was because they were truly evenly matched or if one of them simply wasn't trying. Every now and then, Raguel would get alarmingly close to a critical hit and Raphael would recover at the last possible moment, almost as if he had seen it coming.
Darren had watched enough wrestling as a kid to know a staged fight when he saw one, even if only one of the combatants was acting. The wheels in his mind turned as he watched the cat-and-mouse battle rage, but the shadow that engulfed them from overhead drew his attention away from the fight.