by Meg Collett
Lucifer’s eyebrows rose. “And this is a bad thing?”
“Who will fuel your undead army then?” Gabriel asked. “If all the humans die, so does your army of hybrids.”
Lucifer sat back in his chair, rocking on its hinges. His fingers thrummed against his pointed chin. He was made for the night’s shadows. His dark hair shined with gel that molded it into a perfectly slicked back fashion. “That’s a good point,” he said, lost in thought. “I’ll be honest, I’ve been so entertained by the Aethere that I hadn’t even realized they were destroying my army. Good catch, Gabe.”
“Don’t call me that,” Gabriel said. His muscular body tensed. The moon passed behind a bank of clouds, darkening the room to match the tense moment. “Only she calls me that.”
Lucifer clicked on a lamp, his face a happy smile. “Sorry to offend, Gabriel. So what are you proposing?”
Gabriel forced his hands to relax against the soft white cushions on the armrests of the chair. “Give me a small army of soldiers. Let me take them to Michaela and help her fight the Watchers. If we can take out the Aethere’s mercenaries, we are one step closer to taking back Heaven.”
“Here’s my problem with this. When you say we are one step closer to taking back Heaven, you mean for Michaela and your precious Archangels. You don’t mean for me.”
“You’re right,” Gabriel agreed. “That’s your problem. And you can handle it. Once the Watchers are dead.” He thought about Michaela’s vision of Heaven and Hell ending when the seals broke. She’d practically begged him to tell Lucifer. He cleared his throat. “There’s something else. Michaela believes if Abel breaks the seals, Heaven and Hell will fall too. We all die.”
Lucifer remained quiet at Gabriel’s words. He seemed to be processing the information, but his expression revealed nothing. “Do you believe her?” Lucifer asked finally.
“Does it matter what we believe? The Aethere can’t get the seals no matter what.” Gabriel’s stare hardened. “And we both know Michaela will never give the seals to you.”
Lucifer’s brows rose in surprise. He held up his hands like he was surrendering. “Gabriel, look. There’re things I care about, and there’re things I don’t. Some of the things I don’t care about are the end of the world, those stupid seals, and Michaela’s location. You want to know why? Because I want Heaven. And I like the Earth the way it is. I don’t mind the humans. And I enjoy watching Michaela take on all of Heaven. Somebody should, and, for once, it’s not me. So, like you said, it really doesn’t matter what we believe, because those seals are going nowhere.”
Lucifer’s words didn’t upset Gabriel. Lucifer was methodical and patient, but his patience would be a problem soon. “You’re just biding your time. Waiting until Heaven is weak. You’d love for Michaela to fight your battles for you.”
Lucifer shrugged. “Can you blame me?” He poured another drink, offering one to Gabriel, which he took. “So tell me this now. Why didn’t you just take the fallen? They like you enough to follow you wherever you wanted them to go. Isn’t this right?” Lucifer directed his question at the handful of guards by the doors in the office. Their bodies went rigid, their eyes wide. No one moved or spoke.
“I wouldn’t ask them to fight for me without your permission,” Gabriel said, drawing Lucifer’s attention back to him.
“That’s so sweet.” The guards relaxed as much as they could when standing attention in Lucifer’s presence. “I heard you stopped the fights in Hell. Is this why you believe the fallen and the beasts will fight for you?”
Gabriel didn’t speak. It was true. His first act as Lucifer’s second was to stop the barbaric fights Beliar had initiated and made Gabriel participate in back when he’d been sentenced to Hell. With one simple act, the fallen had rallied around him. Gabriel quickly learned the fallen were not all bad. The majority of them were repentant angels who had sinned in a long ago life. They were in need of a leader they didn’t fear. Gabriel’s quiet nature and steady strength drew them in. They rallied quickly and easily after Beliar’s death.
“They’ll fight for me,” Gabriel said, assured.
“Well, by all means, go for it. I expect all the juicy details though.”
Gabriel stood. He itched in a way that always accompanied a prolonged exposure to Lucifer. “Thank you.”
