Divinity

by Michelle L. Johnson

  “I would have survived.” Michael stepped around Gabriel, advancing toward Raphael. His wings trembled with rage. “I always survive. Part of her is still mortal. She needed your healing, not I.”

  “We turned it on her the second she healed you, Michael.” Raphael stood her ground. “She would have been fine if she hadn’t healed you. And you…”

  “You would have perished.” Gabriel folded his arms over his chest. He looked from Michael to Raphael and back. “Arguing will not change anything.”

  “Gabriel is right, Michael.” Raphael turned away. “There is nothing to be done now but wait. All our healers are trying to mend the damage done to the planet during the battle. The massive volcanic explosions on the Pacific Rim will have them working for quite some time. That leaves only me, and I have done all I can.”

  “Then bring them back.”

  “They have suffered enough. We must not place our own desires above their need.”

  Michael glared toward Raphael, then looked over at Gabriel. With a deep breath he stepped away, settling his wings onto his back. “What is her status now?”

  Raphael exchanged a look with Gabriel, who nodded once toward her.

  “The body lives,” Raphael began gently, lowering her head, “but her spirit… We are not able to detect her spirit.”

  XL

  THERE was no sense of time as Julia swam through the darkness. She could hear people talking, feel the weight of her duvet upon her, and even smell the fresh, cool summer breeze. There was a pinpoint of warmth in the hollow at the base of her neck. The voices were vague and muffled, as though her ears were also covered by the palpable darkness. She wanted to scream, yet could not find her voice.

  It began slowly at first—one trickle of light, like a luminescent thread, floated through the darkness toward her. Another appeared, then another. Soon many drifted toward her, reaching out to her, penetrating her. She absorbed them as though she were drinking water in a desert, her thirst for their energy growing with each gulp.

  Thoughts flashed through her as she soaked up the light energy. She cycled through her life, bringing her back to the last things she had seen. The A’nwel. The Archangels. The battle.

  Michael was hurt! She remembered seeing him begin to disintegrate as the A’nwel‘s touch consumed him. She remembered sending her pure white healing light to him. Julia felt her heart rate quicken, but couldn’t gasp for air. She began to panic. Was he all right? Had she healed him in time? Why couldn’t she open her eyes?

  Filled to bursting with the energy, she pried her eyes open and squinted against the soft light of the room, and she saw that she was not alone.

  Michael stood at the foot of her bed, his face awash with relief. With one arm he supported Raphael, whose wings drooped, limp on her back. Alarmed, Julia tried to sit, but she couldn’t muster the strength. She looked around the room, hoping to see Gabriel. Her heart sank when she saw that he wasn’t there.

  “Remain still, girl. Raphael will be fine.” Michael’s voice was hoarse, as though he had been shouting for hours.

  The memory of Michael’s horrific wound came back with a jolt. “Your wing? Your arm?”

  “You healed me,” Michael said, then added, “but we almost lost you in the process.”

  Raphael leaned forward, supporting herself with the post at the foot of the bed. Her voice was barely a whisper. “The price of your healing was high.”

  “The price?” Julia struggled to bring herself into a sitting position. “What happened? Raphael, are you okay?”

  “She will be fine,” Michael said, turning to Raphael, gently wrapping one wing around her. “Go rest, Sister. Ariel will tend to you.”

  Raphael stole a glance at Julia before she disappeared, and graced her with a smile. Julia felt she might burst with gratitude for the Archangel. A lone tear trickled down her cheek.

  Michael turned back to Julia. “She has been by your side for three weeks. She is exhausted.”

  “What did she mean, Michael? What price?”

  “We could not detect your spirit within you. Your body remained intact here, where we left it, but your spirit seemed to have vanished. Raphael kept healing you, though there seemed to be nothing to heal. We thought you were lost.”

  “I felt lost. Everything was dark, like I was swimming through empty space.” Julia tried to remember how long she had been like that. It felt like forever.

  “Without even a scrap of your spirit to work with, we had no way to heal you—to rebuild you.” Michael moved around the foot of the bed, taking a seat in the empty chair that was at her bedside. “Your wolf showed us the way.”

  “My wolf?”

  “The Apache tear around your neck,” Michael said, gesturing toward the stone. “It held within it a piece of your spirit.”

  Julia knew stones could hold energy. Since spirit was made of energy, it made sense to her. She nodded, then frowned. “But how did the wolf show you?” Even as she said it, she remembered pouring her spirit into the stone, and the wolf watching.

  “He sensed it. And he let us know—in the Second Realm. Finally, Raphael examined it, and found the sliver of you held within.”

  “How did they get me out?”

  “There will be time for explanations later, girl,” Michael said softly, avoiding her gaze. “You need to rest. Regain your strength.”

  “What of the others?” Julia asked. She felt her strength waning and knew she couldn’t remain awake for long. “Uriel?”

  “Uriel stood with us when the time came, and that is enough for now. He’s convinced that we are all plotting without him, but he’s still loyal and that is what matters. None were injured.” Michael studied Julia, who quickly looked away. He smiled and rested one hand on hers. “Your father is safe.”

