by Jerel Law
His dad seemed to oblige him in this, though, by turning in early most nights or staying in his office with the door pulled shut. When they did speak, it was more than likely to be an argument.
He shut the door and tiptoed past his dad’s study. He heard some papers rattle and then suddenly stop. Jonah waited for a few seconds in the hallway. No movement inside, no noise. He knew what was happening. His dad was waiting to see if Jonah was going to come in. But he wasn’t calling to him. Jonah imagined himself walking into his dad’s office and them embracing in a long-overdue hug. Then he pictured them having a massive screaming match, ending with him barricading himself in his room.
Jonah sighed. He knew his dad was hurting too. He’d lost his wife, the love of his life. But I lost someone important to me too.
He pushed aside the impulse to go in, and went to his own room, shutting the door behind him.
Falling down on his pillow, he played the game back through his head. He couldn’t even keep track of all the fast breaks, layups, and slam dunks he made. But then he thought about what the angels had said. Their voices lingered in his mind, even though he forcibly tried to push the thoughts out. Why should they try to keep him from having some fun and enjoying himself? Hadn’t he been through enough this year already? Wasn’t it all right to enjoy some popularity for a change? His phone was beeping, and he reached for it, realizing he had nine text messages from different friends at school, congratulating him on the game. He clicked through them slowly, savoring the words, and responded to a few.
But Henry’s comments wouldn’t leave him alone. “You’re drawing unnecessary attention to yourself. People are beginning to notice.”
He tossed his phone back down on his bed and shifted uncomfortably on his pillow. As much as he tried, he couldn’t get away from it. Why did those angels have to come anyway?
He grabbed the phone again and opened it up to his photos. Locating the folder marked “Mom,” he flipped slowly through the pictures. The family portrait they used for Christmas cards three years ago; a shot of Eleanor and Benjamin, smiling, holding Jonah when he was a baby; one of him and his mom, her arms draped around his neck, at the park. He paused on this one for a while, touching the screen softly with his thumb. It was as close as he could come to touching her now.
He felt the tears well up in his eyes, and he threw the phone back onto the bed and went to take a shower. He wished his mom had seen him play tonight. He wanted to talk to her again, just hear her voice. He wished she were here.
He made the water as hot as he could stand and covered his face with a washcloth, trying to muffle his sobs as he leaned against the tile wall.
“How’d the game go last night?”
His dad was fiddling around in the kitchen, fixing coffee and cereal and opening drawers until he found what he needed. Jonah watched his dad fumble through the kitchen almost every morning, wondering when he would ever figure out where everything was. Mr. Stone finally found a packet of sugar, ripped the top off, and poured the contents into his steaming mug.
“It went okay.” Jonah shrugged. “Not that you would know.”
It was an open invitation to a fight, and he couldn’t resist the barb, even though he felt bad as soon as he said it. His dad eyed him from behind his thick glasses, but pursed his lips and said nothing, suddenly seeming to take great interest in stirring his coffee.
Jonah opened his mouth to say something, perhaps apologize, but then decided against it. He stepped past his father, reaching into the cabinet to grab a granola bar. Snagging a bottle of water from the refrigerator, he mumbled a good-bye, slung his knapsack on his back, and bolted for the door.
“Good morning, Jonah,” came a voice from above. Cassandra, the Stone family guardian angel, was sitting in her usual morning spot, perched in the tree in the front yard.
He glanced up at her but kept walking. “You know I’m trying to ignore you, right?”
She smiled, waving to him. “Oh, I’ve gotten that message, loud and clear.”
“Well”—he turned around—“why do you keep bugging me then? Can’t you guys see I’m doing just fine?”
Cassandra eyed him thoughtfully. “I just want you to know that I’m not ignoring you.”
He waved her off and picked up his bike out of the yard. “I need to go to school. How about not following me, okay?”
