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

by Meg Collett

  Michaela didn’t speak. She let her head drop, pretending a growing weakness. It didn’t take much acting. Her heart slowed again much faster than it had before. She labored for each breath.

  A vibration hummed beneath her. Frowning, Michaela glanced at the Tree against her back. A flush of life and vitality like new growth spread up its trunk, widening into the limbs and twigs. Before her eyes, buds formed on the very tips of the tiniest branches.

  She was the only one who noticed the Tree of Knowledge coming back to life. Abel ranted about her sins and treasons, but Michaela had heard it all before. She tuned him out and watched as the first bud bloomed into a brilliant, bright red flower.

  She didn’t know how she’d ever been afraid of the flowers. They enchanted her now as more blooms appeared above her head. The dripping red color of the petals was stunning. The angels started to notice the miraculous blooming from the Tree they had all thought was dead.

  Abel’s voice trailed off as he realized that no one paid him any attention. The entire Tree opened up as new buds revealed gleaming, pristine flowers. Michaela turned back to Abel. His control slipped and wiped off his face completely. He sputtered, spit flying from his lips. His round shoulders heaved with the effort.

  “Listen to me!” he screamed. They angels’ attention was torn between the madman in front of them and the phenomenon happening behind Michaela.

  A single petal fell from the Tree, landing on Michaela’s shoulder like a light kiss. She’d always avoided their touch before in her fear and ignorance. She watched as the petal drifted to the ground in front of her, lying there like a single drop of blood.

  Michaela’s breath caught.

  “Michaela, the traitor of Heaven, will die today! You will all be witnesses to the punishment of those who dare betray me!” Abel slipped up, and Michaela met his eyes. He’d meant to say she’d betrayed Heaven. The angels began twittering behind him.

  He was losing them. Michaela looked back at the only petal that had fallen off the Tree and knew, once again, that she was the only one who could fix this. The holy angels needed her to save them, free them from a tyrant who ruled with fear and blood.

  Another petal fell, slipping through her hair as if confirming her thoughts. It drifted on the other side of her hand. Iris was right. The floor of Heaven would run red. It was a red of restored beauty, of renewed life.

  It was the only way.

  Abel walked toward her, his short strides choppy and quick across the floor growing wetter beneath the rain. His eyes were wild and lusting for her blood. He reached inside his robes.

  Michaela reached behind her back, thinking of the petals and Iris’s prophecy and peace.

  And peace. And peace. And peace.

  She was the only one who still believed.

  She pulled the knife from her jeans. Abel saw the flash of steel and reeled backward. The angels gasped and shrank away, but no one rushed forward to take away her weapon.

  Instead, Michaela offered the knife hilt to Abel.

  “I was going to kill you today,” Michaela said, her voice carrying through the storm’s wind to reach even the highest angels above her. Raindrops dripped from her hair. “I was going to free Heaven and these angels from your rule of terror and tyranny.”

  Michaela paused. The petals rained down on her now, mixing with the rain and wind to spiral around her. They littered the floor with red drops. Some even floated up to the angels hovering in the air. They reached out, brushing their hands over the petals in wonder and awe.

  Michaela looked back at Abel, whose mouth flapped open and closed. Red blotches covered his contorting face. He looked ready to surge forward and rip the knife from her grasp.

  “But I’ve realized you’re not a bad angel. No one is. Not even me. Not even the worst of the fallen. We’ve all made our choices in this existence. You’ve decided to see only the bad in me, see only my mistakes. You hate me, and my death has become your obsession.” Michaela raised the knife higher toward Abel, her arm shaking with the effort. “If you need to kill the bad in you to find your goodness again, I can be that for you. If you can lead these angels with me gone, then do it. I won’t stand in your way anymore, but they need a leader. A good one. I won’t let them live in fear anymore.”

  No one moved. Everyone held their breath. Michaela confused them. She wasn’t what they expected; this wasn’t what she expected. The wind died down above her. The storm lessened, and the rain drew to a stop. But the petals still settled around her until the ground surrounding her was covered in red.

