by Meg Collett
Michaela turned and ran.
When she reached the lobby, Michaela found glass scattered, broken and pointing to the sky. The alarms flashing were useless; no police would come here tonight with the hybrids Michaela had let loose on the streets. Large, shattered pots spilled soil and crushed flowers across the white floors. The pane of glass separating the lobby from the outside entry was shattered, leaving a huge gaping hole where the night’s breeze came in and blew loose papers across the room.
Michaela stepped outside. A smeared bloody handprint slid down the outline of the angel on the sign. The body of a late-night jogger lay beside it, his stomach hollowed and empty. Michaela caught sight of Clark’s car idling on the sidewalk. He waved frantically, eyes wide and scared. A loud crash came from inside the building. With barely a backwards glance, Michaela sprinted toward the car.
“What are you doing here?” she shouted as she threw herself in the car.
“What did you do? You let them go!” Clark shouted back just as loud. He pointed to a crack in the window. “They went all zombie apocalypse on my ass!”
“Their bodies are unbalanced. They crave blood, but it only makes them crazier when they get it.”
“No shit!”
“Where’s the Nephil?” Michaela asked, checking the backseat.
“She saw those creatures and ran off. She said something about warning someone.”
“She’ll be fine,” Michaela said. She buckled her seatbelt.
Clark sniffed. “Frankly, I didn’t appreciate her lack of admiration for my heroic efforts.”
His words were punctuated by the sound of breaking glass. They both looked down the road. The sounds of screams filled the air. When Clark spoke again, the words were much quieter, almost reflective. “A lot of people are going to die tonight…”
Michaela had done what she thought was best. Humans would die. More angels would die. She pictured Cassie in her last moments. She saw Asz with the knife in his hand and peaceful expression on his face. She remembered Molloch on the floor of the cave.
There were many kinds of death in war.
To Clark, Michaela said quietly, “People will die, but the holy angels will come down and stop the hybrids. They will see what Lucifer has done with the souls the Aethere gave him. They will demand to know why the Aethere enacted the Purification if this was the result.”
Clark looked at her, their eyes meeting in the darkness. “Are you sure?”
37
The water endlessly lapped against their forearms. They were cursed by its simple power. The chains restrained their hands and feet to the bottom of a subterranean river, making them weak and powerless. Thin golden necklaces were wrapped around their neck, up their chin, and over their tongues, to bind their silence.
For nearly an eternity the Watchers hunched in the water of the caves far below the surface of the earth, forever silent and forever damned. Some said their punishment went far beyond what their disgrace warranted. The Archangels—Michaela—proclaimed the punishment suitable for the angels responsible for the Nephilim long ago. For if an angel could find lust so easily in his heart then he would find himself comfortable with the weakness portrayed by a kneeling sinner.
And oh how the Watchers regretted admiring those women. How they wished they had just stayed in Heaven, satisfied with watching from afar. But endless time passed, and watching had led to wanting. The Nephilim were a result no one had seen coming, a surprise of the ultimate kind. The Watchers even regretted their children.
More than that, they regretted accepting their punishment with bowed heads and guilty hearts. They hated themselves for marching two hundred strong into the bowels of the earth like diseased outcasts. They told themselves they deserved it then. But that was long ago and they had reconsidered.
Their biggest regret of all was not killing Michaela when they had the chance.
Azazel assumed his retribution would come violently. He had led the Watchers down to Earth’s women that fateful day. So it would be him who settled his hands around Michaela’s soul. He hadn’t heard about the fallibility of an angel’s life, but he pictured Michaela’s death countless times, countless ways.
Azazel had always imagined bursting forth from the soil, followed by his fellow damned. Instead, on the night of his freedom, the soil came to him with a soft sigh. It started as a trickle, a soft pattering of dirt they didn’t recognize at first because they were so lost in their timeless, ceaseless stupor. But then the dirt became a hard rain, and they searched above them to see the night sky for the first time in a long, long time.
The ground trembled. The water swirled, stirred to waves. Rocks fell into the river, and the underground waterfalls stopped their descent. Two hundred angels looked to one another with a quiet hopefulness they didn’t dare speak aloud.
When the caves collapsed, it took the water from their chains. With it gone, they easily broke the metal and removed the gags. They rose slowly and stiffly. They waited because they expected to see avenging angels coming to announce the End of Days and the end of them.
No one came. They didn’t see the seraph, Jehoel, take to the night sky, seeking only to get away as fast as he could. Azazel leaned back, cocking his head to take in the stars above him. With a mighty flutter, he stretched his decrepit wings out, reveling in their breadth. An excited tremble worked up his spine.
It was time.
38
An hour north of the city’s peninsula, Clark sped down the empty highway as a quiet chatter from the radio buzzed in the background. The windows were down, and the night air blew through Michaela’s hair. When he cranked up the volume, Michaela opened her eyes and frowned at him.
“…massive collapse in Mammoth State Park. Campers are being escorted out and asked to leave as it is not currently known where the cave-in originated and if the other caves are stable. Rangers are suggesting people cancel their plans if they planned a visit to the park, which hosts hundreds of miles of underground caves. No injuries have been reported at this time…”
“That’s weird,” Clark commented.