Jonah knew he couldn’t tell the angels what to do any more than he could tell Elohim what to do, but maybe she would listen today. He pushed off on his bike and pedaled himself into the street.
He was a sophomore at Peacefield High School, but ever since he made the basketball team and had starred in the last five games—all wins—he had been treated like the king of the campus. As soon as he pulled his bike up to the rack and locked it down, a couple of senior guys came over to congratulate him on last night’s game. Three girls, all members of the cheerleading squad, scampered over, gushing about it too. He felt his face grow hot and flushed, but he talked to them for a few minutes before he walked into school.
All of the newfound attention made it easy to ignore what he could still see—the things no one else could, the spiritual creatures in the hidden realm. Across the lawn, he saw something small and black clamped onto the back of a tall boy with a downcast face who was walking on the sidewalk. Pulling his eyes away, Jonah tried to forget the image.
But as he walked into the hallway full of students at their lockers loudly milling around, waiting for the morning bell to ring, he couldn’t help but see the rest.
There was another fallen angel draped across a girl’s shoulders. And one was whispering into a kid’s ear as he walked down the hall. Yet another was flying from kid to kid, taunting each in turn. As Jonah approached, the fallen angel locked eyes with him, glaring. And then, grinning wildly, it moved on, continuing to work on the unsuspecting students.
This was the scene Jonah walked into every day now. Once the Fallen realized he wasn’t going to do anything, they had become very bold.
Jonah veered off from the crowd and headed to his locker.
“Boy, things sure have changed around here,” Tariq said from behind him. Jonah saw his friend watching the junior varsity cheer squad walk down the hall.
“Yeah,” Jonah answered, his mind distracted by the flying fallen angel still tormenting kids in the hallway. “I guess so.”
“Uh-oh,” mumbled Tariq, who was suddenly more interested in his locker than the cheerleaders.
Jonah saw why. Zack Smellman, Carl Fong, and Peter Snodgrass were making a beeline for them, each with identical scowls on their faces. Fong and Snodgrass both grabbed one of Tariq’s shoulders and slammed him against his locker, and then held him flat against it.
“I think you and I need to have a little conversation,” sneered Zack, right up in Tariq’s face, “about how much money you owe me.”
“Oww! Let go!” the much smaller Tariq said. “This isn’t your school or your hallway! I can do whatever I want—”
“Hi, guys,” interrupted Jonah, smiling at the three boys. They seemed to notice him for the first time. The boys immediately let go of Tariq, who rubbed his shoulders. “Is there some kind of problem here that I can help with?”
“Jonah!” Zack said with a sheepish grin. “We didn’t see you standing there. I guess we were focused on our friend Tariq here, who owes us some money.”
“Friend, huh?” Jonah said, slapping his hand firmly on Zack’s arm. “Didn’t seem too friendly there, Zack.”
“Ha.” He laughed, patting Tariq on the arm gently and straightening his shirt for him. “We were just messing around, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Jonah said, stepping a little closer, towering over them with his lanky frame.
“But you know,” Zack said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “I think we’re good with Tariq, don’t you, boys?”
His underlings looked at him blankly, confused, but slowly nodded.
“Good game last night,” Zack
said as they walked away. “Really awesome. Way to go.” He smiled again, waved at Jonah and Tariq, and pulled the other two down the hallway with him.
Tariq blinked up at Jonah. “Well, that was . . . different.”
Jonah slapped his friend on the back as they began to walk toward their first-period class together. “Welcome to a new day, my friend,” he said, smiling. “Now, why exactly do they think you owe them money?”
Jonah listened to Tariq’s long-winded explanation as they walked along, something about a booming but not-exactly-in-the-school-rules candy bar selling business, and Zack demanding protection money, threatening to either beat him up or go to the principal if he didn’t pay.
Jonah nodded, halfway listening, but with the rest of his mind in a different place. He had passed by no less than four more fallen angels, and each one had given him the same look as the first.
We’re killing these kids, and you’re not going to do one thing about it . . .
