End of Days: The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3)

by Meg Collett

  He didn’t just have the magic on his arms; he also had some Nephilim power passed down from his mother. He could thicken the air enough to confine angels. Maybe he could heal a wing without using the Watchers’ secrets.

  His eyes had fallen on the guns he kept on the small table beside him. Before they’d gone to the rave, Clark had stolen one of Gabriel’s knives and shaved off some angel bone. Clark didn’t feel guilty for it either. If Gabriel hadn’t wanted to share his knives, he shouldn’t leave them lying around whenever Michaela distracted him. Besides, Clark had returned it when he was done taking what he needed.

  He’d felt bad about keeping the secret from Michaela. Best friends didn’t lie to each other, like he’d done out on the cliff when she’d caught him fixing his bullets. But that was before Clark found out about the vision. He didn’t feel bad now.

  His thoughts kept returning to the power Michaela’s wings had to kill. It felt right to Clark that somehow her wings could heal, too. He decided to go on instinct, since he didn’t have any better ideas.

  It hadn’t taken Clark long to find the leftover bone powder from when he had ground up the shavings and put them inside his bullets. He’d just sprinkled some on Camille’s torn wing juncture when the Archangels arrived back from battle.

  Camille had screamed.

  After he’d closed the door in Raphael’s face, Clark hurried back over to Camille and peered down at her back. Disgustingly enough, without the bandages he could see all the way down to the ragged bones where her wings had been crushed when she fell out of the sky. The powder had eaten away at the delicate ivory in her back that connected to her wings. Clark scrunched up his nose. It looked like tiny termites had gnawed on the bone.

  “Oops.”

  Camille jerked up with a grimace to look back at him. “What?” she practically shouted.

  Clark shushed her. “Chill.”

  “Chill? You just said 'Oops'! What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s fine.” Clark’s voice sounded too skeptical. She didn’t believe him.

  “It’s not fine! You haven’t fixed me yet!” Her purring voice rose until she sounded like a screeching, scalded cat. It hurt Clark’s ears.

  “It’s going to take some time! I have to figure out what to do.” Clark picked up the bag of powder and looked at it.

  “I thought you said you knew that would work?”

  “I’d hoped so.” Clark flicked the bag with his finger. “You know, like fairy dust.”

  “What?” Camille screeched again.

  Clark shushed her again. “Can you shut your pie hole? I don’t want Michaela to know what I’m trying.” Actually, Clark didn’t want to get Michaela’s hopes up. Clark didn’t want to get his hopes up, either, but it wasn’t working. All he could think was that if he fixed Michaela’s wings, she wouldn’t die.

  Camille scowled at the mention of Michaela. Like a good holy angel, she still hated her old General, and no matter how many times Clark had tried to convince her throughout the day, she wouldn’t change her mind. Finally, he’d given up, realizing he was arguing with someone as stubborn as he was. Clark didn’t want to admit he understood Camille’s nastiness. She was fueled by hate and anger, like he was. She clung to that rage like a lifeline, and he liked that about her. It was twisted and awful, but in his own anger at Michaela, he could identify with Camille. Right then, Clark wanted to be angry just to be angry, like Camille.

  “Okay,” he said. “I have another idea.”

  Camille looked back again, her eyes excited. “What?”

  “What if I sprinkle some more on your bones and then connect your broken wing to the powder. Maybe it will join them together or something.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Camille said, “You don’t sound sure.” Clark shrugged, ruffling the feathers of the wing in his hand. Camille sighed. “Fine. Try it.”

  Clark grappled with the large wing to position its jagged end right next to the broken bone in Camille’s back. He tried not to look at the blood as he aligned the shattered edges. Camille cringed when he connected the two parts of her bone together. Clark got sick just staring at the raw meat of her back, so he quickly grabbed the bag of powder. He pinched out some of the soft, ground up ivory, said a quick prayer, and then sprinkled some more on the broken seam between the connected bones.

  He made a face as the bone sizzled. It was going to be a long night. “Oops.”

  Camille screamed again.

