by Meg Collett
“Sir,” one seraph said, “this could be a trap. The Archangels could be right behind her.”
That caused Abel pause. “Take her then,” he said, motioning to the Seraphim behind him.
Before they moved, Michaela said, “You’re going to regret this day, Abel.”
Abel turned to Michaela, his round face flushing bright red. His eyes darkened to the deepest purple. “You will learn, traitor, that it is best not to speak out of turn.” His voice quaked as he spoke.
The Seraphim swept forward and grabbed Michaela’s arms while another seraph kicked her legs out from under her. They twisted her arm, tearing through the muscles in her shoulder. Michaela gritted her teeth and endured the pain.
Only when Michaela was restrained did Abel approach her. A gold knife flashed in his hand. With his other, he reached up and grasped Michaela’s jaw. He squeezed, his jowls quivering with the effort. But it wasn’t hard enough to cause Michaela any pain.
Abel pressed the tip of the knife at her side between her ribs. “Don’t worry, it’s not laced with bone,” Abel whispered, his body radiating sweaty heat. “You won’t be dying that fast.”
Michaela smiled back, and Abel’s fury lit like an unencumbered blaze in his eyes. The knife glinted again before Abel sank it deep in her side.
32
Gabriel fell free with a scream of agony. It was the loudest sound he ever recalled making. It ripped from him, clawing up his throat and filling the air with his rage.
Clark remained crumpled on the ground, his body convulsing with aching loss. Gabriel yanked him up and shook him. “What did you do?” he roared, the sound blasting into Clark’s face.
“What she asked me to do, you asshole!” Clark shoved Gabriel, the push insignificant against an angel.
“How could you? She’s going to die!”
“Says a vision that may or may not come true,” Clark spat. He wrenched out of Gabriel’s grasp, but only because Gabriel loosened his hold.
“That angel you healed took her!”
Clark glowered at him like Gabriel was the biggest idiot in the world. Maybe he was, Gabriel thought, because somehow Michaela was gone and here he stood. “Michaela asked Camille to take her. Did you not listen to anything?”
“I heard plenty!” Gabriel spun away, his head lifting to the sky like he might see her, but she was likely to Heaven by now. “I need to go after her.”
“You’re supposed to wait until nightfall to give her time to open the gates.”
Gabriel whirled back to Clark. “Stop talking to me like you’re speaking to a child. Who says we listen to her plan? You realize she’s sacrificing herself?”
“We listen to her because she’s the General of Heaven. She’s Michaela.”
Clark spoke the words like they were the most natural thing in the world. Maybe Gabriel had forgotten who she was because he only saw her as his lover and his to protect. He shook his head, focusing on his rage.
“I love her, too, Gabriel,” Clark said quietly, his voice faded like an old, worn-out cassette. “You’re not the only one who could lose her, and you’re not the only one who hates her stupid plan, so quit acting like it.”
“Then why did you help her?” Gabriel snarled, the accusation plain in his voice.
“Because unlike you, I trust her. If she says she can do this, she can do it.”
Just then, the Archangels and fallen landed around him, settling to the ground and sending quakes vibrating through the earth. They threw their helmets to the ground. “Gabriel,” Raphael gasped.
“I know,” Gabriel said.
“What happened?” Uriel shouted. She was hoarse and visibly shaken.
“Camille took her.”
“I saw that,” Uriel growled, her head lifting to the sky. “We go after her. Now.”
“Wait,” Simiel said, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. “How did that angel take her? You were with her, right?”
Gabriel slanted a glare at Clark, letting everyone get the message. The air sparked with anger, firing particles like a space storm. Clark held up his hands, saying, “She asked me to! It was her plan.”
“And you thought that was a good plan?” Uriel spoke the words like they were venom sent to poison Clark.
“It was better than anything you had come up with! Which, by the way, was jack shit!”
“We were fighting! We were making our way to Heaven!”
“No offense,” Clark said, sneering and meaning every offense possible, “but that would have taken years at your pace.”
“Says the human!”
