One Enchanted Season

by C. L. Wilson

“Yes.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “But that’s not why I brought you.” His wings curled around her, embracing her in warmth and surrounding her with the soothing scent of sandalwood and patchouli.

  “Why did you bring me?” She was whispering.

  “To listen to the song of the Host.” He nuzzled her hair and his arms tightened around her. “After meeting your grandparents, I could use the peace. I thought you might, too.”

  She listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

  He smiled again against her scalp. “Not with your ears. Listen with your heart.”

  “How do I do that?” She tilted her head back, twisting so she could see his face.

  “You know how. All those times when the sea comforted you, that was me speaking to you from my heart, and you listening with yours. Close your eyes if it helps. Lift your face to the heavens. Stop thinking and just listen.” He closed his eyes and raised his own face. The wings wrapped around them spread wide. Moonlight bathed him in pearly light, and angelic radiance shone from him, a golden glow of warmth and serenity that transformed him from a jaw-droppingly gorgeous man into something stunningly, inhumanly beautiful.

  As long as she lived, she would remember this moment. Remember him like this. He made her believe in God, because surely only God could have created someone like Micah.

  One golden lid peeled up. One turquoise eye settled an amused look upon her. “You’re not trying.”

  Chastened, she closed her eyes and tilted her face towards the night sky. She’d been to enough meditation seminars in her life to know how to regulate her breathing and empty her mind. Not that she’d ever been hugely successful at that last part. Her mind had a mind of its own. Even when she tried to sleep, it was always going, thinking about one thing or another, usually three things at once. Why, just the other week, she’d been trying to sleep, when—

  “Katrina.”

  Oops. Kat bit her bottom lip. “Sorry. ADD brain. Hard to turn off.”

  “Try. If it helps, talk to yourself the way you talk to the children in the shelter…the ones who need your help to heal. You always listen with your heart then, even when it’s you doing all the audible talking.”

  Really?

  “Talk to me about the Christmas songs the children were singing in the shelter,” Micah murmured. “You try not to listen, but I know you do. Tell me about the songs. Is there one that you like the most?”

  “I don’t like any of them.”

  He sighed. “One that stays with you then, even when you don’t want it to.”

  Oh, yes, there was one of those.

  “I suppose I’ve always liked ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear’.”

  He was smiling again. “A song about the songs of angels.”

  She’d never thought about it that way. “Are you the reason I’ve always liked it so much?” She’d rejected all things religious ever since those years with her grandparents, but even so, she’d never been able to despise that song. Not even when she told herself she didn’t believe in God or angels.

  “I have never interfered with your free will, Katrina, but it pleases me to think that our connection might somehow have influenced you to take comfort in that song. Tell me why you like it.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s always felt so…peaceful. So full of hope.”

  “So think of that feeling. Close your eyes. Think of hope and peace and everything good that song makes you feel.”

  She closed her eyes again and turned her face back up to the night sky. The air was cold and dry. The world still and silent. She leaned back into Micah’s embrace and released all thought, all tension, every last unhappy memory of her grandparents or her life. And in that silence in her soul, a song arose.

  “Now, Katrina, can you feel it? The song that’s singing.”

  “Yes.” Her voice felt thick, drugged. She didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to disturb that incredible song.

  It was like…the music of the universe. It filled her ears, pulsed in her veins. The beat of her heart matched its rhythm. As if the song were a part of her, and she a part of it, and they a part of…everything.

  “Oh, Micah,” she breathed, and he was there in the song, standing beside her, around her, within her, the strains of him completing her in ways she never knew existed.

  She opened her eyes and found the night sky filled with undulating ribbons of green, red, and purple light. The aurora borealis. She understood the scientific principles behind the northern lights, understood the properties of magnetism and light, but at the moment, all of that was just so much meaningless babble. None of it mattered, not with the aurora’s radiance bathing her in wonder and awe and the symphony of the universe singing in her soul.

  “Micah, the music…it’s so beautiful. What is it?”

