When Ash Rains Down (Kingdom Come #1)

by Cecelia Earl

  The demons come at me from all sides, but I'm not distracted, not by them, not by the dancers, not by the acrid smoke or shrieks. I'm looking at just one monster, and that's exactly where I plan to strike. As if they're not even there, I slice through the serpents and flicking tongues between me and him. It's my focus that I can feel steeling my strength, fueling me. Like all my years of study and motivation and ambition have led me to this one solid moment, this most important goal: the life of one of my best friends is at stake, and I will save her.

  I will save my family.

  I will save everyone I can.

  I race to Rach, ready to pry the snake from her neck, but it's too late. Mitch is shouting, holding her limp body, no clue why she pulled back from their kiss to grasp at her chest as she suffocated. His eyes find mine, wide and scared. He doesn't see me pull a serpent from his throat where it was wrapping itself round and round. He doesn't know he almost joined his girlfriend on the floor, unable to breathe. He doesn't understand why hatred is on my face, or why I'm hacking away at the ground where an uncoiled snake now lies, chopped into bloody bits.

  He doesn't understand why I'm crying and need to cover my ears to stop the maniacal laughter still cackling from the snake's fanged-mouth.

  He doesn't understand why his date is dead.

  And neither do I.

  The sound of canvas flapping reaches my ear. I look up to find Cole and Nicholas in flight above me. They lower themselves, and Nicholas picks me up for a second time.

  I'm not handling this well at all, and I've nothing left to care to pretend.

  "Stop, Angel." He takes my hands. "It's dead and gone. See?"

  I look down at our feet. There's nothing there but gashes in the earth from my sword. All that remains of the demon are ash and smoke. "Rach?" I croak, looking to him for an answer to a word that isn't really a question, and yet holds the most weighted question I've ever asked. His face looks grim. He keeps an arm around my waist as I take two steps. He lets me go and I lower myself, crouching at her side. Mitch frantically gives her CPR. Only moments ago, his lips were on hers, first love's kiss. Now? Now he's trying to breathe life into an empty body. Where'd she go? I need to know. Did Lucifer get her? Is she being tormented right now?

  Why did he go after Rach? Because of me? To get to me?

  I'm back to seeing things in an unreal reality. Confused. The dance continues, but Rach, Rach is definitely gone. This isn't a hallucination, isn't caused by the power of suggestion, isn't a lie.

  Heaven and Hell exist, and so do angels and demons.

  I shake my head, tears dripping onto her dress. Rach. She didn't get to go home to her parents, to return to school, to graduate, go to college, get married, have children...

  Mitch. How will he get through this? I'd never seen him so happy, so in love. The look in his eyes as he holds her...

  I reach for him, wrap him in my arms, and rock him. He leans his head against mine and we cry.

  Sirens reach the tent, growing louder until the lights from the ambulance add to the dizzying scene within. Paramedics in white rush in, wheeling a gurney. Rach is lifted on it, and pushed to the blaring vehicle. Mitch follows, entranced, and somehow gets lifted inside beside her. The last glimpse of him I get before they close the doors is of him holding her hand, his lips to it.

  The smoke starts to disappear tuft-by-tuft, spiraling in the air vacated by the demon that took her from us.

  -37-

  Anger invigorates me. I stand and grasp my sword, feel the heat of the peridot stones. My angelic vision returns. Snakes slither off, into the nearby forest. I want to run after them all and stomp on their snarling heads.

  "Why are they leaving?" I ask Nicholas, who is so close to me I can feel the heat emanating off his chest onto my back.

  "I don't know." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Got what they came for, I guess."

  I shudder. I wait for some comment from him about whether or not I'm going to faint again, but instead he pulls me to him, allows me to rest against his chest. Emotionally and physically wiped, I relax and let him support me.