  Was this the red floor of peace Iris had seen? Was Michaela doing this right?

  Abel slunk forward like a roach creeping across the ground. His hand snaked out and grabbed the knife from Michaela. His twisted it in his hand so the blade pointed at her. She saw the reflection of falling petals in the metal.

  Abel raised it above his head.

  41

  “Gabriel!”

  They shouted his name directly into his ear, but he heard only the sounds of his own screams. His voice finally grew too hoarse to make a sound. They struggled to control him, to pull him away from her, but they eventually wrestled him to the ground.

  “Gabriel!” Raphael had a foot against his chest, pressing him into the dust of Purgatory. “Calm down!” A group of fallen angels held down each of his wings. Simiel crouched beside Gabriel, holding down his arms.

  “You have to calm down,” Raphael repeated. “Do you understand?”

  Gabriel only understood Michaela being dragged away from him. He only understood beating himself against the gates until his soul poured in after her. That’s all he understood. But he nodded his head, his vision clearing enough to see Raphael’s face leaning over him.

  “Good. Because we’re getting inside, and you can’t fly off the handle again.”

  Once Gabriel caught his breath, Raphael reached a hand down to help him up. Simiel rose, signaling for the fallen at Gabriel’s wings to do the same. Everyone watched him like he was a grenade. He took Raphael’s hand and stood.

  A flurry of activity came from behind them. Everyone turned and looked. The deepest waves of fallen in the very back parted. Gabriel strained to see the small dots flying in the air above them. The fallen angels cheered. The rise of the sound made its way to the front of the ranks.

  It was a battle cry, their call to say they were ready to fight.

  The exhausted, spent angels landed in front of Gabriel, depositing Obil indelicately on the ground. The fallen angels fell to their knees, gasping for breath and clutching their hearts. Obil ignored them and stepped forward. The time in Hell hadn’t treated him well. He was soft and pale, but his face was screwed up in complete concentration. The fallen behind him readied their weapons, and Gabriel faced the gates as Obil lifted his hands. It was a concentrated, focused blast. The gates sprang open with the deafening bang.

  Gabriel was the first inside, and he wasn’t calm.

  42

  Loki rose out of the sea. The ocean water dripped from his mighty wings, creating a torrent of water cascading back into the sea. He’d been drawn to the surface by the fallen rushing into Hell and demanding the Aethere angel. It’d been an interesting development in an otherwise boring day of slowly dying.

  The wind buffeted him across the waves of stinking blood, but Loki didn’t notice.

  His head lifted to the sky above.

  He reached out his hand, watching the descent of a fluttering, flittering object. It slowly fell as if drawn by a magnet to his hand. It settled against his skin, breathing and full of life.

  A petal. A single red petal.

  Loki wrapped his fingers around the perfect beauty and looked skyward once again.

  “Michaela,” he whispered.

  Michaela, the feathers on his wings answered. Michaela. His wings breathed, undulating as they came alive. The souls worked themselves into a frenzy.

  They were called home as Loki was called home.

 
; He’d told Michaela she walked the line between holy and fallen. He would support her, burden himself with carrying the weighty souls, because she was the only one who would do the right thing—the thing that others wouldn’t or couldn’t do. She would do that thing because it was what needed to be done. It wasn’t the thing that would save her or heal her or restore her. It could even break her. But she was the only one.

  The only one. The only one. The only one.

  The souls along his wings chanted the words as Loki lifted into the sky.

  43

  From the corner of her eye, Michaela saw Gabriel rush into the courtyard. He spotted her immediately, his body vibrating and sparking the air around him with his uncontrolled emotions. He looked wild, wilder than Abel, who Gabriel saw the next second, standing over Michaela with a dagger raised.

  Gabriel stumbled to a stop. “No!” he yelled.

  But he was eclipsed. His voice, his presence, went unnoticed by the holy angels around Michaela. They didn’t see the fallen army flood in around Gabriel. Everyone’s eyes remained on Abel, and most of the angels opened their mouths and echoed Gabriel.

