"Hah! I get away with nothing."
"They fell into the trap. What more do you want?"
"Their blood."
"And we will have it." He narrowed his eyes and smiled. "It was my request that Gidyon be coaxed here."
"I could care less about him. I want the Thanatakran."
"Well, for the time being, you need to relax. Even though we're here, it doesn't take away the fact that you're still a First Rank — and still below me in status."
Laphelle turned away from him. "So. Where's the future bane of my existence?"
Malynko dropped to the stony ground, his metal-toed, black boots making a clank against the hard surface. Laphelle had no choice but to follow; his bare feet made a soundless landing.
"Kiazmo is still waiting where the gate opened," Malynko said. "He may be a little unnerved. I want you to go and retrieve him. The place where we will abide is not far away. I will meet the two of you there. It's the only house on this road."
The First Rank clenched his teeth. "So now I'm the infant's keeper?"
Malynko rested his hand on the silver pommel of his long, sheathed broadsword at his waist. On the middle finger of his black-gloved right hand shone a gold ring with an octagonal ruby in its clasp. His waist-length bluish-black hair fell down the back of his knee-length, dark red military jacket, the golden buttons on the coat making a straight line to his black pants. The Elitist's bright green eyes dared Laphelle to ask him that question again.
The blond rogue was bold, but not completely stupid.
So he jumped into the sky, biting his tongue, and headed back to Kiazmo.
***
Max
We need to think of a plan," someone whispered. "What do you think we should do? Noam, for Heaven's sake, if you would just talk."
That voice...
It melted away all of Max's doubt and pain and fear. It was as if — as if by some magic spell he had found the ultimate peace. Like before Harry had gone away. He couldn't remember ever feeling so at ease with the world. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. As he sat up, a kneeling, blurry figure came into view. Then, he saw those wings again.
"What. On. Earth." His eyes widened and his mouth formed into a disbelieving smile. "Who are you, and where did you get such costumes?"
The winged man with white-blond hair shot a glance at the dark-haired one, who simply stood with his arms crossed. When neither of them answered his question, Max started to scoot away.
"There's no need to be frightened," the blond said, smiling.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Max said. Was he hallucinating? "I'm perfectly fine. Tell me, are you trying to sell something?"
"We're not trying to sell you anything."
"Very well." He was nearly at the altar now. "Then just what sort of game are you playing, anyway? I suppose you'd like me to think you're angels."
"Game?" The angel/man stood up, following Max's scoots. His slow, confident stride made Max shudder. "This is no game."
"No game. Right."
A bead of sweat trickled down Max's jaw. He suddenly felt faint, looking into the angel/man's inhuman, cosmic orbs. There were universes in his eyes — universes. What sort of drug had he taken to give him this hallucination? (No hallucination.) What sort of dream was this? (No dream.) He stared into the swirling majesty of those eyes, and with the next backward step, he stumbled back into the podium. The contact sent a candelabra sitting on the end of the wooden lectern toppling over. Max felt a whoosh of air, then turned his head just in time to see the other angel save the bronze candleholder from falling to the ground. The man jumped back to his feet, his heart pounding. Good lord, what a spectacle of speed. The second angel/man placed the holder neatly back into place and calmly made walked back to the other one's side.
Max whispered, "How did you…?" and stepped back to let the angel/man pass.
He went pale. The angel/man had moved so fast that he couldn't even see him. Max's heart began to beat wildly like the wings of a bird against a cage, his pulsing emotion rising to the skies, reeling out of control, as he realized that this was indeed no game.
They were…
"Angels, yes, just like you thought," the first said. "I'm Gidyon, and this is my good friend Noam."
Max looked at him, his mouth agape. He glanced at Noam. His eyes took in their wings. And his veins raced with adrenaline.
"I—I—," he said, feeling as if his mouth were filled with chalk. Tears came to his eyes as his logical side fought so hard, but failed to win this battle. With numbing clarity, he at once began to believe what he knew to be true all along. "I—"
He fell to his knees. The one with white-blond hair — Gidyon — let out a sigh but kept smiling.