Lucifer rose too. The guards tightened against the doors. “I’m not an unreasonable angel, Gabriel. I understand why you need my army. I still think you and I could get along well if you tried.”
“There was a time we got along very well, Lucifer,” Gabriel said the words not cruelly but with a sad tone that never reached his eyes.
Lucifer didn’t react. He only poured himself another drink. “You can have your battle. But I expect something in return. And it won’t make your Michaela very happy.”
With growing dread, Gabriel listened to Lucifer’s terms. When he was finally dismissed, he left with a rigid set jaw and nail marks on his palms from his fisted hands. His broiling anger ignited his black eyes. Lucifer was right.
Michaela would hate Gabriel after this.
26
Michaela thrashed, twisting the bed sheets around her legs. She reared up, her eyes wide and heart racing as she awoke from the dream. She couldn’t remember what had happened, but the sense of doom hung heavy over her head. It took her a minute to catch her breath.
When she did, she heard doors banging open and closed downstairs. People raced about, pounding unquiet feet on the wooden floors, the sound reverberating through the entire house. They called to each other, their shouts echoing so Michaela couldn’t understand what was happening. But she smelled their magic. Something bad had happened again.
Michaela struggled to get out of bed because the sheets were so twisted. Shoving her feet into her boots, she checked her window. She peered up at the still dark morning sky. It was still, calm. It wasn’t the storm that had everyone rushing around, which was a small relief.
She still wore yesterday’s clothes, so all she had to do was pull on her coat. In her haste, she left the bed unmade. Her feet were fast and sure down the steep steps into the front hall.
It was a swarm of activity. There were Nephilim and humans going to and fro, hauling wet, steaming rags and bowls of sloshing water. Everyone was whispering, casting magic. The words sent chills down Michaela’s spine.
A human stumbled passed her. Michaela automatically reached out to steady the scrawny man. She easily encircled his bicep with her hand. “Easy there,” she said. He turned to face her, and Michaela choked back her gasp. She let go of his arm.
Huge, pulsing boils covered his face. The throbbing mounds were an enflamed, angry red. White puss oozed through the open sores. He stank of infection, his skin burning with fever. He swayed. His eyes rolled back into his skull. A Nephilim rushed by, sweeping the feeble man into his arms as he went.
Michaela stepped back, her hand covering her mouth. All around her were humans and Nephilim covered in painful, terrible boils. It was another plague.
Michaela worked her way through the crowd as she headed toward the front door. Outside, standing in the dark and begging for help, were even more humans. Nephilim and the Archangels had set up makeshift triage centers to receive the townspeople as they made their aching way to the farm.
Michaela caught sight of Clark’s pink hair. He was toting buckets of frozen pieces of ice from the pound. The fire from the diseased livestock still burned, serving to heat the water. Raphael walked toward her carrying a child, who was unable to walk. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, her little body convulsing. She was tiny in Raphael’s arms, but he held her with the most tender care, his face tortured by her pain.
She reached out and touched Raphael’s arm. “It’s time,” she said, pointing to the sky. The great storm would come after the boils. The Aethere were running out of plagues to send, and the storm would be one of the last and one of the worst. Raphael nodded, continuing into the house with the little girl.
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Michaela searched the crowd of bodies for Iris. The Nephil should be back from her trip to Kentucky, Michaela hoped. But Iris was easy to find, because she was already walking toward Michaela with a quiet smile.
“Yes?” Iris asked.
“We need to get all the injured who’ll survive underground now. Leave those who won’t in the house. Grab the last of the supplies from the house.”
Iris nodded. She swept into the house, her skirts swirling. Raphael appeared at Michaela’s side once again, his arms empty. With him were Simiel, Ophaniel, and Uriel. “Let’s get this party started,” Simiel said.
“Where do we start?” Ophaniel asked. The Nephilim must have received Iris’s message because the flow of activity was shifting from the house and toward the shelter. One of the shelter’s hatches had been opened with Nephilim descending into the depths with lanterns.
“We need to get all the injured outcasts into the shelter,” Michaela said. “Where’s Zarachiel?”