  Julia frowned. She knew Michael hadn’t read her thoughts, so she was disturbed that he knew what she was trying desperately not to ask.

  “Well,” she said with a half-hearted sneer, “he could have come down and seen how I was doing.”

  Michael shook his head and rose, stepping away from the chair. He swept one arm toward the seat, keeping his eyes on Julia. “This is not my chair, girl.”

  Julia looked from Michael to the chair and back again before understanding what Michael meant.

  “Then,” she began, another tear trickling down her cheek, “where is he now?”

  “He is with you as he always is. As he always has been.” Michael took a step toward the window and peered up to the sky. “You must let go of this anger.”

  “I’m not angry,” Julia said. “I just want…”

  “He will never be human.”

  Julia sighed. Michael was right. What she really wanted was for Gabriel to be the human father she had yearned for all her life. Someone to love her the way only a father could.

  With a trembling hand, she brushed aside a tear. The realization struck her that those were human desires—things she would never have as an angel.

  “I think I need to sleep now, Michael,” Julia said, turning her back to him and drawing her blankets up to her chin.

  “Rest now. We will discuss everything when you awaken.”

  Julia barely heard the last word before sleep overtook her.

  An entire week passed with Julia slipping in and out of consciousness. Each time her eyes opened they flew to the chair at her bedside, and each time it was empty. Sometimes he had been there recently enough that she could still see streaks of his energy fading, but not once did she catch him keeping his vigil beside her.

  Michael was with her, as usual, in his various states of presence—sometimes nearly transparent and sometimes almost fully solid. She did not see any sign of Raphael after that first day.

  On the seventh day, she mustered the strength to sit up and swing her legs over the side of the bed. The chill of the floor on her feet gave her goose bumps, a sensation she was delighted to feel.

  Michael rushed to her side, offering a hand for suppor
t. She waved him off.

  “I think I’m okay, Michael,” Julia said with a sheepish smile. “I’m famished. And I would kill for a coffee.”

  “Another rather strange figure of speech,” Michael said and stepped aside, flourishing an arm as if to grant her permission. “You must be feeling better.”

  Julia stumbled out to the kitchen, put coffee on, and dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. Her stomach growled in anticipation.

  The coffee finished perking at the same time as the toast popped. She slathered butter on the bread and poured herself a steaming cup of coffee, the smells making her light-headed. She looked from the cup to the plate, unsure which she wanted more. The coffee won. One hot, exquisite sip with her cup cradled between both hands. She breathed in the aroma, as though it bestowed strength through its scent.

  Michael stood, intently watching Julia, giving her the time she needed to refuel her body. She set her cup down, picking up a slice of toast, and savored it, delighting in each crumb that brought her palate to life, closing her eyes as she chewed.

  Once she finished her toast and was well into her second java, she focused on Michael.

  “Did we beat it, Michael?”

  “Yes, you destroyed it.”

  “So…” Julia wasn’t sure how to ask what she wanted to ask.

  “Just say it plainly, girl.”

  “Fine.” Julia’s cheeks reddened. “How did you save me? What was the cost?”

  Michael took the seat beside Julia, pulling it close to her. He leaned forward, taking her hands within his. “We had an army of new angel—beings killed by the damage we did to the Earth during the battle. They gave you their grace.”

  Julia sucked a breath in through her teeth. She didn’t know exactly what Michael was saying, but she didn’t like the way his statement weighed on her spirit—and his. She gripped his hands tightly and searched his eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “Their essence,” Michael said, his somber tone matching the sadness in his eyes. “They gave to you the light of their beings so that your light would shine once more.”

  “No! That’s impossible,” she sobbed. “Angels can’t just…die…like that.”

  “It was their choice; we did not command it, and they live within you.” Michael’s voice had a new gentleness Julia did not recognize. “They didn’t die. They transferred their grace to you.”

  She pulled her hands free from Michael’s grasp and placed them over her face to hide her shame. “You should have let me go. Each of them was every bit as important as I am. You should have just let me go.”

  “You will be the next Archangel, girl,” Michael said as he stood. “And even if you weren’t the one, you are the only one capable of fighting these monsters.”

  “We killed the monster, Michael,” Julia said, angry with herself for not being able to control her emotions. Her tears dried.

  “We don’t know for certain that it was the only one, and we can’t hunt it without you,” Michael said plainly. “As soon as you are well enough, we will scour the Earth. We must be certain every trace of this evil is destroyed before you join us completely.”

  His words struck her fully. Will be the next. Not “might” anymore. Will. Though Michael’s announcement was not news to her, it was the first time he had stated it as a fact, and the burden of the reality settled into her core. She just had one more question.

  “The races. If there is one Archangel for each race, when I join, you will have two from my race. Gabriel and me.”

  “Race?” Michael looked perplexed. “What you refer to as race, we all refer to as appearance. Humans were made in our image. There are some for each of us, and though they started in specific areas of the world, they are now blending quite nicely. Evolution is a beautiful thing.”

  Julia couldn’t believe he had said “evolution.” Perhaps he didn’t understand the true meaning of it.

  “Evolution of spirit, girl, not the kind of evolution you just pictured. Monkeys? Really?”

