by Meg Collett
“I said you only had one, Uriel,” Michaela said, spitting the blood from her mouth. The Archangels came closer, gathering around Uriel and Michaela. They sensed the anger simmering beneath Michaela’s icy calm.
“You bitch,” Uriel hissed. “You deserve to die for what you did.”
She surged forward again, but Michaela caught her arm and twisted, spinning Uriel past her. The Archangel crashed to the ground. She was stunned for only a moment before she leapt to her feet.
“I also told you to stop calling me that.” Michaela pointed at Uriel, her hand steady. “I didn’t cut out Zarachiel’s wings. I feel bad for what happened to him, but it happened to me, too. And you know what? I’m angry, Uriel. I’m pissed.” Michaela’s anger boiled beneath the surface as she stepped around and squared herself off with Uriel, who looked ready to pounce again. “My turn.”
Uriel had no chance of knowing what was about to happen. Michaela had always been faster and stronger. She was a better fighter than all the other Archangels, and she was still stronger, even without her wings. Her fist connected with Uriel’s face with an almighty crack that popped bones and sliced skin.
It only took one. One hit and the right side of Uriel’s face was covered in blood, her cheekbone likely broken. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious and unmoving. Michaela stood over her, her fist aching and bloodied.
“That’s for being such a damned disappointment.” Michaela heaved a breath.
The Archangels were stunned to silence. When they’d recovered, Simiel chuckled. “Well, that’s one way to shut her up.”
5
Michaela was too keyed up to go inside. Her stomach twisted as she watched Raphael haul Uriel inside the cabin. The angel was already awake and moaning. Michaela almost felt guilty for hitting Uriel so hard. Almost.
Instead of going inside, Michaela turned on her heel and ventured into the forest. She remembered the path she’d taken the first time she’d hurried through these woods. Hulking, dead trees towered over her head, their limbs like bony fingers reaching down for her. The forest smelled of death and emptiness, the creatures long gone or long dead.
Michaela hurried, ducking and stepping over fallen logs. The smell of open air tempted her, pushed her forward until she was practically running. When she finally reached the break in the trees, she burst through with a gasp.
The rock cliff stretched before her. A small lip of thick stone jutted out across the valley below like a pointed finger. A single tree clung to the edge of the rock, bare and forlorn. The sight instantly eased the tension in her chest. Only when she was able to breathe again did she realize she wasn’t alone.
“Zarachiel?”
The wingless Archangel’s head turned, looking over his shoulder at her. He sat as Clark had weeks ago, with his legs dangling over the rock’s edge. Michaela picked her way over to him, careful with the rocks. She hesitated, standing behind him, unsure of what to do. Nerves clenched in her stomach, which she told herself was silly. Zarachiel was her friend, her ally. Nothing about that had changed.
She sat down carefully beside him. “What are you doing out here?”
He’d returned to staring into the gorge, his eyes dull and unseeing. The valley below them looked like a horrible scar on the Earth. The angels of both sides had caused awful destruction, and in their war they’d ruined something precious.
“I needed to get away.”
Michaela almost jumped at the sound of Zarachiel’s scratchy, weak voice. She hadn’t really expected him to respond. “I understand that feeling,” she said, recovering.
“I don’t like it when she yells at you,” Zarachiel said, sounding far away.
He obviously meant Uriel. She’d been yelling at Michaela a lot lately, even apart from the fight they’d just had. “She’s hurting, too, I guess. Even in Heaven, anger is how she dealt with pain.” Michaela lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Out of all the Archangels, I always struggled the most to understand Uriel.”
Zarachiel was silent for so long Michaela thought he was done talking to her. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and Michaela didn’t feel like such a coward anymore. She was about to stand up when he spoke again. “Sometimes I think she’s angrier than I am. Abel cut out my wings, but I think he somehow cut out her heart.”