Clark glared at Uriel. “If I could have been up there, I would have.”
“Stop!” Raphael commanded. He looked at Gabriel, who stood apart from the others listening, but not bothering to respond. “What did she say?”
Gabriel didn’t answer right away, his eyes sweeping over his fallen. They returned his gaze with carefully blank faces, their eyes tracking his movements with patience and stillness. They were ready for anything.
“Camille took her to Heaven as a prisoner. Michaela said she would open the gates for us at nightfall.”
Raphael frowned, his brows pulling together in confusion. “But we could never break through the holy angels’ ranks that fast, and the battle has ended for today.”
Simiel shook his head. “No, Raphael. He means we’d have to break the rules of battle.”
Raphael’s eyes flickered between Simiel and Gabriel, his expression disbelieving. “But no one trespasses against Heaven or Hell.”
Gabriel turned his hollow stare to Raphael. “Do you think I give a shit about rules? Michaela is up there waiting for us to fight our way inside.” Gabriel turned to the fallen around him. “This is our fight. It’s not a fair fight, but then, it never was. We’ll fight dirty and we’ll take back what was stolen. I know it wasn’t yours to begin with, but you and I both fight to right a wrong. We fight to establish the order once again. That’s not our home we’re fighting for, but we do it to overthrow a tyrant.”
“No, we’re fighting to save her,” a fallen called from the back, his voice hidden from identity.
Gabriel nodded, turning in a circle to look at his fallen. “For me, you’ll fight to save her. If that’s a problem, feel free to leave.”
No fallen spoke out again. Some nodded, some clanged on their breast plate, but their agreement was plain. Gabriel looked to the Archangels.
“She did this so no one would die,” he said. “She didn’t want her sickness to slow us down. To her, this was the best way.”
“Why didn’t she talk to us about it?” Raphael questioned.
“Because of that vision. She wanted it to come true,” Clark whispered.
“No,” Simiel whispered.
Uriel whirled around and paced away with her head bowed. Her shoulders were hunched forward, her arms wrapped around her middle. Tremors coursed down her body.
“But that can’t be right,” Raphael said. “The vision has to be wrong. The floor of Heaven wouldn’t be red with blood.”
Gabriel met the Archangel’s eyes in agreement. “But Michaela believed it was true.”
“How can she be in Heaven and not get sick?” Simiel asked.
“She will be,” Gabriel answered. “She just hopes to get the gates open before it knocks her out.”
“You know Abel will knock her out first.” Raphael’s dark-skinned shoulders rolled with tension, his light eyes snapping with anger.
Gabriel knew Raphael was right. Michaela was a traitor in the holy angels’ eyes. Even if they wanted to question her, she would be beaten first. Gabriel saw her flesh torn and bruised. She would be weak from the sickness and only one angel amongst thousands who wanted her dead. She would be tortured, of that Gabriel was certain.
She said she would escape at nightfall, but she meant she would escape after the holy angels and Abel were done with her. After they’d shoved her, broken and bloody, inside a tight cell and locked her away for t
he night. Gabriel only hurt himself by imagining her pain, but he welcomed the anger it brought.
He let the anger flood his blood and hone his rage. His once-burning anger settled around him like a cool blanket. His thoughts turned crystal clear. His hands were steady now, his eyes darker than ever before.
“They’ll hurt her,” he said. “They’ll beat her and put her up inside a cell for the night, but we have to trust she will escape.” His eyes landed on Clark. “We hold up our end of the plan, and we meet her outside Heaven’s gates.” Gabriel looked out at the fallen before he turned back to the Archangels. “And when she does, we’ll cover the floor with whatever color blood is flowing.”
“Do you believe she can do it?” Raphael asked, his words careful. “She’ll be incredibly sick.”
“You might want to plan on the fight already being over by the time you get there,” Clark said ruefully.
