by Adams, Lori
“Might as well,” Bailey grumbles, sounding bored. “Duffy’s been an eh-hole—no a full blown asshole—these days. I wouldn’t ride with him if he was driving the Anheuser-Busch beer wagon. Which reminds me. I’ll see if I can score a geriatric bypass and snag some brewskies after the game. I know some frat guys throwing a party in New Haven. Yeah?”
Rachel scoffs and snaps a photo of her avocado wrap with her cell phone. “Oh yeah, that’s just what you need. Get caught using a fake ID right before finals.”
“Don’t be a fusspot. You know I’m dying to get out of this town. A little customized stupidity never hurt anyone. And since when did you become a pepperazzi—snapping photos of your food all the time. It’s just an avocado wrap, you know, not a newborn.”
“It’s for my foodie followers. We’re documenting our diets. You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to pay attention to what you—”
“Are you calling me fat?” Bailey wails, half jokingly, and then viciously bites into her burger like it’s Brad Pitt’s neck.
Rachel shrugs and says, “Tweeters are leaders.” She is forever cheerful, but I’ve lost my appetite. I push my basket of fries away and stare out the window. A bunch of kids are in the throws of a snowball fight. Beyond them, I see that Dad has joined the town council conference to offer his advice on trimming the tree. This is good. Dad has recovered nicely from his brush with death in the courthouse. He’s out of the house more often and his sermons are more dynamic. He tells me he views every day as a gift.
I start to wave at him but a strange thing catches my eye. There is a guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt, old surf shorts, and crappy huarache sandals. He has long dreadlocks of varying colors and he’s strolling around the square with a look of sheer wonder.
What the hell?
I don’t have time to alert the others because Michael walks by our booth right then, making his way down the hall toward the restrooms. I know because I can feel an intense tugging in my chest. Michael is telling me to follow him. Follow or he’ll drag me out of the booth by my heart.
“Back in a sec,” I say as I start sliding to the left without effort. I play it off so nobody notices. Michael is very impatient today, and I don’t want to get caught stumbling over my own feet. This has happened before when I didn’t respond quickly enough to his kinetic tugging.
As a guardian angel, Michael has the ability to be supremely patient and radiate a sense of calm and peacefulness. When he wants to. Lately, he’s been acting … I don’t know … different. Serious. Demanding. Impatient.
By the time I turn the corner, he’s leaning against the far wall at the end of the hallway. His arms are crossed and he’s sporting his What took you so long? scowl.
I stop. “What? Ten seconds not fast enough?” I hope to sound playful and not sarcastic. He’s in a mood.
Michael lowers his chin and gives me a heated look. His eyes travel down my body, making my pulse flutter and my cheeks flush.
“I think you can do better,” he says. The tugging in my chest snaps like a whip and I’m airborne, flying down the long, narrow hallway until I slam into his chest. His arms envelop me, holding me off the ground.
I’m momentarily stunned, like always, when Michael makes me fly. I consider his brazen antics with suspicion, and then wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him lightly on the cheek.
“I think you can do better, Sophia,” Michael repeats. He sounds uncompromising and stoic but I see his eyes flare. They are churning from pale blue to indigo, a supernatural sign that tells me he’s aroused. Without saying a word, I know he likes my body pressed against his; I know he enjoyed the affection and wants more.
Carefully, I place a chaste kiss on his lips. We have to be cautious with this. The wrong kind of kiss from Michael can suck the life from me. The first time it happened I fainted but thankfully recovered without complications. Since then, we’ve learned to regulate our affection, and I learned to read the warning signs. Angels were never meant to kiss humans, so Michael and I have been educating ourselves. With copious practice, of course.
“I want to be alone with you,” Michael says with a sense of urgency. His commanding demeanor melts, and he snuggles his cheek against mine. “Please, Sophia,” he murmurs, trailing warm kisses down my neck.
I gasp from his physical effect on me. His touch sends a ripple of shock waves through my body, warming private parts and making me squirm. I’m also surprised that Michael would do this now; he said we could never be affectionate in public. He’s lectured me countless times on the importance of keeping our emotions in check while his family is nearby. Raph is in the restaurant and could easily detect Michael’s forbidden emotions. I doubt hiding around the corner is enough.
I pull back and stare at him. Usually, I’m the one pushing the limits; after all, Michael Patronus is the hottest guy around. In fact, he’s famous for his hotness, being the somewhat elusive most eligible hot guy in the tristate area. At least that’s what I overheard the visiting cheerleaders say at the last basketball game. I had no idea Michael’s hotness exceeded the boundaries of our quaint little town. And no, I don’t blame anyone for wanting him.
