by Meg Collett
“Come on, Michaela. Talk to me,” Clark coaxed. He turned the radio down to a soft hum. The vibration of the car’s massive engine was a distant, familiar background noise. “It’s what friends do.”
“So we’re friends now?” Michaela arched her eyebrow, but she felt the flicker of a smile at her lips.
“Are you kidding? I’m the best friend you’re ever going to have, and you better believe it too.”
Michaela shook her head, a real smile on her face now. But it drained away fast. “I miss Asz, and that makes me sad. But I understand his decisions. If it had been Gabriel, I would have done the same thing Asz did for Cassie. It’s just…we are all torn apart, dying and broken down, because of me. And now Zarachiel…it’s too much.”
“It’s not your fault,” Clark said.
Michaela twisted her hair around her hand and pulled it over her shoulder. “Yes, it is.”
“But it was a mistake,” Clark persisted.
“It was,” Michaela agreed. “But just because it was a mistake doesn’t mean it wasn’t my fault.”
They rode in silence for a while. Michaela wondered if she had made Clark uncomfortable. After a few more miles, Clark picked an exit and pulled off the interstate. He pulled into a rest stop’s parking spot and turned off the car.
“What are we—” Michaela started.
“Tell me something about Heaven.”
“What?” Michaela asked, shocked.
Clark unbuckled his seatbelt and turned in the seat to fully regard Michaela. His expression was patient and stubborn, a combination that made Michaela wary.
“I want you to share a memory with me like Asz did back at the club with us. I want to see what all the fuss is about with Heaven,” Clark said.
Michaela stared at him blankly for a moment. He didn’t explain further. So she asked, “Why?”
Clark shrugged. “I’m tired. I need a rest before we go on, so…why not?”
Michaela hesitated. She didn’t know if she wanted to talk about Heaven right now. She chewed her lip. Finally, she said, “What do you want to hear?”
Clark’s triumphant grin shone brightly through the interior of the car. The midday heat was intolerable, so he rolled down his window and reclined his seat. Settling in, he closed his eyes, holding out his hand for Michaela to take. “Whatever you want to talk about,” he told her.
Michaela watched him a moment before she too rolled down her window and sank into the seat. The breeze felt nice on her face, and she relaxed. She pulled the one memory that was always in the back of her mind to the surface. Its fingers reached out and brushed across her skin. It was like a warm embrace. Clark stiffened as he felt it too.
“I’ll try…” she said and took his hand, diving into the depths of the memory.
It’s a blinding whiteness, a searing lightness. It shoots straight to my core, ballooning out, filling every available inch inside me. The feeling cascades to the tips of my toes and floods out the ends of my fingers. It flows from my hair, making every silken strand float and billow about my face. My eyes blaze with the brilliance of it. Even my cheeks flush with the warmth of it. It’s a feeling of pureness, wholeness, and completeness.
It is Heaven. And it radiates from within me. I only know this feeling, because I have never been without it. I have never known anything but it. It has been with me from the first moment of consciousness.
I’m lying in a large, open field in one of the uppermost parts of Heaven. Watching the air sparkle and shimmer above me like a million rainbows, I’m at peace. Feeling the soft grass blow in the wind, tickling my skin, bending and hugging around my body, I’m at home.
I open my eyes. The light illuminates the air into infinite little sparkling crystals. It’s like being on the inside of a diamond, seeing everything refracted through a shield of crystal. Waving my hand through the air, the tiny crystals flutter away, untouchable. They dance and twist around me, filling one space and then flickering to another.
As I watch, the crystals shudder to a stop at full attention. A millisecond passes, and then they spring to life again, vibrating and humming at twice the speed. The facets reflect a million times more. The shimmering intensifies and almost blinds me with its unbearable brilliance.
My body responds to the change. Or has the air responded to a subconscious change in my body? Either way, my skin tingles and my muscles tighten. My heart flutters.
He’s coming.
In a glance, my form shifts and springs from the soft grass, which itself seemed to shift and disappear at my feet. I squint into the distance, straining to see his form.
