by Meg Collett
The cool updraft of empty air flowed across her face. Her eyes adjusted to the new form of darkness before her, and she saw that her feet were inches from a tangle of roots that led over the lip of a steep, almost vertical ravine jutting down to a shallow creek a hundred or so feet below.
She had made it.
“Michaela, it’s okay,” Gabriel spoke softly from behind her.
She pictured his soft, golden twinkling eyes. She remembered how the hard line of his jaw moved when he said her name. His solemn expression always softened, and she could glimpse the inside of him.
She had fought so hard to resist him moments before that she was exhausted. Her heart was empty and shattered, refusing to forgive her body for not rushing into the woods after his voice.
To her very core, Michaela was tired. She was tired of this fight. This battle. This war. She was tired of existing in a place where Gabriel’s voice could only be a lie, because he was cursed to Hell. To live another moment in a world she had likely destroyed was unbearable. She was the source of pain and hurt. Everyone she loved paid a high price.
Gabriel’s voice was just a trick. She smelled the hot, decaying stench on her neck. But she began to turn around anyway.
Because she was done.
And she was ready.
Azazel.
He stood a mere breath away, and he was horrible. Time in the water deep inside the earth had not been kind. The bones of his face pressed forth grotesquely. The sockets of his eyes sunk deep into his slightly sunken skull. His skin was gray and lifeless, like a stone monster high on an ancient cathedral.
His long arms wrapped around Michaela, hugging her close and pulling her from the edge so she had nowhere to go but into his arms. Pressing his shrunken lips against the side of her neck, he smelled the soft spot behind her ear; her stomach rolled in revulsion. Even as his hunger for her death poured from his fingertips, he ran his boney, wrinkled hands down her body, over her hips, and back up.
Michaela’s eyes went wide. Azazel smiled when he caught wind of her fear.
Then, he shoved.
Michaela stumbled, off balance, and pitched backwards over the roots. She crashed down the ravine, careening head over heels. She bit her tongue and lips, pouring blood from her mouth and down her throat. She didn’t have time to close her eyes.
Michaela dove feet first into the icy creek. Her body buckled unto itself in a horrible symphony of cracking bones. Her left knee shattered upon a razor sharp rock. Michaela tried to brace the remainder of the fall, but the impact broke both arms. The flash of pain was so strong Michaela’s scream was one of silent, gaping, empty agony.
Fingers dislocated from their joints as her whole body crashed on top of them. Her forehead banged off another rock, slicing her face. Her lungs clenched from the impact and expelled all the air she tried to suck back in with huge, painful gasps.
Azazel stalked the bank of the shallow stream, prowling like a mountain cat waiting for its prey. He probably hadn’t meant for her to fall directly into the stream, where he couldn’t finish her off. Michaela’s breathing turned into wet, slurping, shallow gasps. She closed her eyes and waited. He would eventually venture into the water and pull her out. She only hoped she was healed enough by then to fight him off before he whispered his killing magic into her ear.
Michaela opened her eyes to a commotion. Her head lolled to the side and she saw him.
Gabriel.
He landed right in front of Azazel, real and in the flesh, on the water’s bank. It wasn’t magic that conjured his voice, because he didn’t speak. He stood, backlit from the moon, with his wings outstretched like shining, gleaming tools of death and his face lost to the shadows. In his hand was an ancient scythe. Even from her distance, she could see the metal was laced with angel bone—her bone.
Azazel flicked his filmy wings out and leaped into the air. But Gabriel was faster. He grabbed the Watcher’s ankle, and yanked the angel back to the ground. Gabriel must have broken bones, because Azazel stumbled, nearly falling. He didn’t try to escape again. Instead, he smiled.
“Why am I not surprised to see you here, dear Gabriel? Although, I’m surprised you would expend the effort on such a filthy soul as hers,” Azazel said, his voice a scratchy hiss. He leaned closer, peering into Gabriel’s face. Michaela didn’t hear what the Watcher whispered to Gabriel, but the words made every muscle in Gabriel’s body rigid. His square jaw clenched, outlining every bone in his face as if he were a marble statue.