Sometimes I can’t believe it’s me he really wants. Sometimes I find myself waiting for him to laugh and say it was all some supernatural joke. Guardian humor. And sometimes I’m afraid I’ll wake up and discover that he compelled me to forget I love him, forget that his heartbeat pounds inside my chest, too.
And then there are times, like today, when Michael’s desire for me seems magnified beyond reasonable proportions.
So why is he taking risks that he said we shouldn’t? What’s changing?
“Please, babe,” he begs sweetly, brushing his nose against mine. “And stop being so suspicious. We’re fine. Now may I see you tonight?”
I smile cautiously and consider. I love when Michael asks to spend time with me, but a pesky feeling is buzzing around my head, and I know I have to be the practical one. So I tell Michael that I’m drowning in homework. My academic adviser has recently tossed out a life raft, and if I hang on and don’t sink to the bottom, I might still have a decent college application.
This is all true, but if I’m being totally honest, this waiting around to start my spiritual training has been driving me to desperate measures; I’ve become annoyingly tenacious about my future college plans. I don’t want to settle for less.
Michael is quiet, disappointed, and slightly pissed.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You know I hate to disappoint you but—”
“Then don’t,” he snaps, and we lock eyes. His are still blazing indigo but when he sees my reaction, they begin to churn back to pale blue. “Sorry,” he mutters, lowering me to the floor and stepping back. He inhales and shoves his hands into his pockets. I feel empty and alone without his touch.
Me and my stupid mouth.
I really do hate to disappoint him, so I scramble to make amends. “Actually, if I leave now and work on my essays, we can hang out later. Around nine?”
Michael contemplates with a greedy look. “Eight o’clock.”
My eyes narrow, and I decide to ignore his bossy tone, again. “Well, maybe eight-forty-five but—”
“Eight-thirty,” he challenges. He’s being uncharacteristically stubborn and my interest peaks.
“Fine, Michael. Eight-thirty. But I’ll drive to you.” There is a glint in my eyes that says I mean business. See, I can play tough, too.
Michael steps closer, towering over me. He grasps my chin and looks hard into my eyes. “Do. Not. Be. Late,” he warns, and then crushes his mouth onto mine in a quick, demanding kiss that buckles my knees.
Chapter 2
Michael
The faded red barn at the edge of the Patronus property was glowing. Or more precisely, bright blue light was shooting through the cracks and doorjamb like a lightning show. Luckily for Michael, no one but spiritual entities could see the light. It was a spiritually enhanced barn where all manner of spiritua
l training took place. Humans saw the barn as an aged relic and nothing more.
There was no official training today, just Michael letting off steam. Well, if he was being honest, he was letting off sexual frustration. A few weeks ago, Michael noticed that his forbidden desire for Sophia was growing deeper and stronger than he’d imagined. It had become a daily struggle to hide his excessive energy from his family. Even now, inside the barn, Michael could feel Raph, Gabe, and their young cousin, Uriel, watching him from across the peaceful meadow. It didn’t help that Michael had destroyed three spiritually enhanced punching bags in four days.
When he’d been at it for three hours and landed a bare-knuckle haymaker that rocked the bag sideways, Michael stopped to catch his breath. His chest was glistening with sweat, and he grabbed a towel from a nearby tree and wiped down.
“Is there a problem?” he tossed out to anyone who cared to challenge him.
“I’d just like to know what that bag ever did to you.” Raph laughed, drifting up to a tree in the center of the meadow. All around, a bubbling brook stirred the sweet scent of honeysuckle. Raph reclined back on a branch, tucked his hands behind his head, and situated himself for a nap.
Michael knew Raph had been up in his room in the giant Victorian farmhouse across the field. He must have noticed the light flashing all the way from the barn and come to see what was up.
“Why don’t you come down here and take its place?” Michael said, spreading his arms to allow Raph a free shot.
His brother scoffed. “I wouldn’t face you if we were shadow boxing. What’s got you so fired up these days?”
When Michael didn’t answer, Gabe added his two cents.
“It’s the Halos, isn’t it? You haven’t heard anything yet.” Gabe tied the gold belt around his fighting garb as he and Uriel prepared for a sparring lesson with cane poles. Uriel, who was fourteen and had an obsession with animals, brushed the Forest Owlet from his shoulders before it got in the way of his exercises. The owlet flitted to a nearby tree.
Michael turned away, refusing to answer Gabe. He had failed to release enough energy to power down so he paced. And raged inside. His frustration was morphing into anger because he’d been so sure he would be recruited for the winter trials this year. Since he was old enough to save souls, Michael had dreamed of joining the Halos of the Son, an elite team of angelic warriors. But it was early December; the candidates must have already been notified; the winter trials were surely in progress, and yet Michael had heard nothing.