“Underground.” Uriel managed to sound like she was swearing at Michaela even with the simple word.
“Okay, good. Let’s get started.”
The Archangels hurried up the front steps and into the house. The living room was empty of furniture, because anything that could be burned was burned for warmth. Cots lined the walls, holding bodies of outcasts and other injured humans.
Michaela walked to the nearest angel. He was a strong male with stout muscles. His eyes were full of pain when he looked up at her. She reached down, ready to lift him.
“I got him.”
Michaela looked over her shoulder. Gabriel stood there, appearing out of nowhere as he often did these days. Relief surged through Michaela before she could stamp it down. His face was grim. “I don’t need your help to carry him,” Michaela said.
“I know, but you need to get the Nephilim organized. They’re taking too many humans into the shelter that won’t survive. Supplies are being left in the house. They’ll listen to you.” Gabriel shouldered her out of the way. The feel of his skin was electric against hers. Michaela gritted her teeth and stepped away.
“Fine.” She watched Gabriel lift the outcast angel delicately. He made the angel’s weight seem like a feather. Gabriel kept his dark eyes averted, but the angel still saw and understood. Yet, the angel remained relaxed, because he recognized Gabriel, trusted him.
Michaela couldn’t move her legs for a second. Apparently, she was the only one who couldn’t trust Gabriel. She didn’t know what that meant, and she didn’t have the time to try to understand.
Michaela returned outside, forcing Gabriel from her thoughts. She walked up to Jeremiah, the Nephil in charge of receiving the sick humans. She touched his arm, making him flinch. “Don’t take the ones with fevers into the shelter. They won’t make it. Put them in beds in the house. Don’t waste the water on them either.”
Jeremiah seemed like he might argue with her. His lips were pressed tightly together. But he nodded. “Fevers!” He called out to the nearby Nephilim. “Separate out the fevers!”
“Michaela!” Clark had a window opened along the first floor of the house with his body sticking halfway out. “Get your ass in here!” He disappeared back inside.
A group of teenage Nephilim stood frozen apart from the others. Michaela jogged over to them. They tracked her movements with wary, scared eyes. “What’s your name?” Michaela asked the oldest one.
“Jacob,” the boy answered quietly.
“Jacob, I need you to help me, okay?” The boy nodded. “Take your friends down into the cellar and start carrying up as many supplies as you can. Use the cellar door and go straight to the side hatch into the shelter. I’m trusting this with you, okay?”
“Okay,” Jacob said. He squared his shoulders and looked back at the group. “You heard Michaela. Let’s go!”
A low rumble of thunder caught Michaela’s attention. She looked over her shoulder. In the distance, a group of darkening clouds were building. Within the clouds were the faint pulses of lightning. The storm was coming faster than Michaela had planned. They were running out of time.
Without looking back at the teenagers, Michaela ran to the front door. She pushed her way down the hall and into Isaac’s room. Inside, Clark and Sophia were preparing to move him. They were gathering his things and medical supplies into a small duffel Clark carried. Isaac sat up in bed, his eyes on Michaela, and a small smile on his lips. He coughed.
His voice was weak when he spoke. “Good morning, Michaela.”
Clark looked up with relief washing over his face when he saw Michaela. “We need to move him underground. Now.”
Sophia reached for a wheelchair in the corner. “I’ll carry him,” Michaela said.
Together, they worked to bundle Isaac up in his warmest clothes. His body was frail. The wiry muscles were withering away from the infection raging through his body. His skin was pale, almost blue.
“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Clark said. He nodded to Michaela.
“Ready?” Michaela asked Isaac. She leaned across the bed, reaching her arms around him.
“Do you need me to help?” Clark watched her movements closely, judging her strength.
“I’ve got him.” Michaela lifted Isaac easily. She wasn’t weak anymore. Her body had healed around the absence of her wings. Her blood had refreshed and pumped solidly through her veins. She wasn’t the broken angel Clark had found in the cave anymore. Now she was broken in much different ways, much more permanent ways.