  Evolution of spirit. Julia liked the sound of that. Perhaps there would be enough evolution that humans would no longer consider themselves separate races, either. The thought made her smile.

  As though he was reading her mind, and he probably was, Michael reached out and took Julia’s hand. “You are further along than you think. You will make a good Second.”

  Julia lifted her chin, setting her shoulders back. She wasn’t certain she was ready to leave this world behind, but she knew that, when the time came, she would do what she must.

  “So be it.”

  “She’s even one of us,” Gabriel said, standing at his usual place in the clouds, overlooking Julia in her kitchen.

  “I am not certain I understand why you avoid her, Brother.” Raphael laid her hand on his shoulder. “You would only make her heart lighter if you would join her from time to time. The way Michael does.”

  “She needs to come to terms with her human emotions, Raphael. She needs to stop viewing me as her father, and start viewing me as…”

  “As what? A co-worker?” Raphael’s melodious laugh showered him.

  “I do not see the humor, Sister.”

  “Gabriel,” Raphael said seriously, “how is she supposed to stop viewing you as her father? You stand watch over her at all times. You have rattled the heavens to help her, to guide her, always keeping her unaware of your presence. She will not stop seeing you in that way any sooner than you will stop treating her like a daughter.”

  Gabriel’s wings ruffled down his back, eliciting a deeper smile from Raphael.

  “Someday,” he said gruffly, “she will understand we must have a different relationship than what she envisions.”

  Raphael’s eyes softened, and she leaned in closer to Gabriel.

  “Or someday you will,” she whispered.

  EPILOGUE

  ISABEL’S driver came around and opened her door for her. The rain bounced off the umbrella he held over her. It seemed fitting, she thought, to have such a dreary day for her return from Rome. Her private audience with the Bishops of Rome had been a disappointment and a complete waste of time.

  She had used the clout of her husband’s name to arrange the meeting, and had been greeted with all the pomp and privilege to which she was accustomed. By the time she left, she felt lucky they hadn’t locked her away in an asylum.

  They told her she should be ashamed for believing that her son was the reincarnation of Adam. They told her she should repent for bringing her lies to the doorstep of the Church and laying them at the feet of the Pope himself. They had threatened to charge her with blasphemy and have her excommunicated from the Church.

  They had demanded to see the documents she claimed Alex had written, of course, but she hadn’t been able to produce them. Now Isabel wondered if they would have simply tossed them into a fire if she had brought them. She was glad the journals were safe with Julia.

  Since the airport in Rome, she had had the feeling that she was being watched, and couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder. As she stepped out of the car, she peered over the roof down the long driveway. Nothing. She would have seen headlights from quite a distance without the lights of the city to diffuse them.

  Clutching her purse to her side, she walked in her usual stately manner toward the house—her shoulders back, her head held high. She wouldn’t let the Vatican’s dismissal get her down.

  A hissing noise caught her attention and she swung her head to the left, seeking the source. There on her lawn were what looked like two imprints. The grass was dead in two circles that were bigger than her feet, and in a larger area around the two spots everything was wilting right before her eyes. She gaped, incensed that there were blemishes on her otherwise perfectly manicured lawn.

  Every raindrop that fell on the dead grass turned to steam with a hiss, disappearing into the air as though the patches were hot.

  And fresh.

  SPECIAL THANKS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


  To my daughters: Kate, who is my heart, and who always inspires me to be a better person and a better writer; Cara, who gives me spirit, and whose spirit touches all who know her; and Maria, who gives me joy, and who is my biggest fan and movie-poster-maker, and whose faith in me never wavers. To Michael, for everything you are, everything you are to me, and everything you help me become.

  To Jeanne for more things than I have room for on one page, whose life and passion inspire everyone who knows her, especially me.

  To Naomi, whose friendship and humor play an integral role in my every day, and whose stones have played an integral role in this book.

  To Jamie, my agent and my friend, for believing in me and my story, and for walking beside me on this incredible journey.

  To all of my workshop partners from The Muse and beyond—Michael, Gretchen, Tammie, Jane, Sheri, Rebecca, Kelly, Hyla, and Tim—whose collective and separate feedback and insight helped shape this book and gave me room to spread my own wings.

  To my editor, Owen, who walked right into the heart of the story and found all I had hidden there. To Vikki, who loved my story enough to take a chance on it, and to the team at Spence City for working so hard to make Divinity happen.

  To Regina at Mae I Design, whose beautiful cover captured the spirit of the book so well.

  And finally, to my sister Melissa, who blesses my life with her friendship and her beautiful children, and who has shown me that forgiveness is truly divine.

  COLOPHON

  This book is typeset in Baskerville, a transitional serif typeface designed in 1757 by John Baskerville, Birmingham, England. It is positioned between the old style typefaces of William Caslon and the modern styles of Giambattista Bodoni and Firmin Didot. The Baskerville typeface is the result of John Baskerville’s intent to improve upon the types of William Caslon. He increased the contrast between thick and thin strokes, making the serifs sharper and more tapered, and shifted the axes of rounded letters to a more vertical position. The curved strokes are more circular in shape, and the characters are more regular. These changes created a greater consistency in size and form.