by Paula Weston
‘And then what?’
‘And then last year you started talking to Jude again. Daniel acted like it was no big deal but it was eating him up big time. He was prickly whenever you left to see Jude and then pretended he didn’t notice how distracted you were when you came back.’
I lean back on my elbows. I’m adrift again. Unmade. It’s always the same when I hear the Rephaim talk about this other life I don’t remember. ‘Was I planning to join the Outcasts by that point?’
He shakes his head. ‘I doubt it. Reconnecting with Jude and turning against the Sanctuary—that’s two very different things.’
‘But you just said—’
‘You were still with us, even if your head wasn’t. You volunteered to go with Taya and Malachi when we got a tip about the Gatekeepers sniffing around in Iceland. The three of you ended up in a brawl with Bel and Leon. You took a blade to the leg.’ He brushes his finger across his thigh on a spot that matches one of my old scars. ‘But you guys still came back with a hellion.’
Something cold and dry stirs in the back of my mind. Like sawdust on the floor of the cage. ‘What happened to it?’
‘We lost it.’
‘When?’
‘Around the time you disappeared. Daniel tried to shift with it and the filthy hell-turd took him to a horde of Gatekeepers.’
I reposition myself on the carpet. I can’t get comfortable. There’s not enough space in my body to carry all this. It’s big, it’s important. And it’s too much right now. I close my eyes, let my attention drift. Thoughts scatter, diffuse.
Micah starts to play again, a slow blues tune. When I look up, I find the watercolour painting. All pinks and purples and oranges. Huge brown eyes stare out from under a thick fringe. Melancholic, heartbreaking, beautiful.
‘Who is she?’
He doesn’t lift his eyes. ‘Adeline. ’
‘Is she Rephaite?’
‘No. Perfectly, fragilely human.’
‘It’s a stunning painting.’
‘Self-portrait. She was gifted.’
‘Was?’
He keeps strumming. ‘Probably still is.’
I sit up straighter. The room doesn’t spin. I need to get back to Jude, but there’s something in Micah’s voice that holds me here.
‘What happened?’
‘I remembered I wasn’t human.’
‘What does that mean?’
A few more bars. ‘I couldn’t give her what she wanted—a husband, fat happy babies—so I walked away while she still had time to have them.’
‘Were you in love with her?’
He changes from strumming to picking. ‘Yes.’
‘Shit, Micah, I’m sorry.’
‘Nathaniel warned us against forming attachments. I thought I knew better.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Fifteen years, four months…I’ll pretend I don’t know the weeks and days.’
‘Have you seen her since?’
‘From a distance. With kids.’ He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘She got married, and I’m back to “wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am” for the rest of eternity. Could be worse.’
I watch him focus on the strings. ‘So Nathaniel prefers you screw around rather than form meaningful relationships if it means you have to explain who you really are?’
‘You still catch on quick.’
‘How does that fit with the lecture Daniel gave me about Nathaniel teaching the Rephaim to “control the lustful desires” of our fathers?’
‘Ah now, see, there’s doctrine and then there’s reality. And it’s not realistic to think a bunch of supernatural beings eternally trapped in adolescent bodies with adolescent urges are going to keep their pants on.’
‘So he just turns a blind eye.’
‘If we’re discreet he can delude himself into thinking it’s not happening. Plus we can’t procreate, so that makes it less of an issue for him. Or the Garrison.’
Micah changes his tune to something lighter, faster. ‘So what’s going on with you and Rafa?’
I scuff the sole of my shoe over the carpet, notice a wine stain half hidden under his bedside table. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘I don’t doubt that. Not much of a surprise, though. All that brawling and sledging had to be compensating for something.’
I look away. His words aren’t all that different from Mya’s theory on my past with Rafa.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Mya says I threw myself at Rafa and he turned me down. She thinks that’s what he and I fought over before they all left.’
Micah’s fingers stall on the strings. ‘Firstly, you wouldn’t throw yourself at anyone. And secondly, if you did and it was Rafa? There’s no way he’d knock you back. I don’t know what happened between you two, but it was bigger than that.’
