by Dima Zales
“Master will be so proud,” he said, leaning forward to climb into the light. The demon’s fingertips brushed over the area above the wound when he stopped in mid-motion. His body jerked forward as Michael ran him through with the spear, twisting the end for good measure.
“Go to hell,” Michael spat, stepping back to let Belial’s body fall. The demon hit the roof with a solid sound, painting the gravel black with his blood. He drew in a couple shallow breaths, his voice wet and thick with hatred.
“Savor…your victory now, archangel. I will return and take what is mine.”
With a final gurgle, the demon went still. Gabriel and Michael hurried over to me, kneeling on either side of my trembling form. Gabriel snapped the chain of the handcuffs with ease, but I couldn’t really feel it. The pain had receded and with it came numbness. I could barely breathe anymore. I had lost too much blood.
“Can you save her?”
Gabriel scanned the wound. “I should be able to seal it up.”
He plucked a feather from his wing and started to lay it over the gash, but I caught his wrist. “Don’t.”
Gabriel’s mouth fell open. “Jordan, what are you—”
“If you heal me, the portal to Michael’s body will close,” I said through shallow breaths. “Let him go back.”
Michael shook his head. “No. No, I won’t do it. I will not be responsible for your death, Jordan!”
“It’s not your choice to make. I have to make things right. This is the only way to truly atone for the life I took.”
“Jordan, there is no way to know if the Father will accept this in place of the hundredth soul you owe,” Gabriel said in a pleading voice. Now that he was so near to me, I could feel waves of worry pouring off the angel and flowing inside me. So much compassion. I had never felt such a powerful sensation before.
“I know. Finish it.”
He raised his eyes up to Michael, whose face had crumbled into something between anguish and disbelief. My limbs were shaking badly, but I still reached up and touched the side of his cheek to make him look me in the eye. The strange metaphysical energy of his poltergeist form spilled across my tired skin and gave me enough power to speak clearly.
“This is what you were born to do, Michael. You’re an archangel. The people in this world need you more than I do.”
“What if I need you?” he whispered, almost as if he were ashamed of what he was saying.
I smiled. “That’s the most…beautiful thing…”
He pressed a finger over my lips before I could finish the V for Vendetta quote and returned the smile, though it was weak around the edges. “You watch too many movies. Goodbye, Jordan.”
His lips pressed to my forehead, a strangely soft tingle, before he got up and walked over to his body. Gabriel brushed the hair from my face and kissed the back of my hand, his lovely face heavy with regret.
“I will treasure you always.”
“Back atcha, Gabe.”
I didn’t see Michael enter his body. I felt it. It felt like sliding beneath the warm covers of a bed after a long day—safe, comfortable, alleviating. Death swept me up into its arms and carried me away to darkness where there was no pain, no suffering, and not a care in the world. I couldn’t have asked for more.
BOOK TWO: IN MEDIAS RES
Under his gloomy power I shall not long
Lie vanquished; thou has given me to possess
Life in myself forever, by thee I live,
Though now to Death I yield, and am his due
All that of me can die, yet that debt paid,
Thou wilt not leave me in the loathsome grave
His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul
Forever with corruption there to dwell.
-Paradise Lost, John Milton
8
I had been expecting great leaping flames, sinister cackling, and maybe Peter Stormare dressed in all white to greet me in the pits of hell, but that didn’t happen. The first indication that I was alive was that I could see the ceiling fan of my bedroom. Then, like a tidal wave, I felt pain. Everywhere. My bruised hand, my punctured chest, my sore arms—the agony hit my poor senses all at once. I closed my eyes and just lay there until the sensory overload receded.
I gathered my arms beneath me to sit up. It wasn’t easy but I managed to prop my back up against the headboard. Michael sat in a chair to my right with his head resting on the mattress, slumped over asleep. Then, I noticed that his hand, which had been resting near mine, was emitting heat. Michael was alive. Alive.
Then why the hell was I?
I reached out towards him just enough to brush my fingertips over the back of his hand. Michael grunted and rolled his head to the side, peeking up at me through a waterfall of brown hair. A sleepy smile tugged at his lips.
“You’re awake.”
I cleared my throat a few times until I could speak. “You’re alive.”
He stood and perched himself on the bed, brow furrowing with concern. “How do you feel?”
I shrugged one shoulder, immediately regretting it as my chest wound stung. “Like I’ve been choked, stabbed, and handcuffed.”
“It could have been a lot worse,” Michael murmured, tugging aside the bloodstained button up shirt to reveal the heavily bandaged part of my chest.
“I know. Why wasn’t it? I thought I died.”
“You did,” he said in that same soft voice. “But after Father saw what you did in order to restore my life, He decided to wipe your debt clean.”
“So…when I die…I’m not going to Hell?”
Michael finally smiled. “You’re not going to Hell.”
A rush of relief flooded through me from head to toe. I lay my head back, resisting the urge to cry. “Thank God.”
“You bet I did.”
It took a minute or so before I could regain composure. When my eyes were dry and my throat clear, I spoke up. “That reminds me. Does this mean you have all your memories back?”