He had stunned Michaela—not by his assessment of Uriel, which was pretty accurate, but by the fact that he’d understood what was happening enough to see Uriel’s anger. All this time, Michaela had thought him too broken and shattered to take in the outside world around him. She studied his profile under the filmy moonlight. She opened her mouth, struggling to find the words. She wasn’t just a coward for not speaking to him; she was also an asshole.
“I loved her heart,” Zarachiel went on. “She was angry a lot in Heaven, you’re right, but she was a fighter. Her sense of justice propelled her back then. She wasn’t so hard to understand. You two are more alike than you know.”
Michaela almost shuddered. “I don’t know about that.”
Zarachiel turned and looked at her. For the first time since he’d been dumped on Earth, he looked almost like his old self. “It’s true. She was devout in her duties. Her belief in making things right fueled her. It’s why….”
“It’s why what?” Michaela asked quietly when he paused.
“It’s why I think she is taking this," Zarachiel motioned to himself, indicating his injuries, "so hard. She can’t fix me. She can’t make everything perfect again. He broke me, and she doesn’t have her justice. It’s eating away at her, making her hateful and bitter.”
“You’re not broken.” Michaela rested a hand on Zarachiel’s arm.
Zarachiel looked away, his eyes scanning the depths below them. Michaela's grip tightened when his body tensed, like he might shove off the solid footing beneath them and catapult downward.
“How did you do it?” He whispered the question so quietly that Michaela had to strain to hear.
“What do you mean?”
Zarachiel’s aching eyes, shadowed by the night, found hers again. “How did he not break you? When Lucifer took your wings, how did you not…fall away?”
Michaela’s voice rasped and caught over the words when she said, “Zarachiel, I—”
“'Cause I feel like I’m falling away into this void.” He looked below them again. “I’m falling, and all I want to do is catch myself so I can fly up and away. I don’t want to die. But the only thing that can save me is my wings, and I have to keep reminding myself they’re not there anymore.” His eyes and voice were filling with tears. “I’m falling away into nothing, into a darkness, and I can’t save myself.” His head bowed, and his twisted back arched. Michaela heard his tears hit the rock. “I don’t want to die.”
Michaela scooted closer and wrapped her arms around him. “You’re not going to die. I promise.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. She couldn’t promise something like that. “You’ll be okay,” she amended, hoping Zarachiel hadn't noticed.
The side of Zarachiel’s head pressed into her shoulder. The scarred ridges of his back contorted under her arm so that she felt every ruined inch of him. He’d had it worse than her. When Lucifer ripped her wings from her, they’d broken cleanly from the deeper, more permanent bones in her back. But Zarachiel’s wings had been hacked from him, distorting his back and ruining the muscles. She couldn’t imagine the pain he was in every moment.
“How are you okay?”
Michaela pressed her eyes closed. She’d never talked about this before, but it felt right with Zarachiel. She took a deep breath and began.
“I wasn’t okay at first. When Clark found me, I wanted to die. I actually thought I was dead, because the pain was so absolute. I wasn’t okay for a while after I found out what the Aethere had done. Without my wings, it made it all worse—like somehow I wasn’t qualified anymore to fight for Heaven. It made me feel less than worthless...less than existing.” Michaela fumble
d for the words. She’d never let herself look this closely. “Maybe in some part deep inside me, I’m not okay. Maybe I’ll never truly be okay again, but some days I think I’m pretty close. When Gabriel kisses me or Clark makes me laugh, I feel more than okay. But they can’t always make me feel better. Uriel can’t make you feel better no matter how loud she yells.” Michaela opened her eyes and looked across the valley, where the edge of the world met the sky. “You have to make yourself okay again. Only you can do that. No one else has that power. Some days I get pretty close, but it’s a daily battle, a life-long war, I think. Right now, next to you, I feel okay, because you’re going to be okay.”
Zarachiel twisted in her arms to look at her face. “You think?”
Michaela nodded, feeling the tightening of emotion in her throat. “You will be, Zarachiel. I’m sorry for what happened to you. Neither of us deserved it. And looking back, Lucifer didn’t, either. I shouldn’t have taken his wings. An angel needs wings to feel whole, but we can make it.”