  “The song of the Host. Peace. Joy. Love, for anyone willing to open their hearts to it.”

  “You mean angels really sing?”

  His smile widened, tender and amused at the same time. “Yes, Virginia. Angels are real, and they really do sing.”

  “Do you? Sing, I mean?”

  He bowed his head slightly, looking modest, almost shy. “I have done so.”

  “Would you sing now? For me?” Suddenly, she wanted nothing more in the world so much as she wanted to hear the angel Micah sing.

  “Is this your wish?”

  “Yes.” A million times, yes.

  He leveled a look on her, steady, intent. The kind of look that made her wish she could read his mind. After a moment, he said, “I will sing for you, Katrina Rose Bentsen, if you will listen with your heart. Know that I sing for you.”

  He released her from his embrace and took three steps back

  He spread his wings, white feathers fluttering in a faint breeze, and began to sing.

  His voice started off soft and low, each crystalline note pitch perfect, throbbing with unbelievable richness and depth. The words did not sound Latin, did not sound like any language she’d ever heard, but they curled around her, making her breath catch and her heart pound. Gradually his voice grew louder, the notes stronger, soaring in the winter sky. The song of the Host, that beautiful, unearthly music, dropped back, becoming a whispered echo, a faintly murmured chorus, to the blossoming glory that was Micah’s song.

  The strength left Katrina’s legs, and she sank to her knees in the snow. In a daze, she remembered a line from another Christmas carol, one that proclaimed, Fall on your knees! O hear the angels’ voices! She wondered now if the person who’d written that lyric had stood in a snow-covered field and heard his own Guardian angel sing.

  She remembered listening to her father sing within the angel circle when she’d been a child, remembered thinking nothing in the world could be as beautiful as that. She’d been wrong.

  Her father’s voice—a voice that could have transfixed the world had he ever sung for an audience—was like the warble of a bird compared to the miracle that soared from Micah’s throat and sent its inhumanly beautiful song winging into the night sky.

  I love him. The thought tore from her heart, from her soul, aching, painful. So small and pitiful a thing compared to the glorious miracle that was Micah.

  She wasn’t aware she was crying until Micah stretched out a hand to catch a tear on his thumb and brushed it gently away.

  “I can feel your heart beat in the song.” She stared at his chest. “I can see it.” A golden pulse, feeding the lines of sparkling golden light tracing across his skin, feeding the radiance around him, pulsing outward, past that visible glow into the world below them and the sky above.

  He gazed down at her, his smile a benediction, stealing away all the pain she’d clung to these years. She’d worn that pain like armor, using it to shield herself from further hurt.

  “Because we’re all one, Katrina. We’re all connected. You think you’ve been alone, but you never have. Not truly. No one is.”

  She realized then why he’d brought her here. He�
��d wanted her to hear the song of the Host so that when he was gone, when the being Micah was extinguished, she would still be able to find succor in the vastness and promise of the Host.

  She realized, standing there in the snowy field, staring up at the starry night sky with the angel by her side, that she’d never known peace. Not true peace.

  As a child, her life had been laced with fear of “the bad things” and the trauma of constant upheaval, fleeing from one place to another, never forming more than ephemeral friendships because she knew they would not last.

  Then had come her years of Hell. Definitely no peace there.

  And afterwards, the scars of those years had remained, ever present, constantly wounding. She’d eked out what happiness she could through her work at the shelter, the security of her job at Stanford Systems, her friendships with Maya and Harry. Every child she healed was her own, personal “screw you” to the monsters who’d raised her. Every smile she earned was a victory, proof that they hadn’t defeated her.

  But peace? That had continued to elude her.

  Until now. Until this very moment.

  For the first time in her life she realized she wasn’t alone. She never had been, and no matter what happened, she never would be. Not even when Micah was gone. And she would always have this: the memory of Micah singing to a starry, winter night and the knowledge that even after he was extinguished, the part of him that had come from the archangel Ramiel would still be there, singing eternally in the symphony of the universe, the Song of the Host.