After Jonah’s fifth-period class, he ran by the boys’ bathroom. As he was washing his hands, something in the mirror caught his eye and he looked up. To his surprise, his face—and everything else he saw—melted away. In its place, another face came into view.
It was Eliza, with her face drawn up and tight. She looked concerned and like she was searching for something. Jonah reached his hand out to touch the mirror, but then the scene switched. Jeremiah was there now, walking, and alone. He shivered against a chilly wind but kept moving forward. He was searching for something too.
Jonah blinked and saw his own face again.
He glanced around to make sure no one else was watching him. He quickly threw some water on his face, shook his head a couple of times, and hurried back into the hallway.
10:19 p.m.
Hey, Everything’s good here. Not too much going on. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Getting to school on time, doing my homework—you know, all of the stuff you would be worried about. Dad is good, I think. We haven’t talked a lot lately. But basketball is awesome—did you see the article in the Peacefield News sports page about me? Hope you guys are okay. Tell little bro hello, and that next time I see him he will get the biggest wedgie of his life.
Later, Jonah
THREE
MOVING TRUCK ESCAPE
The fallen angels were gathering across the street, and doing it quickly. Some were standing, others knelt, and more than a few filled the sky just above. All of them had their bows loaded with arrows, toxic flames burning at the tips.
They were hunting.
Eliza peered around the corner just enough to assess their situation. They had been out to pick up a few essentials, but she wasn’t exactly surprised they’d run into trouble. Being out, away from the relative protection of the convent and their school, was always risky. The Fallen were everywhere.
Eliza was only fourteen, but when it came to fights with Abaddon’s evil minions, she had more experience than any of the rest of the quarterlings—except Jonah, of course. But he wasn’t here. And although it made her uncomfortable at times, when the other kids began to look to her for leadership, she didn’t shy away.
She focused on the one who appeared to be leading. His blackened, gnarled face twisted in anger, shouting unrecognizable commands to his underlings. Eliza had a hard time believing that this crusty-skinned, yellow-eyed creature used to be an angel.
Eliza saw the flaming arrow headed toward her just in time and pulled her head back. It crashed into the concrete wall behind her, disintegrating into dust and falling to the grimy street.
“Again?” she said to herself, quickly raising her arms and producing the shield of faith. It was the first gift she had been given, and she had learned to use it well. It took a simple combination of faith and concentration, and she was the best in Angel School at making it. She’d also received an angelblade last year and was still trying to refine her skills with the helmet of salvation.
“Get over here. Now!” she called out to Jeremiah, who, as usual, was about to charge ahead with no plan. She took two steps forward, causing him to enter the bubble of protection just before another arrow exploded into it, shattering harmlessly. “That one was meant for you, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jeremiah muttered. “I think what they need is a dose of the belt of truth.”
Eliza grimaced. “I think what you need is not to get killed. It’s your fault we’re in this mess anyway.”
A blond-haired boy on the other side of the alley was shooting arrows as fast as he could, most of them finding their mark into the fallen angels across the street. Frederick had to pull back against the wall, though, as a barrage of enemy arrows hit the wall all around him. He glanced over at Eliza and Jeremiah, behind the safety of the shield.
“I’ll cover you, Frederick! Go!” David’s voice called out from behind them. Eliza knew that he and Julia had fallen back slightly, and that Julia was probably protecting David with her shield too. Glimmering white arrows began to whiz past them and toward the charging Fallen.
“Now!” she screamed to Frederick. He didn’t need any more encouragement. He crouched as he ran and then dove across the pavement, rolling himself into the protection of her shield of faith. An arrow brushed by his head just as he entered.
“That one was a little too close,” he said, picking himself up quickly and preparing to fire again, this time from inside the bubble.
Jeremiah had taken a moment to concentrate and pray and was now standing with his feet apart as the golden belt of truth appeared around his waist. He began to utter truths about Elohim out loud, and each time a blast of white hot light came from the belt.