  Around us, faculty and students begin to brush themselves off. The DJ puts on a slow and hopeful song. A couple of students brave the dance floor. For all they know, Rach fainted and was taken to the hospital. They didn't know her well—didn't know she wasn't epileptic, or prone to passing out. They don't know me or Mitch to know we weren't overreacting. They don't see the disappearing bloodstains, the golden feathers disintegrating off the floor. As they giggle and twirl, they don't notice the translucent angels standing guard, watching and waiting in case danger from Hell comes to harm them again.

  Nobody has any clue about the danger their souls are in, every second they breathe.

  A blur of gray streaks by. Cole. Where's he headed? I push off Nicholas and turn to follow with my eyes. Cole is tearing from the tent, racing alongside the snakes and demons that didn't vanish from sight, the ones retreating like the tide into the ocean of trees. I push my way through shoulders and elbows until the disco ball is replaced by the full moon. Ash-colored clouds hide the stars and navy sky, but not the moon. It's proud and strong, patient and timeless, its light glinting off hundreds of serpent eyes and the wings of one angel. The line of trees thirty feet before me is foreboding. Squeals and hissing rise and fall, as if the crimson leaves are being tortured, torn from their limbs before they are ready to fall, bloodying the forest floor. I start to move, slow at first, step by painful step, then faster, pumping my arms, driving myself toward a gap between the trees.

  Someone grabs my elbow, tugs me back.

  Nicholas.

  "Let me go." I pull my arm out of his grasp. Anger burns gold and orange before my eyes, painful sorrow and bitterness ready to explode in my chest. "I have to go." I look him in the eye. "I want to fight." Before registering the look on his face, I race off, ignoring the throbbing in my ankle, shoulder, and ribs. "Cole!" I watch as his large gray wings disappear behind thick, scarred trunks. I skid, stopping in my tracks as a roar, as deafening as thunder, crashes over my head. Arching my back, I throw up my arms defensively, staring up over the canopy of leaves. High above the forest is a plume of smoke and ash, exploding up and out, over the trees. Ash rains down on me, falling into my hands like deadened snowflakes. A tornado of flame rises up—the sound of a rushing train filling my ears—exactly where I last spotted Cole's wings. I brave the heat and begin to rush forward again, into the avalanche of smoke and soot.

  Nicholas' voice cries out behind me, "Julia, no!"

  The last thing I see before light blinds me is the same fiery golden swirl that overtook the spears and gate rods the first time I saw demons invade my world.

  -38-

  When I come to, I'm sitting behind the steering wheel of my car. The passenger seat is empty. The red heels, wings, and tiara are in a pile on the floor. All traces of blood on my skin and gown are gone. My swollen ankle is normal size, and my shoulder and ribs are uninjured. A glance in the rearview mirror shows not a hair out of place. Closing my eyes, I can still hear the faint tinkling of notes and feel the steady beat of bass from behind the high school. Hope, full and bright, fills me. My gold purse is in my lap. I tear it open and grab my phone to text Mitch. I don't even have to ask. He's already texted: She's gone.

  For a moment, I thought maybe, just maybe, it wasn't real.

  But when Nicholas and Cole make it all go away, they don't really. It's all for show, part of being undercover.

  Frauds.

  Fakes.

  The damage is real. The damage is done.

  We can't see it, us humans. But the threat is eternal, can't be undone.

  My heart tries to claw its way out of my chest to breathe, to forego the pain of breaking apart. I start the car and blindly make my way to the hospital. Once I reach the parking lot, I hesitate. I hate this place so much I want to tear it apart, brick-by-brick. I'm so sick of heading here, waiting here, holding my breath here. Everyone I lov
e, sleeping here, almost dying here. Lying dead here.

  I park the car haphazardly, taking up two spaces. I grab the bottom of my skirt and hike it up, take the stairs two at a time—I won't be getting in an elevator again anytime soon—and make it to the floor Mitch said Rach was taken to. When I find him, his shirt is half-untucked, his hair sticking up on the left where he must have run his hand through a bazillion times as he tried to fathom how the girl he held was gone. He's leaning against the wall, eyes tilted toward the ceiling, mouth set in a frown. I drop my skirt, step up next to him, put my arm through his, around his back, and my other around his stomach. I lay my head on his chest and hold him. His head drops onto mine and we stand like that for many silent minutes, just breathing and keeping our hearts beating. When more of Rach's family comes, we step aside, outsiders watching her mom, dad, and younger brother weep as they greet aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins.