The tree line hovers and blurs. As soon as he crosses the final barrier of pines, they too disappear. But, to me, his form never shifts or stirs. He is the only solid thing I see. Empty, gleaming air spins in his wake.
My soul wakes at the presence of his. If I focus enough, I can feel his soul wind to life inside him in response to my own.
I force myself to wait. The distance between us seems like miles. His shape jerks out of view. Abruptly, he’s right in front of me. A breath away.
His hand lifts to my face, brushing his fingers along my chin, cupping it. I watch as a small smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. His thumb traces along my jaw. I smell his saccharine scent as he leans in closer still. When his forehead touches mine, both our muscles relax.
Gabe, I breathe.
Michaela, he answers.
Gabriel pulls back, smiling a true smile now. In that smile, I’m home.
Michaela was still for a long moment as the memory receded from both their minds. She watched through the open window as children played and parents walked dogs. The sounds of the interstate buzzed in her ears, numbing her with its consistency. Her back was clammy, making her burns itch and pull uncomfortably against the seat.
Clark coughed uncomfortably. “Wow,” he managed. “When was that?”
Michaela didn’t answer for a long time, because she was trying not to cry. She shouldn’t have shared that memory. She shouldn’t have even thought about it. Now her entire body longed for Gabriel, longed for home. Her voice was thick when she spoke. “It was the first time I ever saw Gabriel.”
“You knew his name without him telling you?” Clark asked.
Michaela was very still, her eyes searching far beyond the reach of the parking lot. “I knew everything about him the moment I was created.”
She sensed Clark watching her closely before he straightened in his seat and buckled up. “Are you ready to go?” Clark asked. “It’s too hot to sit here any longer.”
“Do you feel rested enough? I could drive some,” Michaela offered. Clark cringed. His grip on the wheel tightened like she might reach over and take it from him.
“Uh, that’s okay. I’m fine,” he lied. His voice grew serious. “Are you sure you want to go see Zarachiel? Do you want to go back and figure out what Cassie was doing with the blood?”
“No, I need to see him. I need to make sure he is okay,” Michaela answered quietly.
Clark pulled onto the interstate heading toward Kentucky. “Try to get some rest,” he said. “We’ll be there soon.”
28
The peach orchards of the small Kentucky town stretched acre upon acre. Clark drove the narrow, dirt farm roads with care, but Michaela still bounced in the seat as they went over ruts. It took them nearly thirty minutes to reach the spot where they were meeting Isaac.
Clark slowed the car. The trees ended in neat rows. A whitewashed toolshed stood along a back fence line. An old blue Ford was parked in the clearing. Michaela glanced at Isaac briefly. But her focus settled solely on the toolshed.
Before Clark completely stopped, she was out of the car. Her long strides carried her quickly across the patchwork grass and irrigation pipes as Clark closed his car door. Isaac’s eyes were wide and worried; he opened his mouth like he might tell her to stop, but Clark shook his head.
They both walked to the toolshed. Michaela was alre
ady there with the door open and light spilling into the dimly lit, dusty room. Clark heard the strangled sound she made, and his steps slowed. Father and son drew together a few paces away from the open door.
Isaac settled a heavy, weathered hand on Clark’s shoulder. Surprised, Clark glanced at his father. Isaac’s eyes were dark and shadowed in the evening sun. His lips were pressed into a tight line although he offered Clark the slightest of smiles. His father had grown unbearably, shockingly old.
“Is he still alive?” Clark asked, watching Zarachiel’s motionless body.
“Depends on what you call alive,” Isaac said low enough so Michaela wouldn’t hear.
Unconsciously, Clark stepped forward, drawing himself closer to the shed door and the figures inside. Isaac went with him. They stood so close their shoulders brushed. Finally, Clark was within a foot of the door. His eyes adjusted and he saw inside.
A sheet of plastic had been laid over the dirt floor to keep Zarachiel’s wounds clean. He was stretched out, face down on a bed of sleeping bags. Over his back was a layer of bandages. Michaela reached for their edges.