“Elohim is more powerful than all of you put together!” A blast ripped into the closest fallen one. “Elohim is our rock and strength!” Another one took out two of them at once.
“Good job, Jeremiah!” his sister said, encouraging him. “Keep it going!”
But as he was preparing for the next blast, a mangy dog walked around the corner and right in front of them. The dog’s ribs were showing through his shaggy coat, and he looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
He turned toward the quarterlings and barked. It wasn’t the bark that startled Eliza, though. It was his eyes—they were the same sickly yellow as the Fallens’.
“It’s time to go, guys,” said Frederick, his gaze locked with the dog. Eliza knew he was right. “We’re in over our heads.”
The sound of barking grew louder, and suddenly a horde of dogs turned the corner. Eliza dropped her shield, grabbed Jeremiah by the shoulder, and began to run. Frederick, Julia, and David did the same, doing their best to stay behind cover as they retreated.
Eliza hoped the alley would lead to another city street, and they could figure out a way to either lose their attackers there or stand their ground. What they saw ahead, though, almost stopped them in their tracks.
A chain-link fence ran between the buildings, less than fifty feet ahead.
“We can climb it or jump it!” Frederick shouted. “Come on!”
“Not all of us can do that!” answered Eliza. She glanced back at the animals, bearing down on them. Then she looked around frantically, noticing several darkened doors leading into the buildings that flanked the alley.
“The doors!” she said. “Inside!”
David was the farthest along and pushed his body against a door to the right. But it was locked.
“Let me at it,” said Frederick. Summoning his angel strength, he pushed with everything he had, popping the lock and shoving the door open. Julia and David followed him in.
Eliza turned to head toward the same door when Jeremiah hit the ground.
“Jeremiah!” she yelled, her frustration boiling through as she realized that he had tripped over his shoelaces. She stopped in her tracks, knowing they had only a few precious seconds before the dogs were on them, and then behind them, the fallen angels, who were clearly controlling the street animals. Yanking him up off the ground with one han
d, she turned to the nearest door with the other, grabbing the handle and praying all at once.
“Elohim, please open this door!”
She turned the handle, and the rusty door opened. Eliza didn’t care where it led to as long as it could give them cover from both of their attackers for a few seconds. They rushed in, and Jeremiah slammed it shut behind them and turned the old dead bolt.
“The others . . . ,” said Jeremiah, looking up at Eliza.
“I saw them run into the other door,” she answered. “They made it in, so hopefully they’re safe.”
The dogs slammed against the door, causing both of them to leap backward. It sounded like they were taking turns banging their heads against it while barking as loud as they could.
“I don’t think we’re going to get out the way we came in,” he said, standing up and dusting off his jeans. “Let’s figure out where we are.”
Eliza glanced around, nodding. “That’s fine. But just remember, there weren’t just dogs out there. The Fallen were right behind them.”
“They were controlling the animals, weren’t they?” he asked. “Did you get a look at their eyes?”
“I’ve seen them do that before,” she muttered, thinking back to an encounter she and Jonah had had with a pack of cougars a few years ago. “Trust me, we don’t want to be anywhere near those animals.”
“This building seems smaller than I thought it would be,” Jeremiah said as he looked around the room. They were in a storage space jammed with all kinds of odds and ends—paint cans stacked in the corner, a yellow rolling mop and bucket, a desk covered with a random assortment of hammers, wrenches, screws, and nails, and a couple of desks wedged against the walls and beside each other.
There was another door in front of them. “Let’s see where this goes,” Jeremiah said, and before she could stop him, he flung the door open.
They suddenly found themselves in a brightly lit factory with assembly lines full of workers filling up an enormous warehouse floor. They were dressed in blue aprons and standing over tables with conveyer belts churning along as they picked and sorted various objects. Most were women, although a few men were there too. Their hands were moving fast as they focused on their work.