  “No!” they shouted, like a clap of thunder across the sky of Heaven.

  Abel shrank away, cringing at the sound. The knife fell to the ground, its fall cushioned by the floor of petals. The Seraphim surged forward and restrained Abel. They wrenched him away from Michaela and threw him to the ground.

  Michaela struggled to stand. She used the branches of the Tree behind her. It hummed against her palm, offering her bits of its strength. It was enough for her to remain standing. “Don’t kill him,” she said. “Just restrain him.”

  It was then that the holy angels saw the wall of fallen at their back. Before their panic escalated, Gabriel fell to his knees, his head bowing toward Michaela. The fallen followed him to the ground, bowing as he bowed.

  Their instant submission quelled the panic as quickly as it had begun. The holy angels shifted away, never placing their backs to the fallen, but they didn’t attack. Confusion was written across all their faces as they looked back to Michaela. It was time, she thought. This was her only shot.

  She struggled to find the breath to speak, but she finally did. “You’ve heard of my torture. You’ve heard that I would not admit my sins to Abel under the threat of his pain.” Michaela looked at the angels before her, scanning to encompass them all, even the fallen in the back. “But I will admit them to you. I opened the gates that let in the fallen. I killed Molloch. I let those hybrids free. And I kept the seals from Abel. Those are my sins, but they are also my accomplishments.”

  Michaela took another breath. Abel was limp on the ground at the Seraphim’s feet. He was conscious, but falling into his madness. It devoured him and tore him apart. Michaela watched as Abel defeated himself.

  “I can stand before you now and say I’m sorry. I ask for your forgiveness for my mistakes, but I believe my mistakes, my fate, will bind us together once again. You will not be ruled with fear anymore. You won’t even be ruled by the fear of me.”

  The angels shifted and came to life. The air around them sprang with their emotions: happiness, joy, fear, rage. The fallen remained with a knee on the ground, but Gabriel lifted his head to watch her. In his eyes, she found her strength. She let go of the Tree.

  “My greatest mistakes happened long before I opened those gates. Heaven should not be ruled by one person. The choirs should not be ranked in order of power. We should not have servants.” Her eyes fell on the Seraphim and Cherubim around her. “We should have peers, equals.”

  Her eyes went to the fallen angels behind her. The holy angels followed her gaze. “When we are committed to the same goal, we do not have enemies. When we make mistakes or bad decisions, we should be offered forgiveness, not condemnation. Our entire existence shouldn’t depend upon one moment in time. We are angels, and we are held to a higher standard, but we fail, we stumble. We can act human.”

  Michaela’s heart stuttered again. She swayed slightly, her eyes brimming with tears. She didn’t know how much longer she had, so she let the words spill out. “We’ve lived in fear long before Abel and my mistakes. Since Lucifer sinned so long ago and I ripped his wings from him, I instituted a different reign of fear.”

  This sent another rippling wave through the crowd. Michaela tried to catch her breath as her heart ached in her chest. “As your restored General, I say that Raphael will help build a circle of representatives from each choir to rule Heaven. The Nephilim souls will be allowed a resting place in Heaven. The fallen, under Gabriel’s rule, will be offered forgiveness should they choose it. Along those lines, the Aethere, including Abel, will report to Hell, where they will judge all the souls until the skies are clear.” Michaela stared at Abel, but he was far, far away. “Heaven’s gates will never be closed again. We will stop living in fear as of now. I step down as General of Heaven.”

  Michaela smiled weakly. It was all she had to offer the angels, who watched in silent regard. She sank to the ground, her hands cupping the petals. Gabriel made his way to her, pushing through the crowds pressing in around her. They saw she was dying as she crumpled forward.

  Gabriel made it to her and scooped her up. The Archangels were right behind him. Raphael took her hand.

  “Stay here. Help them,” Michaela said, her voice barely a whisper. Simiel openly wept, while Uriel’s face was set in stone.

  “We have to get her to Clark now,” Uriel said. Her eyes blazed at Gabriel.

  “I won’t make it.”