I try to imagine that other life with Rafa in it. But which version? The Rafa I fought in the training room in Dubai, the one who forgot I wasn’t Gabe and needed to pin me to the mat? Or the Rafa I was wrapped around at the beach two days ago, whose lips and hands set my skin on fire? I’d take either version right now, as long as he’s standing in front of me, alive and in one piece.
‘Then what was it?’
Micah’s door swings open before he can answer and Daisy steps in. ‘Nathaniel has—’ She stops when she sees me. ‘Oh, hey.’
‘Doesn’t anybody knock anymore?’ Micah says, but he’s already set the guitar aside. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nathaniel’s called everyone to the chapterhouse. He and the Five must have made a decision about going to Iowa.’
WATCH FOR THE SPIN
I want to ask. I can’t.
I follow Daisy and Micah downstairs and along a hallway, realise we’re at my door. I’m vaguely aware of Daisy telling Jude what’s happening and then the four of us going down more stairs. Jude takes my hand as we walk. He gives a quick squeeze and lets go.
We move beyond the main buildings, out into the open compound between the main piazza and the chapterhouse, past the angel statue. Gravel crunches under our boots. Dull clouds drift down the mountain, making it impossible to know what time of day it is. My best guess is mid-afternoon. Muffled voices carry from the ancient building ahead of us.
The chapterhouse is packed. Conversation is low, whispered. Jude stands on his toes to do a quick headcount. ‘There’s at least a hundred and fifty Rephaim in here. Maybe more.’
It’s still not enough to hide the blood and vomit stains on the stones. I hear Mick’s grunts, Joffa’s screams. Mya’s words: That’s it. No one else survived.
Nathaniel is on the dais. Daniel is on his right—of course—Calista and Uriel behind him. Ez, Mya and Jones push through the crowd to us. ‘Zak’s stayed with Dani,’ Ez whispers to me. Malachi hovers on his own at the back of the chapterhouse near the main doors. Everyone is tidier now: fresh clothes, blood gone, bruises and cuts healed.
Nathaniel’s attention skims over the faces of the Rephaim. He seems to linger on Jude or me—it’s hard to tell from this distance—and then raises a hand for quiet. A hush falls immediately. ‘Thank you.’ His voice rolls from the walls and ceiling like the ocean. All movement ceases. It’s so quiet I can hear chirping outside. I have no idea what kind of bird makes that sound. It’s as foreign to me as everything else here.
‘As you are all aware, Zarael has Taya and Rafael prisoner in a room that inhibits them from shifting beyond its walls. Most of you also now know that the woman responsible for that room is in our custody.’ He doesn’t look at us. ‘We have also now become aware of a child, a girl, who claims to have a psychic connection to all of you. She too is in our custody.’
Mya shifts her weight beside Jude. She’s paler than usual. She clicks her fingernails against each other. The sound is loud in the chapterhouse. Jones glances at her, nudges her shoulder. She scowls at him, leaves her nails alone.
‘Who is this child?’ someone closer to the front asks.
Jude turns to me, mouths: ‘Seriously?’
The Rephaim are silent, and then: ‘How does the trap work?’
‘Did you know about it?’
The questions come from opposite sides of the chapterhouse, meet in the hollow of the domed ceiling.
‘There are forces working against us,’ Nathaniel says. ‘Things in the dark that even I cannot see. I believe our enemy has found a way to harness them in this realm.’
Is this a story to keep his Rephaim under control, or does Nathaniel really believe it? Either way, there are massive gaps in the information he’s sharing.
‘When are we going after Taya and Rafa?’ Malachi calls out from the back.
I hold my breath. This is it.
Nathaniel scans the faces of the Rephaim, slowly. Controlled. ‘When I receive a sign from the archangels.’
It’s like someone stomps on my chest in steel-cap boots, crushes all the air out of me. He’s not sending Rephaim to Iowa.