  24

  Clark jerked the door open and stuck his head out. Michaela saw the strain in his eyes, the pale clamminess of his face even from the back of the group of Archangels. Gabriel wrapped his arm around her to help hold her up.

  “Clark, what’s going on in there?” she asked, her tone bewildered and thick with exhaustion. Immediately, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. His eyes narrowed on her through the slit in the door.

  “Oh, really?” Clark said mockingly. “You want to know what’s going on in here?”

  “Well, yeah,” Raphael answered. He glanced between Clark and Michaela, clearly confused.

  Clark ignored him. “Maybe you should ask Iris if she had a vision about it.”

  “You’re being a child,” Michaela shot back. The Archangels shifted away so Michaela had a clear line of sight to Clark.

  Clark’s eyes turned to Gabriel. “Has she told you yet? By the dumb look on your face, I’d guess no.”

  “Excuse me?” Gabriel growled. His grip tightened around Michaela. She tried to push out of his hold, but he held tight.

  “Clark, stop,” Michaela said. Her eyes pleaded with him to not say it, but she could already tell it would do little good. He just shook his head at her.

  “Mom had a vision,” Clark said, “about Michaela. It’s important. Like life and death important.”

  Michaela closed her eyes, feeling like a knife just went through her gut. Gabriel released her as everyone’s gaze fell to her. The air went cold with Gabriel’s growing anger. Michaela’s eyes flew open, and she glared at Clark.

  “Thanks,” she hissed, her own anger stifling the air around her face.

  Clark shook his head, his eyes sad and exhausted. “Michaela, I didn’t do it to be mean. You need to tell him.”

  He pulled his head back inside and slammed the door shut. Michaela had nothing left to do but look at Gabriel, and she did it reluctantly. He stood next to her, his jaw clenching and unclenching with every breath as if he was trying to calm himself down. Michaela grimaced.

  “When?” Gabriel asked. He didn’t sound infuriated yet, and Michaela took that as a good sign.

  “When she brought Obil,” Michaela answered heavily. The other Archangels stood around Gabriel, their faces uncertain. Only Zarachiel stared at her like he understood.

  “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

  “Because I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Michaela said. Everything about Gabriel sharpened at her words; his face tightened with anger, and his body leaned into her, his muscles clenched.

  “Every vision is important if you’re in it,” Gabriel growled.

  “Look, Gabe—”

  “What was the vision?”

  Michaela cut her eyes back to Gabriel, her own anger building. “Iris saw the floor of Heaven run red with blood.”

  “Red?” Raphael questioned. “How could red blood be in Heaven?”

  “I don’t know, but she said only then would there be peace. She said we would win Heaven back. But she also said something else.” Michaela faltered as she felt the growing hope and excitement wafting off the Archangels like a sweet summer breeze. “But she said she saw me falling from Heaven.”

  Gabriel shook his head like he didn’t understand. His fists flexed at his sides as he wavered between anger at her for not telling him and fear for what the vision actually was. Michaela saw it all warring across his face. “So we’ll just make sure I’m there to catch you.”

  “Gabriel,” Michaela said, swallowing the lump in her t
hroat. She would not cry now. “In the vision, I was already dead.”

  Gabriel’s face was blank. He didn’t move. Nothing happened as her words sank in. Slowly, lines formed between his brows. He cocked his head in a sharp jerk. He blinked furiously, his mouth opening slightly. A breath of air whooshed out. Suddenly, the air got very cold around them.

  The hope Michaela had felt a moment ago evaporated. The Archangels around Gabriel stepped back.

  “No.” The word was denial. When Michaela nodded, he said again, “No.”

  “Gabriel, we both knew—”

  “No!” Gabriel yelled, making all the angels flinch. The word was such a powerful blast that Michaela stumbled back from the sound alone. “We did not know.” Gabriel spat the word out like it was a bitter, nasty thing in his mouth. “And we will not know. Her visions are not absolute. You will not die.”

  “Gabriel,” Michaela sighed.