“You give me hope that maybe I can.”
A stiff, frigid breeze rustled the limbs of the tree above them. Michaela wondered how it could have survived out here on the rocky outcropping, growing through the rocks, braced against the wind all by itself. It was a marvel, a fluke of existence, like her and Zarachiel. If it could survive out here in the elements exposed to beating after beating, they could, too.
“We can.”
They sat out there until the cold permeated the layers of clothing they wore. It settled into their bones until Michaela finally stirred. Zarachiel had fallen asleep in her arms, but he roused when she moved.
“What time is it?” he asked, groggily.
“Time to go back,” Michaela answered.
Together they stood, careful to not fall over the ledge. As they walked back, Zarachiel took her hand. His thumb brushed across her knuckles, warming her heart.
If it was the last thing she did, Michaela vowed, she’d make sure he was okay.
6
They reached the clearing too quickly. Michaela still didn’t feel like entering the confined cabin, but she could tell Zarachiel was tired. She helped him up the stairs and onto the porch.
A twig snapped behind them. Michaela spun around, searching the shadows. She watched until her eyes were aching and dry. It had been a long night, and she decided it was just an animal. She turned and followed Zarachiel through the door. Inside, the Archangels sat at a table with a single lantern and a meager supper of deer meat and beans. The atmosphere was tense and quiet.
Uriel’s head jerked up, her eyes latching onto Zarachiel. For a brief moment, Michaela saw the crippling relief flood Uriel’s brown eyes, causing them to warm and lighten. Then Uriel looked at Michaela, and her face hardened around the grotesque, sore bruise on the side of her cheek. But Uriel didn’t yell, she only stood and took Zarachiel, leading him into the other room as if Michaela was a bad influence on him.
“Want some food?” Ophaniel asked. She offered a plate to Michaela, who sat down on the hard, rickety chair.
“It’s delicious.” Simiel rolled his eyes. “Yum, deer meat.”
“I’m starving,” Michaela said around a hunk of meat and mashed beans. Simiel shook his head at her.
Raphael stood against the few cabinets in the small space of the cabin that served as the kitchen, living room, and dining room. The walls were covered in ancient wood paneling that smelled musty. The dusty curtains had been drawn over the windows, but Michaela already knew it did little to keep in the lantern light.
“Uriel,” Raphael called in a quiet voice. A moment later, she walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
“Zarachiel should be out here to discuss this,” Michaela said to Uriel. The other Archangel leaned against the window frame, her eyes focused outside.
“He’s tired.” Her voice left no room for argument.
“At least sit down and join us,” Raphael said, motioning to the table where the others sat.
“I’m fine where I am.”
Raphael heaved a sigh. “Fine.” His brow furrowed above his deep frown. “Well, it’s time to decide on a new plan. It’s been two days since Lucifer died.”
“And we need to attack before we lose the element of surprise… if we’re going to use Gabriel’s newly acquired fallen,” Simiel said.
Ophaniel nodded in agreement. She worked her fingers through her long, silky hair, forming an intricate braid. Her legs barely reached the floor.
“What do you think, Michaela?” Raphael asked. Michaela met his nervous eyes. The last time he’d made a plan against the Aethere, it’d backfired majorly and cost the lives of nearly twenty innocent humans.
“You understand the Aethere and how Abel thinks better than we do,” Ophaniel offered.
Michaela stayed quiet as she thought. Simiel was right. They had the element of surprise on their side right now, but it wouldn’t be long before the news of Lucifer’s death made its way to Heaven. Not all the fallen were loyal to Gabriel, and at some point one of them would spread the gossip. But the holy angels weren’t leaving Heaven these days, thanks to a lockdown initiated by the Aethere, which worked in the Archangels’ favor. The only thing between the Archangels and the holy angels were the Watchers, who Abel had pardoned and allowed to return to Heaven. The Watchers could kill an angel without swords laced with bits of bone from Michaela’s wings, which had proven to be the only way to kill an angel, and it made them incredibly powerful.