Sophia opened the door for her as Michaela stepped into the hall. They worked their way outside, careful to not let anyone jostle Isaac.
“Watch your ass, you idiot!” Clark shouted when a Nephil hit Michaela’s arm.
“Be nice, Clark,” Isaac said softly. Michaela snorted, which earned her another weak smile from Isaac.
They made their way outside and to the side entrance of the shelter. Michaela saw the teenagers carrying armloads of supplies underground. They stopped when they saw Michaela approaching with Clark and Sophia.
Clark hurried down the steps into the shelter. He disappeared in the dim lighting. Sophia tossed Isaac’s bag down to him.
“Ready!” Clark called. A flashlight beam bounced along the steps, illuminating Michaela’s path.
She was ready to step inside when Isaac said, “Michaela, I need to tell you something.”
She paused. “What’s that?”
“No matter what happens today, don’t lose your faith.” Isaac’s eyes seemed to plead with her. His desperation made Michaela tense.
“What’s going to happen?”
Isaac shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
A crack of thunder came from much closer than before. Michaela looked to the sky. It was gray with building clouds. A tiny drop of rain fell on Michaela’s cheek.
“We need to hurry,” she said. She carried Isaac down the steps. The space underground was tight but expansive. Once on the floor, Michaela followed Clark’s flashlight down the narrow hallway. Thin doorways led into small rooms. In some, people were crouched over the injured, whispering magic and administering medicine.
Clark came to one of the doors and ducked inside. Sophia followed him. Michaela bowed her head to keep from cracking her forehead on the low archway.
Inside were two narrow beds and a small table. Clark sat the bag on the table and emptied its contents. Sophia followed Michaela to a bed. With as much care as she could manage, Michaela lowered Isaac. He winched slightly. Sophia hovered over him, covering him with blankets and situating pillows behind his head.
Michaela backed out of the room, feeling Isaac’s eyes on her as she went. Once she was free of the room, she hurried toward the hatch. When she emerged, she saw the huddle of Archangels around the opening. The rain was a steady drizzle now.
“It’s time,” Gabriel said. “We need to get ready for the fight.”
“Why are you here?” Michaela asked. All the Archangels were standing around h
er. Iris was there too, as well as Jeremiah.
“He has an idea, Michaela,” Raphael said. “I think it’s a good one.”
“What is it?” Michaela looked at Gabriel, her brows drawing tightly together.
“I’ve brought my fallen. If we lure the Watchers to Earth, we could take them out easily with my fallen and the Nephilim,” Gabriel said.
“But I thought we decided to go to Heaven?” Michaela asked, her eyes settling on the Archangels.
“We think this might be safer.” Ophaniel settled her hand on Michaela’s back.
“If we bring them here, the Aethere will know where we’ve been hiding,” Michaela said. She forced herself not step away from Ophaniel’s touch.
“We can get far enough away from the farmhouse for the fight, but no one will know about the underground shelter. And if we take out the Watchers, who will be left to tell the Aethere where we are?” Raphael’s logic bothered Michaela. It seemed too…hopeful.
“And how do we know the Watchers won’t bring the holy angels down with them to fight?” Michaela asked.
“They won’t,” Raphael said. “The Aethere will send their henchmen down. There’s no way the Aethere could know about Gabriel’s fallen helping us. The Watchers won’t know they’re outnumbered until it’s too late.”
“And it doesn’t bother you to fight side by side with the fallen?” Michaela asked, her eyes hard on Raphael. Her scrutiny, or her question, made him shift uncomfortable.
“It’s our best option to defeat the Watchers once and for all,” he said.
“Do you agree with this?” she asked Gabriel. “Do you really think we can beat the Watchers?”
“I agree that this plan is much better than sneaking into Heaven. I agree that it gives us a better chance,” Gabriel said as if he was picking his words carefully. “And I agree it’s less likely that you’ll get yourself killed.”
His eyes burned into Michaela’s. The intensity of his stare sizzled in her stomach. Simiel cleared his throat, and Michaela looked up at the sky to break the spell between her and Gabriel. She smelled the coming storm.