The smile waned. “Yes. I remember everything about being an archangel, but…it’s sort of bittersweet.”
I tilted my head in question. “Why?”
“The Michael you knew is now just a small fraction of who I am. I will never be him again.” His voice held such regret in it that I reached out and touched his hand, trying to choose the right words to express how I felt. As annoying as his poltergeist self had been, I did like him deep down. I hadn’t even considered the fact that regaining his body and all of his memories would change his personality.
“Who you are and who you were are the men that I owe my life to. You can never disappoint me, Michael.” My words had the kind of truth I expected from someone like Gabriel. I wasn’t the smartest or most eloquent person. However, judging by the relieved expression on the angel’s face, I made my point well.
“Thank you. For everything. Your faith is something no one can replace.”
I waved the comment away. “Knock it off. Just because you got your body back doesn’t mean you get to sweet talk me.”
Michael laughed. As with Gabriel, the joyous feeling filled my chest and erased the aches and pains that had previously resided there. I caught myself wishing he would never leave and cursed my vulnerable state.
Just then, Gabriel walked through the door with a dark-haired Hispanic man I didn’t recognize. They were both wearing street clothes: Gabriel in a black sweater and dark blue jeans while the stranger wore a grey button-up shirt and black slacks.
I lifted an eyebrow. “I’m digging the casual look on you, Gabe. Be careful or one of these Albany girls might make off with you.”
The handsome angel blushed, to my delight. “I’ll be quite careful. Jordan, this is Raphael. He’s going to be treating you.”
“Raphael? As in archangel Raphael?”
Gabriel nodded. I squirmed in my seat. “Geez, I’m really getting the star treatment, aren’t I? Why are three of God’s archangels wasting time with a waitress?”
Rapha
el spoke with a surprisingly deep voice that had a hint of a Spanish accent in the background. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You made an important sacrifice. You are entitled to a bit of attention.”
That made me smile. “Fantastic. You wouldn’t mind bringing me something to eat, would you?”
“Certainly not. Michael, mind showing me around?”
“No problem.” Giving my hand a final squeeze, Michael stood and led Raphael out of the room in search of food. Gabriel sat beside me and began inspecting the many bandages adorning my body.
“What happened to Belial?”
Anger flickered across Gabriel’s face at the mention of the demon’s name. “We burned his body, but unfortunately the Spear of Longinus did not kill him permanently. Demons are very hard to destroy. Their souls are simply expelled from their bodies and return to Hell where their wretched leader gets them new ones.”
“Guess I’ll be needing a lot more crosses, then,” I said, trying not to wince as he checked my chest wound.
He nodded with a grim expression. “Many. Michael was immensely concerned with your condition. He even went before the Father and Son to plead on your behalf.”
My jaw dropped. “Plead what on my behalf?”
“I think she might want to hear this from me, Gabe.” I spotted Michael in the doorway with a glass of ice water and a Nutra-Grain bar. Raphael entered behind him, glancing between us with a worried look. I eyed Michael’s careful expression as he walked towards me with the food. He very pointedly did not look at me as he handed the items over.
“Hear what?”
“Based on the persistent nature of the demon Belial, I asked the Father to remain at your side until we have determined he no longer wants possession of your soul.”
I sputtered in mid-swallow of the water. “What?”
Michael cleared his throat. “It was the logical thing to do.”
“Logical? Michael, you’re an archangel. You can’t just hang around my stuffy little one-bedroom apartment!” I exclaimed, resisting the urge to throw the health bar at his head.
“I’m not moving in with you and I won’t be abandoning my post as Commander of God’s Army. I’ll just be continuing my job here on Earth alongside you.”
I gave Gabriel a pleading look. “There is no way The Big Guy agreed to this, right?”
Gabriel coughed into his hand. I noticed the upward twitch of his lips. The damn angel was trying not to laugh. “He found it to be an acceptable proposition. I’m quite sorry.”
I palmed my forehead, trying to wrap my head around this ridiculous idea. Well, at least this put an end to the problem of being alone. Lord knows I had never thought it would be ended by way of archangel.
Gabriel spoke up, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. “I can see the two of you will need time to adjust to this change. We will be back tomorrow to check your wounds, Jordan.”
The two left the room in a hurry. Smart angels. I took a deep breath, licked my dry lips, and tried to figure out where to start.
“I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m not much of a people person, Michael. It won’t be easy with you hanging around me all the time.”
He took a seat at the foot of the bed. “Do you want to know why I volunteered to do this? Other than the whole ‘there’s a demon trying to get you’ thing?”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” I hadn’t meant to sound so mean, honest, but I suddenly remembered Michael’s words before I died. They rang clearly in my head, almost mocking me: What if I need you? As silly as it sounded, I felt embarrassed and defensive. Did he still feel that way or was that just the other Michael?
“I may have only been with you a week, but I feel I can do more here than I thought. Yes, it’s true that you are smart and tough and independent, but you’ve been alone for so long. I owe you my life. This is the least I can do.”