If the Archangels were going to attack, it needed to be soon, and they needed to take out the Aethere’s first and most dangerous line of defense. But killing the Watchers had proven to be nearly impossibly already.
Michaela nodded, looking back up at the group. “Simiel’s right. We need to attack soon. But we need a plan, which means we need Gabriel here so we can coordinate with the fallen. If the Watchers fight like the holy angels will, we'll need a large group of angels to attack the Watchers in the sky.”
“Are we sure the Watchers will fight in the ancient ways?” Raphael asked.
Since the beginning of sin and Lucifer’s fallen army, the angels had always fought in specific patterns. They battled in the skies, a neutral area for both the holy and fallen angels. Their swords would clash and rattle the clouds, their bodies' unflinching marble pounding against each other like a swarming horde far above. It was unrelenting and fearsome, but it was the honorable, respectable way to go about a holy war, which meant the Watchers would likely have no part of it.
“It’s impossible to tell if they’ll fight properly,” Michaela said, shaking her head. “But I have a bad feeling they’ll fight dirty.”
“Can we win a battle against the Watchers even with all the fallen?” Ophaniel asked, her eyes flicking to Simiel.
“It would be close.” Michaela’s answer was quiet in the dark room.
Simiel shoved his hand through his thick, red hair. “We could just carry you straight to the gates. You’re the only one who could open them, and we could bypass having to fight in the sky.”
“That’s not how we fight,” Raphael said harshly. “That’s trespassing.”
“Is it really trespassing?” Simiel sighed. “Heaven is ours.”
“Right or wrong,” Michaela said before Raphael could argue, “the holy angels will be guarding the gates. We won’t be able to push past them.”
“We’d have the fallen, though,” Simiel said.
“If the Watchers even let us get that close,” Ophaniel interjected, her eyes darting back and forth.
“They won’t. They’ll be waiting for us in Purgatory.” Raphael’s face was set, his arms crossed over his chest.
“But if we had the fallen to distract them….” Simiel interjected.
“Let’s vote,” Michaela said, cutting into the argument. “I don’t want to be the one who makes this call for all of us. Each of us should have our say, because this is our honor we’re discussing here.”
�
�Our honor is all we have left,” Raphael said.
“So Raphael doesn’t want to trespass. Ophaniel?” Michaela asked.
The blonde was quiet for a long moment, thinking. She cut a sad glance at Simiel before she said, “I don’t want to fight like that. I know it might be easier, but it’s not who we are. We were meant to lead Heaven, and we should take it back the same way we governed it: with respect for our home.”
Simiel nodded slowly at her words. “You’re right, I know. It’s just hard to dismiss it when we know the Aethere wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing to us.” He put his arm around Ophaniel and hugged her.
“Okay, so we’re decided,” Michaela said.
“Then our first step is to take out the Watchers,” Ophaniel said.
“Which puts us right back at square one,” Simiel concluded. Everyone felt the weight of his words. They’d made no progress against the Watchers, even after all this time.
“But with the legion of the fallen, we have the numbers to finally take them on,” Michaela reminded everyone. “And if we can get inside Heaven, all we have to do is get to Abel. If we have him, the holy angels will surrender.”
“Like capture the flag, but with a deadly, magical firing squad in between,” Simiel joked. But it was too accurate, and a tense silence fell over the room.
“I think that’s a good plan,” Raphael said. “The fallen will be our greatest asset.” Michaela could tell those words were tough for him to say, but Raphael managed.
“Will Gabriel be on board?” Simiel asked. He raised his hands in defense when everyone stared blankly at him. “Hey, I’m just saying that we don’t really know where he stands at this point. Yeah, he’s still Gabriel, but he’s not just an Archangel anymore. He’s the leader of the fallen. Maybe he won’t even have enough fallen angels willing to fight for Heaven. I mean, why would they? That’s not their home.”
It’s not your home, either. Michaela cringed at the snake’s hiss against her spine.
“He will help us. Trust me.” Michaela took a deep breath, feeling sick. “And most of the fallen adore him.”