There’s movement in the chapterhouse now, shuffling, murmuring. Whispered questions. My head pounds. When did the archangels enter the equation? Daniel seems composed but his eyes are fixed on a spot somewhere above my head. Did he know that’s what Nathaniel was going to say?
A storm builds behind my ribs. Accusations tumble over each other in my mind, fight to be given voice. I draw breath, ready to launch them at Nathaniel. Ready to—
The doors behind me crack open. Cold air hits the back of my legs. I turn, annoyed, and see Brother Ferro from the infirmary. He’s carrying something, a wooden box. The strangeness of it cuts through the haze of anger.
Malachi reaches him before the monk has a chance to close the doors. Someone’s asked Nathaniel another question—about how he found Dani—but I’m not really listening now because there’s an intense whispered exchange between Malachi and Brother Ferro. Malachi wants to see what the monk is holding; the monk doesn’t want to show him. Malachi takes him by the elbow and leads him outside. Jude catches my eye and we follow them. The air is bracing on the chapterhouse steps. It sharpens my focus.
‘Show me,’ Malachi says, using his height advantage to stand over the middle-aged monk. He notices Jude and me; doesn’t care.
‘Is addressed to Nat’aniel,’ Brother Ferro says in his thick Italian accent.
‘From who?’
‘I don’t know. It was left at the front entrance.’
‘Give it to me.’ Malachi puts his hand on the box. Brother Ferro looks to us, realises we haven’t come to help him. His shoulders slump and Malachi takes the box. It’s made of carved timber, like an old-fashioned cigar box, held shut by a clasp at the front. Malachi flicks the catch and his hand goes still. Our eyes meet, my pulse hammers. And then he opens it.
Jude sucks in his breath.
It’s a finger.
FLESH AND BONE
A slender index finger with dried blood under the nail. Flesh still pink. Sitting on a pile of tissues.
‘Motherfucker,’ Malachi spits. ‘That’s Taya’s.’
‘How can you tell?’ The words are wet cement in my mouth.
‘The scar.’
I force myself to look closer. There’s a tiny white line running across the middle knuckle. My first reaction is overwhelming relief it’s not Rafa’s; the second, guilt. Even if Rafa can heal Taya, this finger’s never getting reattached to her body. And if he can’t heal her, she must be in unspeakable pain.
‘Why Taya?’ Jude asks, strained.
‘Because she’s loyal to Nathaniel.’ Malachi stares at the bloodied digit, his chest rising and falling. ‘Zarael thinks she’s worth more to Nathaniel. She’s bait for him. Rafa is bait for you two.’
I reach for the box. My fingers shake. Malachi lets me close the lid and hand it back to Brother Ferro. ‘Show Nathaniel. Maybe it’ll put a rocket up his arse.’
The monk flinches at my language and then slips through the chapterhouse door.
Malachi walks down the steps, kicks out at the gravel. Stones and dirt rain down on the path. ‘We’re running out of time.’
‘When was the last time Nathaniel heard from any of the archangels?’ Jude asks.
Malachi doesn’t answer.
‘So it’s an excuse to do nothing?’
‘Nathaniel won’t risk our lives unless he thinks he’s meant to.’ There’s no bitterness in Malachi’s words, only resignation. ‘Maybe this really is big enough for the archangels to get involved.’
‘Bullshit.’ I grind out the word. ‘He’s stalling. And while he’s making excuses, Zarael’s cutting off body parts.’
Mya and Ez slip out the door. We don’t have much time: Nathaniel will send someone out here soon to check on us. ‘What’s in the box Brother Ferro just delivered?’ Mya is washed out but she’s sharp. ‘Nathaniel handed it to Daniel and kept talking. He didn’t open it.’
‘It’s Taya’s finger,’ Malachi says.
Ez closes her eyes. ‘Oh my god.’
Jude walks a few steps, turns, comes back to us. ‘Dani can tell us what’s going on in the room but we still need to know how to get them out.’