Gabriel didn’t know what to expect when they got to Heaven. They were going in blind once again, and the stakes were Michaela’s life. Gabriel didn’t want to think about what would happen if the gates weren’t open. There would be no other way inside if Michaela was out of the picture. Failing couldn’t be an option with her life hanging in the balance. Gabriel trusted Michaela enough to know she wouldn’t put them at risk. She had to have some faith in her ability to escape and open the gates. If she believed in the fight, Gabriel would, too. He could do that for her.
33
The Seraphim dragged Michaela through the gates and into Heaven’s courtyard. Beneath the bleak clouds, the tiles looked foreign and misplaced. The dusty, floating columns stood neglected and ignored. The entire place had the feel of a once-grand, but forgotten palace.
Michaela’s side radiated piercing pain where Abel had stabbed her, but the pain was an afterthought, because right then she noticed the Tree of Knowledge. She’d been wary of it before, disgusted by its brutal red petals constantly dropping from the tree in an endless, regenerating cycle. But now, like the rest of Heaven, it stood alone, barren of petals, with its branches shriveled into itself.
As they walked to the spiraling stairs below the tree, Michaela sensed the once-vital Tree cringe away from them as they passed. A long branch caught in the torn sleeves of her shirt. The Seraphim pushed her down the stairs, making the branch snap and catch on her clothes.
The wind howled above them as they descended the stairs into the Antechambers. Michaela shivered from the chill, her breath condensing in front of her mouth. She didn’t recognize the Antechambers when she stepped into the long hallway. She’d never used the space during her reign as General, but now Abel made the walls a pulsing, blinding white. The light made the angels’ skin look sick and too pale as they walked the length of the hall. Even the floors were a slick white that reflected the angels’ image back up to them. It was pure and perfect—at least it was if she didn’t look too closely and see the dried splatters of gold blood.
Behind them, Michaela sensed Abel following. She had no misconceptions about what was to happen next. She only hoped the torture wasn’t bad enough to keep her from escaping tonight.
They passed numerous doors along the hall. There was only one entrance and exit to the Antechambers, and it was the way they’d come. They reached the end of the hall, standing before a single, massive door.
It eased open in front of them, and the Seraphim shoved Michaela through. She landed, sprawled on her knees and hands, in a circular room of more white. Around her were tall walls stretching up to the unmistakable benches of the Aethere.
The Seraphim followed her inside, lining the circular walls around her and trapping her in the middle. She stood, feeling slightly shaky and nauseous. Abel followed the Seraphim inside, cutting to the left and up a set of stairs to the benches. From the door came more angels, who followed Abel up the stairs to fill the other benches. Michaela recognized them as the leaders of the all the Heavenly choirs. They were some of the most important and influential angels. Michaela didn’t understand why Abel wanted an audience until she realized that she was walking into her trial.
One more seraph angel entered the room carrying a long strand of heavy golden chain. It clanked in his hands. Michaela’s throat dried at the sight of the large door closing tightly behind the seraph. The angel didn’t line up with the other Seraphim. Instead, he positioned himself in front of Michaela, letting part of the loose chain fall to the floor.
Michaela didn’t know the seraph’s name, but he looked familiar. She couldn’t help but think of Jehoel and his Seraphim again. With Jehoel in mind, she smiled kindly at the seraph, who ignored her.
“The fallen traitor has returned,” Abel said, speaking from the center bench. Michaela turned to look at him, pressing her hand against the stab wound at her side to stop the bleeding. Abel pulled his judgment hood over his head, but it didn’t hide the maniacal look in his eye. “Here stands Michaela, once General of Heaven, but now nothing more than a treasonous, betraying, lying, thieving fallen angel.”
“Don’t forget framed by you,” Michaela said.
The slap of the chains across her back shocked her. She’d expected it, but the way her bone reverberated with pain took her by surprise. With a grunt, she fell to one knee, catching herself before she collapsed face-first on the floor.
“You will not speak unless asked a question.”
Michaela looked back up at Abel. His purple eyes poured a fevered bloodlust. He liked her on her knees, so she stood. She glanced back at the seraph angel with the chain and smiled sadly. His eyes flashed with disgust and something deeper Michaela couldn’t recognize.