"Don't be afraid, Max," he said.
Max blinked back his tears. He looked up at his guests. Real? Real. Real. They were real. Yes, of course they were. He couldn't find the words to speak. Surely he was losing his mind —
"You're not losing your mind," Gidyon said.
He pressed his shoulder blades together, and Max looked on, mesmerized. After Gidyon held the blades in contact for five seconds, a loud crack echoed through the chapel, and the bones of his wings went soft like cartilage. Max gasped. The angel then wrapped the appendages around his waist, where they appeared smaller and less threatening. He smiled Heaven's light, his hands resting on his thighs as he crouched.
"How did you know — know my name?" Max asked, allowing himself to believe. At least until it could be disproved. "Can you — can you read my mind?"
"Yes," the angel said, continuing to speak gently as if to a child, "and look at this. With this I can read minds without using one bit of my energy."
He pulled out a white-gold necklace he wore from inside his off-white shirt. On the end of it sparkled a long, slender crystal; the clear stone reflected all the colors around him, from the vibrant stained-glass windows to the dark pews. He took the necklace off and handed it to Max. The man looked up at him, hesitating, his eyes huge.
"It's okay," said the angel with that wonderful smile. "You can hold it. Don't be afraid. You like knowing all the details, don't you, Max? I'm sharing details with you, details of how we operate, in order to help make you more comfortable."
Max cradled the crystal in his palms, carefully holding it as if it were made of the most fragile glass. He felt a chill run down his spine and once again looked at Gidyon's softened wings.
"I—I just can't—I can't—"
"Believe this is happening?"
All Max could do was nod. (But he could, oh, he could believe, couldn't he? Logic was losing the fight, and fast.)
"Well, it is happening," the angel whispered in an ominous tone that made the man's eyes go wide. "Let go of your doubt, Max. It's easier than you think. Simply let it drop to the ground like a heavy stone that you've been holding for far too long."
He looked over his shoulder to Noam, who leaned against the wall like a bored bodyguard, crossing his arms, observing the pretty church. Max turned his head and watched the silent soldier for a moment, then looked back at Gidyon.
Stunning. They were absolutely stunning. Masculine, yes, but at the same time exuded feminine grace.
Gidyon slowly slid the chain of his necklace from Max's fingers. Then he rose and walked over to Noam, saying, "It's no use. He doesn't believe it."
Max jumped to his feet quite fast for a man of his age—so fast that he paused to consider the speed of his rise. His delighted smile brought youth to his face.
I feel like I'm ten again.
A fiery spark appeared in Gidyon's cobalt eyes, and he said, "I guess we'll have to leave now."
Noam looked at Max with almost theatrical disappointment.
"Oh, please don't do that!" Max cried and wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Don't leave yet! Let's say, hypothetically, that I do believe. Or rather, I want to. It's just so terribly, terribly illogical, that's all. I'm a grown man, and here I am seeing real angels. Of course, I'v
e always believed. Always. That is, I think. Really, now, why would I be kneeling here at this hour of the night if I didn't believe?"
"Why indeed? Perhaps you should stop thinking then and start knowing. It's as simple as that." Gidyon turned to the man and crossed his arms. "What do you feel with your essence, Max? Not with your thinking mind that may be polluted."
"My—my essence?"
"Yes."
Gidyon narrowed his eyes and arched his brows. He slowly unfurled his soft wings and let them fall like sheets of satin to the floor then flapped them with strength. The bones became hard again and resumed their original bent shape, stretching from the shoulder blades up to the top of his head, then bending at a tight angle, falling down to the back of his knees.
"Wow," Max said, folding his pleading hands. "Stay. Please. You're real. You're real. I see it now. I—I see it. I know it. I believe it."
He held his breath and walked up to Gidyon, reaching out his hand like an amazed child. Lightly, he touched the perfect skin of the angel's face. Outstanding. A ripple of goose bumps went up his arm and he stepped back, blinking his misty eyes.
"Please," Max said with genteel composure, remembering his age again. "I want you to stay. I want to hear, want to know and believe everything."