  That realization, and the serenity that accompanied it, broke the shackles on her soul. Set free, her spirit soared, rising up into the night, tasting the notes of that sublime angelic song, joining them. For the first time since her parents died, she felt whole. More than that, she felt part of something bigger than she was—bigger than the entire world. Stronger than she’d ever been.

  She tilted her head back, tears spangling her lashes. “I’m ready,” she said. “Take me to the Seal.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  One brief shift later, the Canadian wilderness was gone, and the Asheville, North Carolina McDonald’s lay before them. Kat hadn’t realized how attuned she’d become to Micah, but as they walked to the spot where she was supposed to sing the Seal, she realized the calm, imperturbable angel was on edge.

  “What are you not telling me?”

  He didn’t even try to dissemble. “When you sing to the Seal, you will be singing with angelic power. Human ears I can dampen, but your voice will be like a beacon, lighting our location for all Darkseekers who are looking for us. I won’t be able to hide us from them.”

  “You mean as soon as I sing…”

  “The bad things your father feared most will be drawn to us.”

  “How do I deal with them?”

  “You don’t. That’s where I come in. You sing. I protect you while you do. No matter what happens, don’t stop singing until the Seal is fully renewed.”

  “How will I know when that is?”

  “You’ll know.” He gave her a long, sweet, unbearably emotional kiss. A kiss filled with love and goodbye. “I love you, Katrina Bentsen. Have no regrets, inamorata, for I have none.” He turned her towards the location of the Seal. “Now sing, dulcea. And trust me to protect you.”

  Behind her, the illusion of mortality fell away from him as if he’d shed it like a cloak. He burned bright and golden, a being of dazzling, inhuman beauty. The tattooed wings on his back unfolded into 3-D reality. They spread wide, blindingly white, massive, majestic.

  Jeans and boots dissolved, in their place he wore a gleaming Roman musculata worked with raised gold designs, and a roman war skirt, long strips of studded leather hanging down to his knees. Shin guards and golden sandals protected the front of his legs and his feet. In his hands, he clutched a shield and a gleaming silver gladius.

  He looked every bit the fierce, warrior angel of ancient times. His height imposing. Muscles hewn and heavy. His face set in grim, forbidding lines. Gone was the tranquil sea in his eyes. Now there burned a blue flame, lit with an inner fire.

  “Sing, Lightkeeper.” His voice rang with command, the angelic tones impossible to refuse. She turned back to the fast food restaurant some enterprising American had unknowingly constructed atop one of the deadliest sources of power on earth. Micah had said the song would rise within her—that she would know the words, the notes, as instinctively as her body knew to breathe. And with him behind her, his light chasing back the darkness, and the song of the Host playing subtly but surely beneath the cacophony of humanity, she discovered he was right.

  The song was there.

  She didn’t even have to reach for it. It bubbled up inside her, wanting to be freed.

  The song welled up in her throat…not words exactly, but notes, patterns of vibrations. She opened her mouth and released them into the world.

  The glowing golden arches of the McDonald’s fell away, as did the street corner, Asheville, everything of this world. She stood beside a great, raised seal formed of some sort of dark stone. The surface of the stone was covered in concentric rings of strange markings, symbols of a language she had never seen.

  Her chest burned. Her throat caught fire. The song spilled from her mouth, her lungs, her very essence, rising up into the night, piercing the darkness. She sang, and pure light poured from her like a radiant river, golden, glowing, dazzling to the eyes. The notes of the song formed patterns, colors, swirling strands of brightness and flashes of stars, as if entire galaxies lived and breathed in the angelic verse. The markings on the great stone seal began to glow, dull amber at first, then brightening to gold.

  Dimly, on the edges of her consciousness, she was aware of howling dogs. But surrounded by the palpable sea of sound and light, those howls were flares of darkness, shadowy explosions on the periphery of her vision.