“What?” Michaela closed her eyes again with a heavy sigh.
She couldn’t reach Gabriel, which frustrated her, but she probably deserved it after pushing him away all week. She wished Clark would turn the radio dribble down so she could concentrate. If she couldn’t reach Gabriel then she needed to think, to prepare, for the Aethere’s retaliation. By releasing those monsters Lucifer made, she had provoked the Aethere. What she didn’t know was how the Aethere would react or if the other angels would start questioning how Lucifer made the creatures.
“That’s where I found you.” Clark’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“What?” She blinked at him and tried to remember what he had said.
Clark rolled his eyes to the ceiling of the car. “That’s the park where I found you. There was a cave-in.”
Clark turned up the radio so they could both listen to the DJ recap the same handful of details over and over, trying to fill time until the next music set. No one cared about a pile of dirt moving in backwater Kentucky.
But Michaela cared. She mentally transported herself back to the cave with Molloch and the other fallen Archangels. Like before, he talked to her, berated her. She recognized the waterfalls. She heard the river bubbling in the background. She saw the smirk on Molloch’s face when she remembered where they were.
“You didn’t think I’d bring you to just any cave, did you?” His voice echoed in her head. Her thoughts raced away from that moment and landed her back in the car with Clark.
“No, no, no…”
She realized she spoke the words out loud when Clark jerked his head toward her.“What is it?” Clark reached over and shook her. “What is it?” he practically shouted when she opened her mouth but no words came out.
“That cave…” she whispered.
***
Fallen angels and countless other creatures gathered beneath the arena in a h
old that stank of sweat and piss. The night’s fights were about to commence, and everyone was on edge, causing skirmishes to break out every few seconds. Already, blood coated the floor. Creatures slipped and fell in fear while the guards laughed at them.
Gabriel hunkered down in a corner to wait for the doors to open, his sword hanging loose but ready at his side. Most of the time his stare would keep aggressive fighters away, but sometimes he had to use his blade before the doors even opened.
He noticed some of the others whispered and glanced in his direction. He tried to ignore them. He was a novelty. An angel had never been punished to Hell before. He was not a fallen, not damned, yet there he sat.
The ever-present rage boiled within him at the thought. He forced his hand to lie still against the hilt of his sword, which threatened to slash up and across the nearest throat. The urge was just there on the pads of his fingers. It didn’t help that he hadn’t seen Michaela for days. He had no clue what had happened. She could be hurt, or the Aethere might have found her. Or she might just not want to see him after what had happened between them. The thought made him even angrier.
The crowd above them cheered as they watched the fights between Beliar’s beasts. Their massive feet pounding on the roof of the hold sent dust and dirt filtering through the cracks. He wished the doors would open so he could get some fresh air. The feathers of his dirty wings brushed the rough wood of the wall behind him as he shifted his weight. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. His eyes narrowed on the group pressed against the opposite wall. They were still talking about him in whispers.
Gabriel watched their mouths closely, which is why he saw her name form on the fallen’s lips. Gabriel rose and crossed the hold in one furious beat of his wings, grabbing the fallen by his throat. Gabriel pressed his sword into the angel’s gut.
“What did you say?” Gabriel growled. The fallen sputtered, unable to speak against the pressure on his windpipe. Gabriel loosened his grip, but the edge of his sword drew blood that trickled down the fallen’s hollow stomach.
An imp next to the fallen spoke. “We overheard the guards talking about her,” it said. Its eyes were too large for his elfish face, glistening green with a secret. Gabriel hated imps.
Gabriel’s jaw gnashed; a vein popped out in the middle of his forehead and throbbed to the beat of his rage. Gabriel spun. The sword made a sucking noise as Gabriel sank it deep within the imp’s chest. Gabriel pivoted back around and grabbed the fallen before the angel had even flinched. Gabriel pressed his blade, dripping sludge, against the fallen’s throat.
“Speak,” he commanded.
“The-the-they said-they-said there was a de-de-death warrant issued on her. That the Aethere were finally sick of her-her-her shit. Please, please don’t hurt me before the fight,” the fallen stammered, holding his hands in the air. His eyes darted to the imp, who groaned and pressed a hand to its belly. The creature wouldn’t die, but the wound definitely hurt. Traditionally, the guards killed weakest at the end of the fights for entertainment; it was never good to enter already bleeding.
“A death warrant?” Gabriel never heard of such. Briefly he wondered if the fallen was once again baiting him, but he saw the true fear in the fallen angel’s eyes. The other prisoners took a few steps away from Gabriel.
The fallen nodded briskly as he eyed the blade still pressed to his throat. “They are going after her. Please, not before the fight.”
“Who are?” Gabriel hadn’t felt this form of anger before. It wasn’t hot or slicing like some of the rages he had experienced in the fights, but chilled and creeping. The new anger settled his resolve, slowed his blood, and cleared his thoughts.
“The Aethere released the Watchers on her,” answered a voice hidden within the horde of bodies.
“Why?” Gabriel bellowed. For a moment, the cheering outside died down.