  "L-let's-let's go," Mitch says to me, his voice broken. I lead him to the east entrance of the hospital. A grand piano plays by itself; a fountain sprays water into the air and lets it fall back to the pool at its base. Over and over, the waters pours forth, a never-ending cycle. It's mesmerizing to watch. I can see why they put it here, to help grieving, forlorn people who don't have anything else to do, nothing left to think about, those unsure about how to live out the next five minutes of life. Mitch sits on the piano bench, facing the fountain, and watches the water in its endless stream. "I'd l-like to be alone for a while." He looks at me. "Is-is that okay?"

  I stoop and squeeze him. "Of course. But don't leave without me. Please." He nods, but doesn't look like he hears me. "Promise?"

  He glances up then back to the fountain. "I won't l-leave."

  "I'm going to check on Mom and Noah. I'll bring you coffee."

  He nods again, and I leave him.

  When I get to Noah's door, I peer in through the window, steeling myself for more heartache. What I see nearly stops my heart.

  Noah's not alone.

  Bending over him is a man with wings as large as the Archangel Michael's. Though he's somewhat translucent, I can see from here that his wings are as gray as ash, tattered, and fragile. As if he senses me, he raises his head, his eyes finding mine through the window. The green in his hazel irises stands out like a flame in the night. He raises a hand, nearly invisible but for its soft, silvery outline, kisses his palm, and holds it out facing the door, for me. Reflexively, I do the same. It's a gesture we'd repeated dozens of times throughout my lifetime. With my mom, the goodbye tradition was telling one another to behave. After reading The Kissing Hand before my first day of kindergarten, brushing our lips to our palm and holding it out to wrap around the other person's was something I only shared with...

  My dad.

  -39-

  Days later, the white sheet is damp and wrinkled in my clenched fist. I'm staring at Noah, willing him to open his eyes. He continues breathing, no sign he'll wake up today, tomorrow, anytime, ever. I don't even bother to fight the tears any more. I snivel and drip, gulp and sob. Tired. So tired.

  The door behind me swishes. Someone's come in, probably a nurse telling me to walk some, exercise my legs, to get a drink of water, to eat something. I don't know, because I don't look, don't care.

  Cold metal brushes against my arm. This, I turn to see. There's a woman in a wheelchair beside me. Her hair is blonde and matted down, and her eyes are brown, but alive. Her lips are pale, but smiling at me.

  "Mom?" I whisper. "Mom!" I stand, stoop, and gently place my arms around her. Her chin slips over my shoulder, rests on my back.

  "My Julia, my angel," she says, and her voice is like colorful notes on a black-and-white scale. I pull back a fraction of an inch to look again at her eyes, still disbelieving. She nods her chin toward the bed. "Look."

  I don't take my hands off her shoulders, but I turn in time to see Noah's eyes flutter open. Leaving my right hand on Mom, letting it slide down her arm to take her hand, I reach for Noah's with my left and gently fold it in mine. His eyes close again, but a slight smile tugs at his lips.

  For once, I know exactly what to pray. "Thank you, God," I whisper, "for saving Noah."

  When I think Mom's ready, I tell her a little about what I've taken care of with our insurance and renovations. She looks relieved. And strong. Maybe she's the one I get my strength from. If what Nicholas says is true, it's apparent from my dad's tattered, ashen wings that his resolve is weak. So, I trust Mom's resilience and say what's on my mind.

  "Mom, how much do you know about Dad?" She looks at me for a while without speaking. "I've seen things," I say. My fingertips find the bed sheet to twist and I look down to watch. "Things hard to believe are real."

  She tips my chin up. "The reality is that he loves you."

  "How do you know?"

  She touches the stone at the base of my throat. "Why do you wear this? Deep down, you trust something about him. Love something about him."

  I look at Noah.