Clark went to step forward, to go into the shed and be with her, but Isaac held him back. It was too late anyway. Michaela had already lifted the gauze and seen underneath.
The gauze dropped back into place after a second, long enough for Michaela to see.
Something in Michaela dropped too. She sank to the ground, her hands covering her face. For a moment, she simply sat there, holding herself, pulling it together. She didn’t cry or yell in front of Zarachiel, though Clark sensed the emotions dwelling under the surface.
Michaela shifted, dropping her hands. She sat beside Zarachiel and pulled him in her lap. He nearly covered her, but by sheer strength alone, Michaela supported his weight so his back was open and untouched by her body and cradled him against her chest.
Clark still thought Zarachiel could be dead until he saw the angel’s lips moving, forming jumbled words no one understood. Michaela stroked his dirty hair, murmuring answers to his trembling questions. She didn’t know what Zarachiel said, but she comforted him the best she could. Looking at them inside the shed, Clark found it hard to image them as warrior Archangels. Now they were stripped down like humans, beaten up and worn down.
Clark clenched his fists when he saw the sheen of tears finally pool in Michaela’s eyes. The Aethere deserved whatever revenge Michaela was going to give them for doing this to Zarachiel. Clark didn’t care if they were technically holy angels or not. No innocent angel deserved this treatment. He pictured Michaela, torn as Zarachiel was, lying alone in the cave’s stream when he had found her. His throat closed with anger, and he struggled to breathe.
Clark turned and stalked away. His father was right behind him when Clark wheeled around, his finger pointing. “Why did you want her to come down here? Why did she have to see that?”
“Michaela needed to know what Abel did,” Isaac answered simply. “She needs to understand what she’s fighting for.”
“She knows exactly what she’s fighting for! She doesn’t need to be reminded about what happened to her.”
“It’ll make her stronger. She’s the only one who can stop Abel, and she needs to be prepared when she does,” Isaac said. He sat the on the tailgate of the truck; the frame squeaked beneath his weight.
“How do you know that? And how did you know I was with her?” Clark asked. He planted his feet in front of his father with his arms crossed over his chest.
Isaac sighed heavily. He squinted against the late afternoon sun. “It’s my job as Keeper to know these things.”
“But you couldn’t have known I found her. Even the angels didn’t know.”
“And it’s going to stay that way,” Isaac said seriously. “But Clark, it was always your destiny to find her. You still believe in destiny, right?”
Throughout Clark’s life, Isaac had spent a lot of time talking about fate and destiny. Like he did when he was thirteen, Clark narrowed his eyes at his father. “No, I don’t. I fell into that cave…” Clark paused, remembering every detail about his fall. The more he thought about being saved from hitting the ground, the more he thought about destiny and fate. He swallowed the rest of his argument and sat down beside his father.
“How did you find him?” Clark asked after a moment. The shadows were lengthening as the sun darkened behind evening skies. Clark was tired after driving for hours, his body almost too heavy to support.
“I was looking out my window when I saw him fall out of the sky early this morning. I asked Liam to help me find him.”
“The Seraphim saw us together. They probably told the Aethere,” Clark said, his voice soft.
Isaac nodded. “The Aethere wouldn’t like a Descendant helping her even if you aren’t a part of us anymore.” Clark clenched his jaw at his father’s words and told himself he didn’t care. “Dropping Zarachiel on the compound was a warning most likely.”
“But the other Descendants support the Aethere. Is it safe to keep him so close to the compound?” Clark picked at the rust flakes on the truck, pulling at them like dead skin.
“Out here it should be. The orchards were harvested last month. He can’t stay here for long though,” Isaac said.
“So what does this mean? Are you done with the Descendants?” Clark asked. He watched his father carefully. Isaac couldn’t go against the wishes of the angels and still remain Keeper. Clearly, the Descendants were not a part of his plan to help Zarachiel.
“No. I am and will be the Keeper until I die. Right now, I am doing what the Descendants were created to do: protecting the angels on Earth. I won’t ask the others to go against the Aethere, but I will do what is right.”