  “Stop,” Gabriel snarled. “You knew about this from the beginning, and you let me send you up there even though you could have fallen. You willingly put yourself in that position.”

  Michaela told herself not to get angry. She repeated it like a mantra inside her head. “Gabe, you didn’t send me up there. It was my decision.”

  “You knew you could die!” Gabriel shouted, making the other Archangels scurry back across the room. Only Michaela stayed close to Gabriel and weathered his rage.

  “But we’d take back Heaven,” Michaela emphasized.

  “I don’t give a shit about Heaven!”

  One of the Archangels gasped. In her own shock, Michaela didn’t know who it was. She looked at Gabriel like he was an alien. “What do you mean?”

  “I only care about you. You’re not going up there again. We’ll bring Obil up from Hell.” Gabriel spat the words out carelessly, his eyes burning black.

  “You will not,” Michaela said, recovering. “He stays in Hell and judges souls. I’ll agree to waiting on the ground while you fight, but when you get close to Heaven, Uriel will come back down and get me. If we fly fast, the sickness won’t have time to set in.” Gabriel opened his mouth to argue, but Michaela cut him off. “And that’s an order, unless you don't still think I’m your General.”

  Gabriel’s face went slack with agony. He shook his head, his mouth pressed in a thin line. Stepping forward, he pulled her into his hold. His mouth closed over hers desperately and longingly as if she was already gone. Michaela reached up for him and wrapped her arms around his neck. When he finally let her go, she had to catch her breath.

  “Don’t say that again,” Gabriel said, his voice quiet. Only then did Michaela realize the other angels had left the cabin to give her and Gabriel privacy. Michaela nodded, feeling suddenly exhausted again. “But why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  Michaela broke apart at the hurt tone in his voice. His eyes were huge and glistening as he stared down at her. “I was scared.” Michaela took a shaky breath. “I still am.”

  Gabriel didn’t speak for a minute, and Michaela had to look away before she cried. “We are not talking about this anymore,” he finally said. “I’m not letting you die. Ever.”

  Without asking, Gabriel picked her up and carried her back to the pallet. For once, Michaela was thankful, because she didn’t know if her legs would have held her weight. As soon as her head hit her pillow, she drifted into the darkness. Gabriel settled beside her, his warmth enveloping her body as he ensured every part of his body was touching hers.

  * * *

  The next day, the Archangels prepared for another battle. Michaela sat on the porch steps, watching as Gabriel adjusted his borrowed armor. His fallen shifted in the trees surrounding the cabin like living shadows.

  Without a backward glance at Michaela, Gabriel called for his fallen, and a sound—high and birdlike—started in the woods. It swept around, encircling the cabin as the other fallen answered. And with that, they took to the air. Michaela looked up, wishing more than anything that she could follow him into battle. Her shoulders sagged.

  She watched the sky until the angels disappeared. She knew she couldn’t go with him, but it felt wrong for her Archangels to fight without her. She’d barely made it an hour hovering in the sky with Uriel yesterday before the sickness had set in.

  No one spoke of the implications of Michaela’s sickly aversion to Heaven, but they were all thinking it, especially after Michaela’s revelation about the vision. If she couldn’t even fly close to Heaven for a prolonged period of time, how was she ever going to return to Heaven as the General?

  She sat on the porch for a while, watching the sky even though the angels were long gone. Finally, she stirred. Clutching the railing for support, she stood on her aching legs.

  Every part of her body protested the climb back up the stairs. A headache rang in her ears. She hadn’t rested much last night after talking with Gabriel, so she still felt awful. Gabriel had held her tight all night, even as the other angels returned inside and settled down. He hadn’t acted angry with her anymore, but she still felt like her energy had been sapped. She just wanted to lie down. Michaela looked up and saw Zarachiel standing inside the screen door.

  “It’s not right to fight without all the Archangels,” Zarachiel said, his voice quiet behind the screen. He looked over Michaela’s shoulder. She shivered at his eerily familiar words that teemed with the echoes of bad memories.

  “I know.”