“We-we don’t know. She did something bad. Made the Aethere look like-like-like idiots. She was trying to expose them. But she pissed ‘em off.”
Gabriel let the fallen go. The skinny angel fell to the floor, trembling and glaring at Gabriel. Gabriel stepped away and headed toward the door in the back. Numb fingers circled around the molding bars, which bent but didn’t break beneath his strength.
“The Watchers can kill her for sure…They know the secret…”
“They wouldn’t even need her bones…”
He tried to ignore the hushed whispers behind him. He didn’t know what Michaela had done to provoke the Aethere to the extent they would send the Watchers after her, but he didn’t care. The only thing he thought was that the Watchers were likely the only group of angels who could actually succeed in killing Michaela, because they might know the original secret to kill an angel. Gabriel knew how extensive and powerful their magic was, and he didn’t want them to have the chance to use it on her. No matter what, Gabriel had to get to her first.
A guard took notice. He drew his own sword and walked toward Gabriel, whose eyes turned from golden to lava. The guard stopped a few steps short, wary and out of reach.
“I need to see Lucifer. Now.”
39
“That cave…That’s where the…” Michaela’s tongue wouldn’t work, couldn’t process the thoughts racing through her head.
“I don’t want to know,” Clark said, clutching the steering wheel with a sweaty, white-knuckled grip.
“The Watchers…”
Clark groaned.
“That’s where I put the Watchers,” she finally managed.
“But maybe it’s a different cave?”
“I doubt it.” Michaela’s skin prickled, chilled on the verge of shivering. She could accept that she was afraid. The Watchers were incredibly powerful, their magic nearly impossible to fight. Michaela had no doubt they wouldn’t need the bones from her wings to kill her.
“Does, like, everyone hate you or something?”
Michaela didn’t hear him. She wondered what it would feel like as she dissolved into a wash of feathers. After an eternity, all her works—good and bad—would be reduced to feathers ghosting away. If she died tonight, Michaela could only hope that by showing the angels what Lucifer did, she had cast enough doubt on the Aethere for someone to pick up the fight where she left off.
Gabriel. She missed him violently now. More than anything, she wished she could have seen him one more time. She would lose too much if she died tonight. “Stop the car,” she whispered.
Clark didn’t hear her.
“Stop the car,” Michaela said again.
“I think we should keep driving as far and as fast as possible,” he said and pressed the gas even more.
“It won’t matter.”
“Even more reason to keep driving,” he said, glancing at her quickly. “We can come up with a plan or something.”
“Just stop the car.”
“Michaela, I really—”
“Stop the damn car!” Her hands clenched into fists around the car seats. Clark cringed.
He obeyed and drew the car to a stop on the side of the vacant highway. Michaela opened the car door, smelling the trees that lined both side of the road. Their shadows reached across the road, dancing and swaying beneath Michaela’s feet.
Clark stumbled onto the road and rushed to catch up. Michaela sighed heavily. He smacked into her when she whirled around.
“No. Stay in the car.” Michaela shook her head, pointing back to the Chevelle. “You need to leave. Now. Drive as fast and far away as possible.”
“Oh, no way. I’m staying here.” Standing so close, Michaela could see every centimeter of fear in Clark’s wide blue eyes. This was yet another time tonight he chose to stay with her when any sane human would have run.
“Leave. I’m serious, Clark,” she said.
“I’m not leaving.” Clark crossed his arms. “So you just need to get over that idea.”
Michaela gritted her teeth. There wasn’t much time. She needed to get a move on. “Leave.”
/> “You need me.”
Michaela laughed rudely and loudly. Clark glanced around and shushed her. “I haven’t needed you once.” She lied. He had saved her in many ways. “You’ve been more of a pain than help.”
“Clearly lying is the one sin you can’t commit. That should make you feel better,” he said. She crossed her arms to match his stance.
“Seriously, you’re a fool boy with no real experience,” she said with a sneer. “You’re a waste of a Descendant. Your own father didn’t even think you were good enough.” The words should have felt awful in her mouth, but they came easy.
“That won’t work either.”
They stared each other down for a quick moment. Each one wanted to wait the other out to prove a point, but there was no time. The air didn’t stir; the woods didn’t speak. Something was coming. Michaela broke first.
“Please. Please, leave,” she begged.
Clark reached out and took her hand. A jolt went from his palm to hers and straight to her heart. His eyes were clear denim blue when she met them. He rubbed his thumb across the bones of her wrist.
“So what’s the plan?” Clark asked.
Michaela thought for a moment. She reviewed their supplies in the car. Letting go of Clark’s hand, she walked back to the car and dug around in the weapon bag Isaac had given until she found a set of daggers. They were too pretty to be useful, but she still handed one to Clark and stuck the other in her boot.
When she closed the door, Clark asked, “Don’t we need more weapons?”
“Weapons won’t matter against the Watchers. Our only hope is to make it to water.” She walked to the nearest side of the road and crouched on the dirt and pressed her palm to the ground. Michaela rose and repeated the process on the other side.
“This way,” she said. She pointed into the woods ahead.
“Are you sure we should leave the car?” Clark’s eyes darted from the car to the woods and back to Michaela. He was chewing on his fingernails again.