‘This Dani…’ Mya is clicking her fingernails again, watching me. ‘What exactly can she see?’
‘Where we are, what we’re doing. Sometimes even what we’re thinking.’ I don’t tell Mya that Dani can’t see her, and nobody else volunteers that information. ‘She’s upstairs right now trying to see what’s happening to Rafa.’
And what is she seeing? Rafa lying in his own blood, in agony, forced to watch Taya lose a finger? They might have been enemies for the past decade but he would have tried to protect her. And he would have been outnumbered.
‘What are you thinking?’ Malachi asks Jude.
My brother points in the direction of Nathaniel’s private wing. ‘We need to get to Virginia. Now. We know where she is, but we need to shift in there.’
A pause. Malachi is torn between obedience to Nathaniel and his need to do something.
‘We have to go while everyone’s still inside,’ I say.
‘What if someone sees us?’
‘Isn’t it worth the risk? Or would you rather wait until Zarael delivers a head?’ I’m getting louder; I can’t help it. ‘You can shift us in there right now—straight to her room.’
Malachi draws a slow breath. Nods.
‘Wait,’ Mya says. ‘Debra’s a better option.’
Malachi frowns. ‘Who?’
‘Virginia’s daughter. She designed the room. I know where she is in LA.’
‘How the hell—?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mya snaps.
‘And you didn’t think to mention that before?’
I get between them. ‘For fuck’s sake, can you two stop antagonising each other for thirty seconds?’
They glare at me and then each other, but the sting has already gone.
‘I’ll go to LA,’ Mya says. ‘I guarantee there are eyes on the rest of you—especially Jude and Gabe—but Nathaniel won’t miss me.’ She turns to Malachi. ‘Unless you tell him I’m gone.’
‘Get back here quickly and I won’t have to.’
She shifts without bothering with a comeback.
‘You sure you want to wait?’ Malachi asks Jude.
He nods. ‘Let’s give her a chance. Debra’s likely to know more than her mother.’
We go back inside in time to hear Nathaniel say: ‘We shall convene here again in an hour.’
An hour? What will be left in that room in another hour?
He sees us come in. ‘Gabriella, Judah: a moment please.’
Jude and I hang back while everyone files out. Ez and Malachi wait with us. Jones raises his eyebrows as he passes and Ez nods for him to leave with the others. Daisy lingers inside the door.
‘The rest of you may leave,’ Nathaniel says from the dais.
‘They may as well stay,’ I say. ‘We’ll tel
l them whatever happens in here, just like we’ll tell them what’s in that box if you don’t.’
‘Gabe, think,’ Daniel says.
‘That’s all I’ve done since we got here. I’m over it. Go on, look in the box,’ I say to Nathaniel. ‘See what your patient approach has delivered.’
Nathaniel holds out his hand without looking away from me. Daniel hesitates and then places it in his palm. Nathaniel opens it, looks down, closes it. No reaction.
‘It belongs to Taya,’ I say.
Silence.
‘Don’t you have anything to say?’
Nathaniel hands the box back to Daniel. ‘This is a ploy to draw us into a fight,’ he says.
‘It’s not a ploy, it’s a fucking finger!’
‘Oh god.’ Daisy turns away.
Nathaniel is interested only in me. ‘Gabriella—’
‘Why didn’t you tell everyone you had a message from Zarael before you let them leave? You knew it was from him.’
‘I did not desire to have a hundred and fifty-six Rephaim reacting as you are at this moment. It serves no purpose—’
‘What does serve a purpose?’
‘You know the answer to that: waiting for a sign from the archangels.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since you brought a human child within my walls with the ability to see the offspring of the Fallen.’
‘A minute ago you said Dani was a prophet sent in your hour of need—isn’t that a sign?’
‘Gabriella, I have spent a hundred and thirty-nine years protecting each of you. Readying you for your destiny. Giving you the chance to win favour with the Angelic Garrison and earn a place in the battle that will decide the fate of the world. I will not risk your lives without knowing what the Garrison wants of me.’