“Look at me!” Abel shouted, spit flying from his mouth. Michaela took her time focusing back on Abel. She let her eyes travel to the other angels seated above her. She knew their names and had once known their friendship. “Look at me!” Abel yelled again.
Michaela finally met his eyes and cocked an eyebrow in defiance, waiting for him to ask her a question. He looked rattled and crazed, his round face splotched an angry red. His breathing was shallow and fast, his body trembling with rage. He was truly a madman, just like Obil had said.
“This is your trial, traitor, and one we are merciful enough to grant you. Never before have we been faced with such flagrant disregard of Heaven’s welfare. But admit to your crimes now, and we will spare your equally flagrant punishment.”
Michaela stayed quiet, waiting. Her cool, chilly eyes drove Abel over the edge. The red blotches spread across his face. “Speak!” he sputtered, his voice high-pitched and cracking.
Michaela turned her gaze back to the angels around her and above her. “I was betrayed, framed, and—”
The chain descended again, whipping from Michaela’s lower back up to her neck. The blow knocked the breath out of her, sending her to her knees once again. She gasped as the pain bloomed out to her ribs and down her arms. The dizziness and nausea she’d felt before was lost beneath the flood of pain from the chain. Cuts opened along her back, scorched by the gold.
On shaky legs, she stood once again.
“You orchestrated a coup against Heaven because you wanted it for yourself. You knew the secret to killing angels, and you desired a massacre of your fellow angels.” Abel waited for her to speak, to admit her sins.
“This big secret was exposed because of an accident. Do you really think I would have my wings brutally ripped from my back just in the hope they might hold the power to kill more angels?”
The chain crashed into her again and again. Michaela crumpled to the floor, shielding her head with her arms. She lost count of the number of blows as the pain expanded into one constant, debilitating scream inside her body.
When it stopped, Michaela’s shirt clung to her back, soaked with blood. The gold metal made the gashes feel like lava coursing in rivers down her skin. Her entire back felt as though she stood two inches from a raging inferno. She shuddered, pushing the vomit back down her throat.
She tried to stand again, but the attem
pt sent her tumbling back to the ground. With a deep breath, she forced her legs to not sway and crumple beneath her. Slowly, she straightened off the floor.
The angels around her were clearly uncomfortable while the Seraphim in front of her appeared sick to their stomachs. She smiled weakly at them all before she looked back at Abel. Her smile disappeared.
“If you confess to your crimes, Michaela, this will be much easier on you,” Abel managed. He sounded like he was seconds away from either killing everyone in the room or bursting into tears. Michaela wondered how no one else could tell he was crazy.
“When I was General, we sent betrayers to Hell without a backward glance. So what are you trying to prove here, Abel? Are you trying to beat a confession out of me so all these angels you’ve fooled will finally accept your lies? We’ll be here a long time then.”
The chain railed against her back once again as Abel shouted for the seraph to beat her harder and faster. When it finally stopped, Michaela laid on the floor for a long moment, blinking to clear her blurred vision. Blood, golden and dripping, had sprayed onto the white floors and white walls. Seraphim around her wiped it from their pale, sick faces. As she tried to push herself back up, she saw the tiny piece of a twig that had broken off from the Tree of Knowledge lying on the floor. Seeing it made Michaela realize that Abel was trying to break her as he’d broken Heaven. The thought gave her the strength she needed to look at Abel and await his next question.
“You stole the Seven Seals, keeping them for yourself and Lucifer, who you killed to take his power. You will end this Earth just to spite the home you betrayed.”
Abel’s words were ridiculous. He wasn’t putting on a good show. The other holy angels were ready to run from the room, but Abel didn’t realize that because his obsession kept his focus solely on her.
“Listen closely, because I’ll only say this once,” Michaela said as she looked to the other angels in the room. “Those seals won’t just destroy Earth. They’ll take Heaven and Hell with it. The Angel of Death has confirmed it. I was trying to save everyone from Abel’s tyrannical idiocy.”