Azazel drew back, his smile long gone, and began to whisper. Gabriel didn’t pause. In a move so fast, so lethal, that Michaela barely saw, Gabriel swung the scythe up in an arc, plunging the point of the curving blade into the soft place underneath Azazel’s chin and pinned his whispering tongue to the roof of his mouth.
Gabriel stepped back as Azazel clutched at his face, struggling to grip the hilt of the short-handled weapon. His diseased body jerked, his wings grappling for balance. With one fierce kick, Gabriel sent Azazel stumbling into the water with a loud, cracking splash.
Gabriel stepped into the creek to stand over the Watcher. Azazel put a hand in the air as if he was begging Gabriel to stop. Gabriel only slapped the bony hand out of the way as he reached down and wrapped his long fingers around Azazel’s pale, skeletal neck. With his other hand, he grabbed the blade and yanked it free; the angel’s jaw gaped open unnaturally wide and crooked.
Gabriel drew back, and Michaela tasted the heady bloodlust in the air. He turned, his face grim, and walked toward her without a backwards glance to Azazel, who faded into a cascade of feathers. Gabriel’s weapon dripped blood as he walked, making soft splashes in the creek.
The last of Azazel’s floating feathers cast a warm light over Gabriel’s back. As he drew closer, the relief washed over her, and she eased back down into the creek, feeling the pull of unconsciousness. She smiled as he bent over her, covered in blood and rage. Her relief, her smile, slipped away. His eyes were furious and directed solely on her.
“What did you do?” he asked, his voice a raw crack in the quiet around them.
Michaela began to shiver in the icy stream. The pain from her healing bones, made her brain hazy, but she still recognized the hateful expression on Gabriel’s face. With a great effort, she raised her lesser damaged arm from the stream and reached for him.
He straightened until he was out of her reach. His rejection sapped her energy, and her arm splashed back into the water. As he turned and walked away, Michaela could only think of one thing.
His eyes were black.
42
Gabriel disappeared after he killed Azazel. Iris’s Nephilim found Michaela, broken and soaked, after they ran off the Watchers. When Michaela told them Gabriel had killed Azazel, they thought her concussion had made her delusional. They convinced her to come to a small Amish community in southern Pennsylvania only because Clark was going there to heal with his mother. It wasn’t the Amish that surrounded her, but hundreds of Nephilim posing as Amish.
Three days had passed since Michaela had come to the farm. The afternoon was sunny and warm, and the Nephilim worked in the fields, cutting hay with horse and mule power. Michaela sat with Clark on the back porch. He healed quickly, but for right now, Michaela positioned his wheelchair in the shade. He sipped on iced tea, and Michaela leaned her head back on her rocking chair for a catnap.
Sometime later, Clark raised his head when Iris approached. Michaela cracked one eye open. Inexplicably, Iris still made Michaela uneasy even though the woman was actually quite likeable. She was kind and sweet. Her long blond hair always stayed in a neat braid down her back. She cooked and cleaned and rarely acted like the creature she was. But when Michaela looked into her summer sky eyes, Michaela knew Iris had many secrets—ones that involved her.
Iris settled her hand on Clark’s shoulder, but she said to Michaela, “He’s here.” The words were delivered quietly, evenly.
But Michaela jumped to her feet, a motion that still
hurt, but she ignored it. “Where?” she asked.
“The front field.”
Iris settled down in Michaela’s spot next to Clark. Mother and son exchanged a shared glance, but Michaela was long gone. She raced through the house and out the front door. She hit the ground running with long, limping strides. Her body strained beneath the effort; her injuries complaining against the brutal activity, but she pressed on.
Horses’ ears pricked as she passed. Nephilim in the fields watched her fly by, hair billowing behind her. She only slowed when she met the edge of the front field.
Gabriel stood just at the wood’s line with his back to the farm. The trees’ shadows hid the sun from his form, making him look like he too had grown from the ground. He didn’t move.