"That's good," Gidyon said. "Would you like to know why it's good, Max?" The man promptly nodded his head. "Because we'd feel a little disappointed helping you find your son if you didn't believe in us."
Max's heart fluttered wildly, more tears filling his eyes. He wanted to ask them how much they knew about Harry, got a lump in his throat just thinking about the possible answers, but then Gidyon abruptly took on a whole new expression, one of great concern. It almost appeared as if a conversation were going on between the angels even though no audible words were spoken. A minute passed and Noam finally nodded. Gidyon nodded too and turned to Max.
"One more thing," said Gidyon. "We can't leave yet. Not even if we wanted to. We don't know how to return home."
***
Kiazmo
Kiazmo stood shivering on the old stone bridge. A thick black cloak covered his petite body, the hood hiding all but a set of wide, violet eyes with long lashes. He breathed in, breathed out, filling his lungs with physical air for the first time.
The instant the blanket of flesh had enveloped his spiritual essence, he became petrified at all the senses he now possessed. From the rustling of the grass around him, to the sharp feel of air inhaled through his nose, to the blood pulsing in his fingertips, he found himself amazed—almost in a trance. Listening, feeling the tribal pounding in his ears, he concentrated on this new sensation and became excited, his heart beating faster until the pounding became nearly unbearable. Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound! Initial enjoyment turned to utter terror, the emotion gathering in the form of stinging tears.
Laphelle landed behind him. Kiazmo turned around, feeling the heaviness of his feet, trying desperately to fit into this clumsy new form.
"Come on," said the blond rogue. "Let's go."
He turned to fly when Kiazmo squeaked, "I can't!"
Very slowly, almost dramatically so, Laphelle shifted his body and faced the little angel again. Kiazmo was a good two feet shorter, a pretty little boyish creature.
"I don't care if this is your first time in a physical body or not," Laphelle said. "You're going to have to learn how to fly and fast because Malynko is waiting for us."
Attempting speech, which he'd seen from the first realm but never actually tried before, Kiazmo felt the air come out of his lungs and through his throat as he stuttered, "I—I—I'm f—frightened!"
The sound of his sweet, youthful voice surprised him. Laphelle raised his eyes, then got down on his haunches and smiled. But Kiazmo was not prepared for what came out of the First Rank's mouth:
"May I kill you? It'll really save me some time because you're probably going to end up choking to death the first time you try to eat, or drowning the first time you set foot in water, or a number of other unpleasant endings anyway."
Kiazmo stumbled in panic, falling onto his thin backside. "No! No! Don't touch me!" His hood fell, revealing a long auburn braid. "Don't touch me!"
"Well, you can't just lie there! He's waiting! And I'm going to be the one subject to his punishment if we don't go." He raised his arms and flapped them. "Just do this with your wings and follow me."
"I—I can't!"
The blond rogue placed his hands on his lean hips and tapped his claw-like fingernails against the black material of his thin suit jacket. He looked down at Kiazmo's reddish braid. Then he smiled like an imp.
Laphelle let go of Kiazmo's hair, dropping him screaming onto the ground where Malynko stood beside two large cast-iron gates under a thick line of massive oaks. The Elitist glanced down at the little weeping angel, then to his side where he met Laphelle's icy blue eyes.
"What?" the rogue asked sweetly.
Kiazmo picked himself up and spit out dark dirt—so very bitter, the texture so unusually soft. Then he gazed upon the black blockade. His violet eyes sparkling, he took in a deep breath. And with a gasp, he stepped back, trembling, and said:
"Gates."
Laphelle rolled his eyes.
"Excellent perception, Kiazmo," Malynko purred like a patient teacher.
"Yes," said Laphelle. "Excellent perception, you little worm. Now why don't you go bury yourself for a prize?"
"Stop that, Laphelle," Malynko said. "Or I will make you stop."
Malynko was fairly tall: six-foot-six. His frame was only a couple inches taller than Laphelle's. Still, his authoritative presence made him appear a mile high. Kiazmo looked up at him in awe, thankful for his protection from the unpredictable rogue.