I wanted to protest, but I remained silent because he was right. I’d been doing things on my own as soon as I got old enough to leave my aunt’s apartment in inner city New Jersey. She had been cruel because I reminded her too much of my mother. She already had two kids and a distant husband to worry about. Nearly all of the growing up I had done as a person, I did so alone.
That didn’t mean I could accept it. “But I barely know you.”
Michael spared me a soft smile. “Then I guess we’ll have to get reacquainted.”
He stuck out his hand. “Michael the archangel, Prince of Heaven’s Army.”
I finally sighed and took it. “Jordan Amador. Welcome to my world.”
9
The first order of business was calling work. The incident had caused me to miss two days. Gabriel came up with the cover story: I had been violently mugged and would be recuperating for two weeks minimum. Colton sent Lauren over to check on me (and probably confirm that I wasn’t lying) and she nearly fell apart when she saw my condition. She told me she knew relatives who would fly over here from Korea and hunt down my attacker, but I managed to convince her not to do it. Strangely enough, it was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to me.
Michael posed as an at-home nurse assistant in the daytime hours. I told Lauren I was deathly afraid of hospitals, so they had discharged me. When he left to get me more food, Lauren asked for his number. I’d laughed so hard I nearly reopened my stitches.
Speaking of those, Raphael had actually treated me while I had been unconscious. It turns out that he couldn’t bring me to full health because of the massive strain I had already gone through. Raphael worried that using all of his healing powers might push my body past its limits.
At the moment, we were in my bathroom with the door shut—me perched on the side of the bathtub with Raphael sitting in a chair across from me. His hands were warm and firm against my skin as he tested my temperature, examined the bruises, and moved the joints in my injured hand. Everything still hurt, but not nearly as bad as when I first woke up. I probably should have felt more uncomfortable being shirtless in front of a man I had only known for two days, but Raphael kept me distracted with conversation as he worked. Plus, angels weren’t attracted to human beings so there was no sexual tension to be had, much to my relief.
“So does Michael have any of your healing abilities?” I asked.
He offered me a faint smile. “Michael is more of a fighter than a healer. I’ve had more experience in this area.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t all archangels sword-toting badasses?”
He chuckled—a warm, rolling sound. “Not exactly. He is the more proficient strategist when it comes to fighting. It has always been that way.”
“If that’s true, do you really think he’ll do a good job of taking care of me?”
I could tell the question surprised him. He paused, mulling the thought over. “Each archangel has strengths and weaknesses. As God’s Messenger, Gabriel interacts easily with human beings, but lacks the hardened nature of a warrior like Michael. As God’s Healer, I have extensive skills in treating the bodies and souls of humans so I lack the desire to harm others. Michael is the superior commander, but he has spent the least amount of time on Earth. I believe this is why Father sent him to return the Spear of Longinus to its proper place. I think that is also why Father agreed to let him stay on Earth with you. There is much more he can learn here than in Heaven.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Raphael grinned, tossing the small pile of old bandages in the wastebasket before standing. “Yes, Jordan. I think he will do a fine job taking care of you, and vice versa.”
I frowned. “How could I possibly take care of an archangel?”
His brown eyes twinkled as he spared me an enigmatic smile. “How indeed.”
I shook my head and offered him my hands, which he took to help lift me to my somewhat shaky feet. He opened the door and held me steady to walk back to my bed. He could have just picked me up, but I insisted I could get there myself. Stubborn? Who, me?
From
my bed, I could see into the kitchen where Michael stood at the stove cooking something. He even wore an apron, which made me giggle. I’d have to make fun of him for it later.
Raphael handed me a glass of water before zipping up his leather bag. “That should be all for now.”
He hesitated, his brow furrowing in a slight frown. “Are you sure you don’t want me to heal your back?”
Discomfort curled through my stomach in a cold wave. I didn’t like that he’d seen them—my scars. It raised a lot of questions, and none of them I wanted to answer. “No. I’m alright.”
“Very well. I will be dropping by a few times a week to check on your progress. Make sure not to put too much stress on your body.”
I nodded. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”
He smiled. This time, I could feel a different emotion than with Gabriel and Michael. An overwhelming sense of calm washed through me. I felt safe in his presence.
“Think nothing of it. Good night, Jordan.”
With that, he turned and left, nodding to Michael before leaving the apartment. It made me realize this would be the first time I was alone with the new (or would that be old?) Michael. Just how much of the Michael I knew was in there? That was the million-dollar question.
I searched the top of my nightstand for the remote control and turned on the TV. Midway through Transformers, Michael appeared with a bowl of chili and a spoon. I couldn’t stop staring.
“Do you realize how weird it is that you’re an angel who knows how to cook?” I pointed out, hoping my question would mask the sound of my stomach growling.
Michael shrugged, handing me the bowl, spoon, and napkin he’d brought with him. “Man’s gotta eat.”
“That reminds me—what kind of body is that? Is it like Gabriel described?” I continued, tasting the first spoonful. Oh, Lord. It was delicious. The urge to shovel in several mouthfuls was intense.
“It’s…a little hard to explain,” he admitted, sitting on the edge of my bed. The little blue apron was gone. I missed it.