  They ringed closer, baying more loudly, and on their heels, with the ominous rumble of the earth, came the darkness. Monstrous, colossal, light-eating voids. Cloven-hoofed, black-winged giants with fiery embers for eyes, and gaping red maws filled with sharp, pointed fangs. They converged upon Kat and Micah, and in their inky black nothingness lived all the horrors of the universe. Long tentacles tipped with taloned black hands clawed at the radiance spinning around Kat, trying to disrupt the pattern of light and color and sound.

  Sword drawn, Micah ran towards one of the massive monsters. As tall and imposing as Micah was, next to the Darkseeker, he was an ant trying to conquer an elephant. The Darkseeker towered over him, twice his size. The creature swung one massive arm and horrid black tentacles by the dozens struck at Micah, wrapping around his waist and chest.

  Fear rose in Kat’s heart. Her song faltered.

  “No!” Micah cried, slashing at the tentacles. “That’s what it wants! Fear gives it power. Sing, Katrina! For all our sakes, sing!” His sword cut through the inky ropes with ease, and the hacked pieces fell to the ground at his feet, writhing like salted worms before going limp and melting away.

  Though it felt like tearing out her own heart, Kat turned away from Micah and focused on the Great Seal. She had to trust him to protect her, or they were doomed. The song was rising faster now, the notes stronger, more complex. Electricity thrummed through her, shaking her until she thought her very cells might fly apart and fling out into the night like embers on the wind. Still, she sang.

  The notes poured from her in a torrent. The markings on the stone with bright white, and now the stone itself began to glow. At first, it was a deep red, like the distant glow of molten rock, but as she sang, that deep red lightened to a fiery orange. It was working!

  ###

  Micah swung his sword. The blade gleamed a dazzling, electric blue-white. It sliced through one of the dark, writhing tentacles of the Darkseeker. The creature gave a sulphurous, bone-shaking roar. Another tentacle swept out, catching Micah around the waist and sending him flying.

  He landed hard, pain shooting through him. The
dwindling spark of Ramiel’s angelic power wasn’t enough to shield Micah from harm. He shoved up off the ground. There was a funny taste in his mouth. Salty. Metallic. He spat into his palm and started at the bright red shine of blood. This body’s blood. Micah’s blood. He worked his jaw from side to side, wiped the bloody palm on his leathers, then flung himself back into the fray.

  Drawing upon the golden brightness at the core of his being, he raised his sword and lunged for the Darkseeker. His gladius pierced deep, sinking to the hilt and continuing halfway up his arm. Acid cold burned against his skin as the monster’s consuming darkness tried to consume him. With a yank, Micah freed his arm and sword and swung with all his might, a deadly sideways slash that ripped through the creature’s midsection. The monster roared, arms and wings flailing, and dissolved into acrid black smoke that made Micah cough.

  A shadow fell over him. The other Darkseekers were circling, trying to surround Katrina and Micah. Micah couldn’t let them win that advantage. His wings flared, reaching up to scoop at the air, lifting his body skyward. Up, he flew, dodging ropes of malign darkness, circling the Seal and Katrina. He hacked at the darkness, dissolving section after section, weakening the creatures.

  One of the Darkseekers ripped open its own chest and a score of black projectiles, sharpened to knife-like points, shot from his chest. One of the projectiles caught Micah a glancing blow on the thigh. Another stabbed deep in his belly. He gasped, losing breath, shuddering as the dark points impaling him siphoned his power. Weakening quickly, Micah ripped the foul things free and flung them away.

  Micah dropped, falling from air to ground, landing heavily. A black whip scored his wings. He cried out and fell forward, back arching with pain. His gladius skittered across the ground. One of his wings was broken. It fluttered limply across his back. He couldn’t spare the energy to repair it. Micah lunged for his sword, grabbed it. He rolled on his back, hissing as pain shot through him, and fought off a flurry of blows and a pack of howling, slavering Shadowhounds. Despite his best efforts, fangs ripped into his left shoulder and a clawed hand slashed across his belly, leaving him gasping and clutching at broken skin as blood gushed.