  Gabriel’s grip tightened at her words. He swore. “Let’s go.”

  The holy angels above them descended to get a better look at Michaela as she faded away. They were too thick to fly up and away, so Uriel spun and dove into the crowd, shoving and pushing a path through for Gabriel and Michaela, while Simiel and Raphael stayed behind to handle the holy angels.

  Gabriel held her tightly, shielding her body as they went. They finally broke free and took to the air. The fallen fell into flight behind them. They surged through Heaven’s gates and across Purgatory.

  Michaela stared over Gabriel’s shoulder as they flew. The clouds faded into their normal blush color. The shining spires of Heaven glinted in the luminance. Through the opened gates, Michaela saw the startling red petals fluttering in the breeze. She smiled and savored the view.

  They were over Purgatory’s edge and surging down through the skies. The wind rippled against her face and whistled through Gabriel’s feathers. She remembered all the times they’d flown together and the way her wings had sliced through the air.

  She was so far gone, she didn’t feel the rapid descent or the sickness or even the ache in her back. She felt joy. And she wanted more.

  “Let me go,” she said as loud as she could into Gabriel’s ear.

  He slowed, his startled face finding hers. “No. Never.”

  “Gabe,” Michaela said, breathless. “I want to feel like I’m flying with you.” She smiled up at him. “One last time.”

  Gabriel looked torn, but he slowed even more. Tears brimmed in his eyes. He was shaking, Michaela realized. Maybe she’d asked too much. She was about to take it back when Gabriel kissed the back of her hand and let her go.

  Michaela’s stomach fluttered upward and twisted at the base of her throat. She turned in the air until she faced downward. Her descent picked up speed, the wind lashing through her hair. She closed her eyes and opened her arms, imagining them as her wings.

  Gabriel kept pace beside her, and she imagined the way things had once been. The way her wings had felt on her back, tugging at the muscles as she lifted and soared.

  Even as her heart failed, it warmed with joy. She felt lifted up, like she was truly flying and not falling. The wind fluttered through her phantom feathers, tickling the sensitive skin of her wings, lost long ago. The ragged bones in her back sang in delight.

  Gabriel’s fingers brushed across her outstretched hand. She opened her eyes and drank in the sigh
t of him, flying or falling beside her. His shirt was gone, the bronze of his skin dancing in the light. Dark eyes watched her, loved her. It was all she needed.

  The wind took her breath. Her heart finished up. Gabriel’s touch disappeared, even though he still touched her. Her vision pulsed, growing and shrinking as she crashed down.

  Her arms went limp and she sagged in the air, crumpling into herself. Uriel shouted something that Michaela didn’t understand. Gabriel shouted back. Her brain registered their words like a foreign language she’d never heard before.

  Gabriel reached her falling form quickly and tucked her back against him. His heart beat against her cheek. It was racing and strong, fueled by love and aching, growing loss. She traced the beats of his heart as she listened to her own fading one. She dimmed. She became less and less.

  In his arms, she disappeared. In her mind, she saw feathers, pure and white and perfect, ascending from the skin of her arm: a real death, a proper death. But it was just her imagination. No feathers actually left her body.

  Gabriel’s speed doubled. He still shouted back and forth with Uriel. The fallen were like a dark cloud storming down behind them.

  Was this what Iris had seen? It must have been quite the sight—an army of fallen angels who fought a holy war racing down from Heaven. An angry, hateful Archangel who blamed the world for her pain, but cried and shouted at Gabriel to fly faster. And Gabriel.

  And Gabriel.

  And Gabriel.

  An angel who loved beyond the bounds of enemy and holy and fallen. An angel who touched her skin and sang to her soul. An angel who sent the darkness inside of her into hiding. An angel who was darkness himself, but who was the brightest thing Michaela had ever seen.

  Gabriel’s heart pounded. Michaela’s echoed one last time, and then fluttered to a stop. A strange limpness overcame her. Tingling spread down her limbs, a swallowing blackness welcomed her. It looked a lot like Gabriel’s eyes.