She walked out to him, the tall grass swishing at her ankles. Her stomach fluttered as she drew nearer, recalling Gabriel’s angry, black eyes when he had stared down at her in the creek. She didn’t know if it was her head injury or if Gabriel was really a fallen.
The fabric of his thin shirt was pulled tight, straining against the tense set of his shoulders. His wings were pressed against his body, protruding from crudely cut holes in his shirt. When she was within ten feet of him, it was as though she had stepped across a threshold. The air was dry and cold, sending shivers down her spine. The grass didn’t blow, but stood quiet and unmoving within the walls he had created around himself.
Michaela stopped a few feet away, farther than she ever would have before. Her legs trembled slightly. Her smile was long gone. Replacing it was the unbearable urge to turn and run. She shook her head in denial as he turned to face her. One peek at his eyes, and she knew she hadn’t been mistaken.
“Oh, Gabe. No.” Michaela instinctively reached for him, her chest contracting with raw nerved grief. He jerked away, the blackness in his eyes flashing.
“I didn’t come here for that,” he growled. Michaela yanked her hand back like the air around him burned her skin. She wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off his chill.
“I don’t understand.” Her words stumbled, but he wasn’t listening. “Why are you so angry?”
“Do you know what I did? I gave my soul to Lucifer, because the Watchers were coming for you. Only after I killed Azazel did Lucifer tell me the reason the Aethere wanted you dead. If I would have known you set those monsters free…” Gabriel clenched his jaw like he was struggling with the words. He glared at her, his eyes full of rage. “You shouldn’t have done that, Michaela. You should have killed them all. I signed over my soul for you.”
“Gabe, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Azazel would have killed you! I did it to save you.” He stepped closer. His face was a snarl. “And it was all for nothing. You brought the Aethere’s death sentence on yourself.” He spat the words like even saying them disgusted him—like she disgusted him. Her stomach rolled, sending acid crawling up the back of her throat.
“Want to know something else?” Gabriel asked cruelly. “I would have been okay with being a fallen, for signing away my soul to save you. That’s how much I loved you.” Michaela had craved to hear those words, but Gabriel delivered them like a weapon. She gasped in pain, because clearly he didn’t love her anymore. “But now I despise you. I am damned because of another one of your mistakes.”
“Gabe, I’m so sorry. You know I would never have asked you to do it,” she whispered. Her chest heaved like she was out of breath.
“Is that supposed to reassure me? Am I supposed to feel better now?” he shouted.
“I only did what I thought was best…”
“I guess you just assumed the rest of us would clean up your mess.”
“Why are you saying this? What is wrong with you?” Michaela blinked, and a single tear rolled down her face.
He glared at her, his face an ugly mask of fury. “You have no idea, do you?” he asked. His fists clenched open and closed, open and closed. His knuckles were battered and bruised, like he had fought recently.
“What are you saying?”
“Those creatures you let go, those abominations, are killing hundreds of humans. The world around you is in chaos, yet here you are,” Gabriel said sarcastically. He gestured grandly around him.
Michaela’s brow furrowed. Dropping her arms to her sides, she shook her head in confusion. “No. No, the holy angels would have stopped them. They would have taken care of it. You’re wrong.”
“You really think Abel would give a shit about those things you just let loose?” Gabriel saw his answer in her eyes. “You have no idea what you have caused.” He searched her face, his eyes burning her skin. “What’s worse is that you don’t even care.”
Michaela gasped. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. “No, Gabe. I didn’t know. I thought I did what was best.”
“Did you know that the Watchers were pardoned?” Gabriel asked. He registered Michaela’s shock with a pitiless smirk. “They are the Aethere’s henchmen now. Any angels who doubt Abel or question too loudly are thrown out of Heaven. Guess what the Watchers do to them?”
He lurched toward her and grabbed her by the arms, lifting her onto her toes. His grip was painful, bruising, and crushing. Looking into his eyes, she knew he didn’t care if he hurt her. She clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.
“They rip their wings from their backs and let them fall to Earth, broken and exiled, just like Zarachiel. They are not fallen. No, they just simply understood your grand gesture and asked too many questions about Abel’s Purification, so Abel rips their wings out in your honor.”