Neither of the men said anything for a moment. Isaac watched the toolshed carefully while Clark stared anywhere else. “She didn’t want to come until I told her about the message.”
Isaac nodded. “It’s good that you brought her.” He watched Clark carefully. His eyes veiled beneath wrinkles. “Now tell me why you have the Watchers’ language on your arms.”
Clark jumped. Somehow he had forgotten about the words. “Oh,” he stammered. For the first time in years, Isaac watched him with understanding in his eyes. It was a sight that tore down Clark’s defenses, and he launched into the story from the very beginning when he fell through the cave and found Michaela.
When he finished, Isaac asked, “You fell into that cave from the roof? And you weren’t hurt?”
Clark chewed his lip. He hadn’t let himself think about that moment since it happened. He didn’t want to examine it too closely. “I was pretty drunk,” he said sheepishly. “So the roof might have been closer to the floor than I thought. Or maybe I just blacked out and walked in there.” It was a lie. His father knew it too.
“And you’re sure the Siren was taking human blood?”
Clark shrugged. “That’s what we saw. And then it nearly killed me. I fought it off though.”
Isaac ignored Clark’s comment. “And Asz saw Cassie drinking blood…Was it human blood?”
“Yeah,” Clark said. Isaac rose from the tailgate and paced away from the truck, lost in thought. “Michaela was more interested in the work Cassie was doing with the souls.”
Isaac shook his head, his back to Clark. He said something like, “No, the blood is the problem.” But Clark wasn’t sure he heard correctly.
“What?”
“Do you remember who the ruined fallen are?”
Clark frowned. His focus shifted solely on his father. “Of course. We learned about them in school. They are kept in the Descendants’ prison on the compound.”
Isaac made a face. “Don’t act like you never snuck in and saw them. I know how young Descendants act.”
“Um,” Clark said, shifting on the tailgate. “Well…”
“Do you remember what happened to them?” Isaac asked.
“Yeah. They were rogue fallen angels who drank human blood and went, like, totally crazy.”<
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“Human blood is addictive,” Isaac said. “And the ruined fallen angels drank too much, and they became diseased. Their wings fell out. They couldn’t even move. Now we keep them in the prison without binds, because they’ve never woken from their coma. The very essence that made them angels disappeared, leaving only their shell behind.”
Clark had indeed snuck into the prison to see the ruined fallen. He remembered the angels’ limp bodies stretched across the cold metal gurneys. They were listless, dead in every way but the one that mattered. They still breathed; their hearts beat. But their bodies were shrunken, nearly skeletons. Their eyes had long since decayed, and their eyelids drooped uselessly into the sunken pits. Where their wings had once been, their backs were twisted and vile, like the bones grew back in the wrong positions.
The young boys with Clark had acted tough while they were there, but every one of them had nightmares for weeks afterwards. The angels were disgusting, and Clark hadn’t let himself think of them again. Until now.
“What about them?” Clark asked.
Isaac sighed. He shrugged and turned away. “Just what popped into my head when you said Cassie was drinking blood.”
“Oh…” Clark shifted uncomfortably on the tailgate. “Michaela will probably want to leave soon. We had a solid lead on finding where Cassie works,” Clark said.
“Are you sure?” Isaac asked, his focus returning to the toolshed where Michaela still hadn’t emerged.
“About what?” Clark asked.
His pile of rust flakes crumbled with the breeze and blew to the ground, scattering into the orchard. He used to play out here with his mom. Before, when they were a happy family, Isaac would drive them out here for a picnic. And Clark would sit on the tailgate just as he was now, playing with his toy trucks, while his parents ate and talked until late in the afternoon.
“If she will want to go back to Charleston,” Isaac clarified.
“Of course she will. We are close to figuring out what Lucifer and Cassie are doing. The souls are the whole reason Lucifer agreed to the deal with the Aethere. If Michaela can figure out Lucifer’s real plan with the souls, then she might be able to prove the Archangels’ innocence.”