  Zarachiel held the door open as she walked in. They closed the wooden door before the heat from their fire could escape. Iris had worked hard to feed the flames this morning before she’d set out some cans of food for breakfast earlier that morning. The door to the bedroom was still closed where Iris, Clark, and the healing angel still slept.

  “They won’t win if we’re not whole.”

  Michaela looked away from the bedroom door, feeling like she was leaving her heart at it. “Zarachiel, we might be missing our wings, but we’re whole.”

  “I meant we’ve lost too many of us. We’ll never be the strong, undefeated force we once were.”

  Michaela thought of Molloch, his memory enlivening the darkness in her. She felt the snake wrap around her spine with a hiss. It had been so long since she’d felt the blackness of Molloch’s soul inside her. Being with Gabriel and the happiness he brought her kept the snake at bay.

  Michaela didn’t know how to respond to Zarachiel. Thankfully, she didn’t have to. He went on as if she’d spoken. “I’m sorry you’re going to die.”

  Michaela blinked at the absurdity of his words. “Um, thanks?” she said. Just then, the bedroom door opened and Clark emerged, looking disheveled and sleep-deprived. Dark circles lined under his eyes, and his hair stuck up in dirty clumps. He regarded Michaela with careful eyes.

  “I’m starved,” he grumbled, plopping into a chair beside the tiny table. He picked up a can of beans and examined the label. “I hate beans. Like, I literally demand a bean massacre.”

  Michaela settled into the chair across from him and stared, hoping he would finally talk to her. When he didn’t, she said, “Clark….”

  “Look, I shouldn’t have said that last night. I was stressed and still pretty pissed.” Clark’s voice sounded grumbling and reluctant. “I’m sorry, I guess.”

  It was an awful apology, and it almost made Michaela smile. “You were right,” she said. “I should’ve told everyone in the beginning.”

  Clark sat down the can of beans and picked up another can of pineapples from their stash of nonperishable food. “I know I was right, but I probably shouldn’t have made you tell everyone like that.”

  Michaela shrugged. “I needed the push. I don’t think I could have said it on my own.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t handle it well. I freaked out.”

  “You could have come to me and Gabriel. You’re not alone in this,” Clark said, abandoning the can of pineapples and forgetting about his breakfast.

  “I know.” Michaela reached across the t
able and laid her hands over his. Happiness danced through her when he didn’t pull away. “I’m really sorry.”

  Clark lifted a shoulder into a half-hearted shrug. “Okay.”

  “You accept my apology?” Michaela asked, excited.

  Clark grunted, pulling his hands out from under hers and opening a can of peaches. “I doubt you’ll give me any peace until I do, so I might as well.”

  “Thank you, Clark. I really appreciate it.” Michaela beamed at him as Clark rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just no more secrets, okay?”

  “Okay,” Michaela said, still smiling.

  Their silence stretched out to minutes as Michaela and Zarachiel watched Clark eat. Michaela didn’t want to push Clark’s forgiveness too far, but she had to know about the screaming in the bedroom. She didn’t believe it was nightmares.

  “What are you doing?” Michaela asked.

  “Uh, trying to find something else to eat in this five-star resort,” Clark returned. He’d finished the peaches and was shuffling through the cans for something else.

  “No, I mean what are you doing?”

  Clark leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Well, that clears things up.”

  “I know that angel isn’t screaming because she’s having nightmares.”

  Michaela watched Clark closely. For once, he didn’t know what to say. He was uncomfortable, shifting in his seat and raking his hand through his hair. “She might be,” he finally ventured.

  “That’s bullshit, and we all know it,” Michaela said. Zarachiel nodded in agreement.

  Clark groaned. He looked at both her and Zarachiel. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up until I knew for sure if I could do it.”

  Michaela stayed silent for a moment, her eyes unwavering from Clark’s. He had to look away, and dread curled in her stomach. “Clark,” she said finally. “No more secrets, remember?”

  “Okay! Okay.” Clark ran his hands over his face. “Okay.” He groaned and looked at Michaela. “I’m trying to fix Camille’s wings.”