“Let me go. Now, Gabriel,” she said through gritted teeth. He dropped her and she stumbled. She rubbed her arms to ease the numbness. “You know I didn’t think this would happen.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Gabriel sneered.
“Why are you being like this?” Her words held a burgeoning anger coiling in her stomach, waking the snake inside her.
“Someone needs to tell you the truth.”
“Stop it,” Michaela said, her voice chillingly quiet. Her fists trembled.
“What? You can’t stand to know you were finally wrong?”
“Gabriel,” she growled.
“Come on, admit that you were wrong.” Gabriel taunted her, bullied her.
“Just shut the hell up!” she shouted in his face.
The anger flared inside her like a cobra striking. She blinked, and Gabriel was sprawled on his backside, and the ground was scorched at her feet. Two handprints were singed through his shirt, revealing freshly burnt skin.
She swore viciously at him and shoved him back to the ground when he tried to struggle to his feet. His eyes dripped venom. The sun sunk behind the clouds. The air grew dense and humid, conjuring a storm from her raging anger—anger that barely concealed the slashing pain in her heart.
From across the field, Iris stepped out onto the porch. Other Nephilim around the farm stopped to see if they would need to intervene before Michaela unleashed a tornado.
“I did what I thought was best,” her voice rasped with anger. “The Aethere don’t have all the power anymore. I’m sorry they are hurting more angels, but I’m glad someone is finally questioning the Aethere.”
Gabriel jumped to his feet. A raindrop fell on her cheek, sliding down and dripping from her jaw. He closed the distance between them in two long strides. Gabriel pointed a finger at her face. The air snapped around her, and she heard a clap of thunder.
“You should have fixed this quietly! Now it’s the whole world’s fight. People are dying. Angels are being desecrated. Too many people will pay a high price for this.”
She slapped his finger away. “You mean you’ve paid too high a price. I didn’t ask you for anything. It was your decision to sign over your soul.”
Michaela was surprised her voice wasn’t shaking, because her whole body trembled. The rain fell harder now. Her hair plastered to her head with tendrils wrapping around her face.
Gabriel step
ped closer until they were practically nose-to-nose. The wind picked up. It sliced through her thin robe. “The Michaela I knew would have never unleashed those monsters into the world. Whatever is inside of you has made you as bad as Lucifer.”
“How dare you?”
Something in Michaela’s voice, maybe the toneless manner, silenced Gabriel. He had given up on her, but her eyes said she had given up on him too. The Nephilim drew close now, close enough to hear. The rain drove itself to the ground in slanting, drenching sheets.
Finally, Michaela turned away from his empty stare. He was an empty, burning hole. If she looked close enough, she felt, at that moment, she would see Hell itself inside him. She took a step away.
“You proved your point.” Gabriel shook his head in disgust. “I hope it was worth it. I really do, Michaela, because you have started something that will be the end of everything. The Aethere are calling for the End of Days.” He grabbed her chin ruthlessly, his grip like a vice. “The End of Days, Michaela. You did this.”
Michaela jerked her chin from his grip. She was quiet for a long moment, watching him. Gabriel smirked, satisfied he had hurt her enough.
She would never forgive herself, and she felt a deep, bottomless guilt for the humans who had died and the angels who were exiled. But she remembered her dream, the way the fires had smelled and the screams had sounded, and she recalled how everything had come to an end, even Heaven and Hell. If Abel got his hands on the Seven Seals, everyone would die. Before Abel could end the world, he needed to be stopped. She had to show the other holy angels who he really was. She hated what she had done at the research center, but not enough to regret her decision. Her face was hard.
“Maybe it’s time for the end,” she said.
Gabriel jerked. “What?”
Michaela glanced to the Nephilim standing around her. Far away, back on the front porch, Michaela saw Clark in his wheelchair watching her. She turned back to Gabriel.
“You don’t mean that,” Gabriel whispered, shocked. She felt the harsh, angry air around him shatter like a glass wall. He stepped toward her, his face scrubbed clean of the anger. He was almost normal aside from the black in his eyes.