  She says, "Where there is love, there is trust. If you're unsure about Dad, you can trust me for now. I still have enough love and trust for the both of us."

  "He left you. He left us."

  She shakes her head. "He's more here for us gone than he ever was when we saw him every day."

  I don't want to take this security away from her, so I don't push the conversation forward.

  But I saw him. He's not who she thinks he is.

  He's so much less. And one day, I'm going to find out what and why.

  For her, for Noah, and for myself.

  When the nurse comes in telling me to let my family rest, it's not Mitch standing at the door waiting for me. And it's not Cole.

  Nicholas is leaning against the doorjamb, like a bodyguard.

  "Ready?" he asks.

  "For what?"

  "To see the work that's already been done on the diner and your apartment."

  When I see his van parked in the lot next to my car, I refuse to get into it. Not even when he opens the passenger door for me.

  "Not a chance," I say, getting in the driver's side of my car. I wait, and he gets into the passenger side of my vehicle. While the trees, topped with green leaves turning red and gold, pass by my open window, I ask, "What's wrong with Cole?"

  He shrugs, not looking at me. "I don't know."

  "Don't know, or won't say?"

  "I don't always know what's going on, Julia. Maybe he's protecting someone, maybe he's struggling with defiance, maybe he's been tempted by power and greed. Who knows? Taking on a body for so long was a dangerous decision for him. He's not my concern."

  "Michael won't tell you?" When he doesn't respond, I add, "Do you have a problem with him, too?"

  "I respect him. I don't always agree with him."

  I nod, getting nowhere fast with this line of questioning. "Do you have a problem with Cole?"

  "Julia—"

  "Just making conversation."

  "Well, don't."

  I pull in behind the diner, but can't park in my usual spot, because it's all being cleared and paved. The makings of the dream outdoor patio I'd requested is underway, and the skeleton of our new home is beginning to blossom into something amazing. Already.

  I find the contractor. "I can't thank you enough," I tell him.

  "All in a day's work. It's what I do. Take people's dreams and make them a reality."

  "Well, thank you anyway."

  I start to walk away, but turn back. "Oh, and can I add that I'd like a padlock and security code, and whatever other surveillance system you know of installed?" Though my robber may be gone, his threat that it isn't over haunts me. I can't help but think there are more like him, that this isn't over.

  "On all doors but the front, sure." When I look at him, about to argue, he says, "Miss White, you'll need customers to have access to the diner from the street. At night, you'll be able to be on full lockdown, but during the day, you'll need to have faith."

  I let out a
short, humorless laugh, "In what?"

  "In humanity."

  I look at Nicholas, who looks doubtful, but say, "I guess I already do."

  It's the angels and demons I'm having a hard time trusting.

  Nicholas and I head back to the hospital. Outside my mom's hospital room, I stop and look up at him, this familiar stranger. I miss Cole, the Cole I thought I used to know. The warm sunshine Cole. The playful Cole. Now, here stands someone new. Nicholas is so much more like me, and yet so much harder to understand. I'm drawn to him like an insect to a bug zapper, slightly mesmerized by the death light. Always trying to figure him out, scrutinizing him out of the corner of my eye.

  I sigh, resolved, for the moment, to let him stand guard outside the door. With Cole MIA, Nicholas says he's doing double duty to keep me safe.

  "Thanks," I say—for what, I don't even really know.

  He nods. "All in a day's work."

  "Whatever you say."

  "Relax, enjoy your family. You're safe."

  For today, I don't say.

  But I will take what I can get. For this day, I am grateful.

  Money won't fix the messes of the world; only people can do that. And maybe angels.

  Now that I know what loss feels like, I never want to let my family go again.

  And I won't.

  Not.

  Ever.

  Even if it means taking up my sword and wings.

  For good.

  The Kingdom Come Series Rages On

  Julia’s battle continues

  in book two

  When Smoke Rains Down

  Spring 2017

  Find out more about the Kingdom Come series

  by connecting with Cecelia Earl online:

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  https://ceceliaearl.wordpress.com