It had been approximately a month since Lucifer had approached Malynko with the controversial idea of coming to Earth. Everyone had heard about it—what an incredible honor. And though the Devil let the Elitist choose the Whisperer of his liking (Kiazmo), he strongly suggested Laphelle be the First Rank to complete their trio. Perhaps it was the dark lord's attempt at reconciliation. Everyone knew that Laphelle and Lucifer did not have a history of getting along well. But whether or not the visit to Earth resolved their conflict, Laphelle had long since grown weary of taking orders from unworthy superiors. And Kiazmo was, quite frankly, terrified of him.
"How up-to-date are you on the plans?" Malynko asked Laphelle. "I know we spoke briefly a week or so ago—"
"I'm fine on the plans. You're Nature embodied."
"Then tell me what you know."
Laphelle scoffed. "Okay. We're supposed to pay a little visit to a coven you watched. You do a few tricks, stir some emotions, and soon they're worshipping you like a god. They spread the good news of the great and mighty spirit of Nature that's come to save the dying planet, fight pollution, plant some trees, blah, blah, blah. And some clairvoyant bitch is in this too, right?"
"Eva."
"Lucifer promised I could kill some people."
"Yes. If you're tactful about it. But for now"—he turned to the gates—"why don't I show you and Kiazmo what our new place of residence looks like on the inside?"
He lifted a gloved hand to the touch pad that controlled the iron barrier and let his fingers dance across the keyboard until the lock's latch lifted with a click. The gates slowly opened with a mechanical hum.
Ahead of the angels stretched a narrow circle drive leading up to a three-story colonial-style mansion. Four white columns majestically held up the high roof of the porch. Climbers laced the walls of the massive home, the vines' heart-shaped leaves reaching halfway up, just touching the windowsills of the second story. Thick, twisting cork oaks, black from the night, grew in the yard.
Looking at Kiazmo out of the corner of his eye, Malynko said, "Hide your wings."
He concentrated, as Malynko had taught him, and his black feathers slowly took on a translucent appearance, fading like the skin of a chameleon, until they appeared invisible to even th
e most astute eye.
He watched with wariness as Laphelle picked up his pace and strode over to the smooth stone porch to run his hand up one of the white pillars. The rogue looked as if he were contemplating how hard he would have to hit it for it to crack in two. His movement triggered the automatic lights, which flashed over the angels' heads, several glass-covered lampposts in the lawn lighting in synch.
"Get ready," Malynko said.
And as if on cue, two angry Dobermans came charging around the mansion from the back, barking and howling at the intruders.
Kiazmo gasped, shivering.
"Cute," said Laphelle.
Flashing their nasty, sharp fangs, the dogs growled like hungry demons from the deep. But just as they neared enough to lunge for Malynko's neck, the Elitist confronted them with wicked speed, grabbing both canines by the growling throat. The dogs let out high-pitched whimpers. With a flick of his wrist, Malynko broke the neck of the one in his left hand. Letting its lifeless frame drop to the ground, he turned his head to the other animal. His eyes glowed a fiery green.
As the canine looked into the Elitist's bright and terrifying orbs, it jerked its head from side to side, but Malynko kept staring. Focusing his sense of hearing, Kiazmo detected the dog's frantic pulse, heard the erratic rhythm until its heart gave one last kick and stopped.
On the porch, Laphelle peeked in through a window. A light was still on inside. He looked at Malynko, and the two angels engaged in some telepathic conversation that Kiazmo couldn't hear. Then Laphelle turned and pranced up to the door. He lifted an erect pointer finger and playfully rang the doorbell.
***
John
The doorbell chimed, and John looked up from his computer screen with a start. He furrowed his brow, rubbed the circulation back into his face, and swiveled his big leather chair around to face his leather-topped, cherry wood desk. Then, he listened. Just like he listened when he thought he heard the dogs barking. And when nothing happened again, he shrugged his shoulders. Maybe the dogs had gone after a mouse. After all, it was the middle of the night when rodents were apt to come out. Stretching his back, the skin of his aging torso rubbing against his comfy black robe, he shook his head and turned around to the screen.
Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1 Page 2