He threw the towel aside and stalked to the sound system. Scrolling down the playlist that Sophia had complied for him, he tapped a song on the iPod: “Fire It Up” by Thousand Foot Krutch. The music swelled like his energy, and he marched back to the spirit bag hanging from a branch. As the song exploded, so did Michael, slamming his fists into the stationary enemy. Over and over, he jabbed and punched. After a series of violent uppercuts, hooks, and stiff jabs, Michael switched to Pankration, an ancient Greek-fighting technique. He bounced on his toes and then viciously kicked the bag with his foot, simulating a crippling liver punch. Then he swung his leg around, destroying the legs of any potential opponent. The pounding continued without hesitation until shards of light shimmered through rips in the bag. The destruction added fuel to Michael’s fire, and he pulverized the bag until too much light escaped, nearly blinding him. He tore it down and hurled it into the water.
“Fetch me another one!” he yelled to his cousin. Uriel flinched at Michael’s sudden command, but before he could obey, a deep voice bellowed from above.
“I have a better idea.”
Michael swung around. There on the stone balcony stood a man. He had the appearance of an ancient warrior with a black cape over black and gold armor. A broadsword was strapped to his back, and the shield on his shoulder bore the sigil of a warrior. Michael recognized the uniform at once: The man was a soldier for the Halos.
Excitement swelled in Michael’s chest. He stood tall and proud, and then remembering himself, waved a hand toward his iPod and killed the music. Raph had bolted upright at the bellowing voice and now dropped to the ground next to Gabe and Uriel. All three stared in awe. Gabe recovered first and followed the code of behavior by lowering himself to one knee. He pulled Raph and Uriel down beside him.
“Michael Patronus,” the man called as he descended an invisible staircase in midair.
When he drew closer, Michael took a knee and bowed his head. “Sir.”
The man stopped before Michael and motioned for everyone to rise. “I am Scout Master Haniel. I am in charge of finding possible recruits for the Halos of the Son. As such, I am hereby sworn to inform you that you have been scouted, vetted, and nominated as a candidate for the winter trials with the sole purpose of becoming a spirit warrior for the Halos of the Son. Do you accept the challenge?” He held out a golden scroll.
Michael stared at it, speechless. After so many years of dreaming of this day, he could hardly believe it had finally arrived. But he hesitated with a selfish thought. He would give anything to have Sophia here to witness this, to share in the start of his future.
“Hell yeah, he accepts!” Raph blurted out when Michael didn’t answer. Gabe elbowed him to stay quiet. “Well, he does.”
Michael’s mouth twitched with a smile. Then he steeled himself, gripped the scroll, and looked Scout Master Haniel dead in the eye.
“Yes, sir, I accept.”
At the moment of his consent, several other candidates about Michael’s age appeared along the balcony where Haniel had stood. They were accompanied by two more Halo warriors who led the candidates down the same invisible staircase.
“This is Chief Master Sachiel and Squad Master Camael,” Haniel announced. “Chief Master is in charge of training for the trials, and Squad Master will assist and assess.” Haniel turned toward Michael, who had taken a knee again. “This is candidate Michael Patronus. He has accepted the challenge.” Michael stood and nodded his affirmation to the Halo Masters.
Chief Master Sachiel was a hardened man with a closely cropped red beard and sympathetic eyes. He looked Michael up and down in close inspection. Squad Master Camael sported black cornrows across his head with colorful African beads that brushed his shoulders. He scratched his soul patch and strolled around, scrutinizing Michael.
“You are the one who killed Demon Knight Dante,” Camael stated with a voice that was gruff and commanding. Michael swelled with pride, eager to explain the details of killing a Demon Knight from the Royal Court, but Camael continued, “Maybe next time you will do more than just decapitate him, yes?”
Michael frowned and glanced at his brothers, who had also killed Demon Knights. What was better than decapitating a demon?
Raph and Gabe were no help and stared with bewildered expressions.
“Well, Camael,” Scout Master Haniel called out cheerfully as he ascended the stairway like an escalator. “These are all the suitable candidates so try not to destroy too many before the final trial, this time. I’m going on hiatus and don’t plan on returning just to track down replacement recruits.”
Camael threw back his head and laughed. Chief Master Sachiel cleared his throat and turned his attention to Michael’s family. He nodded his approval to Gabe and Uriel in their training garb.
“I am pleased to see young guardians working your skills, but if you don’t mind, we will be conducting the winter trials here in the Sanctus Horreum this year. Please give us at least three hours of privacy today.”
Raph and Gabe smiled with pride. They hadn’t heard the holy barn’s spiritual name in years but knew it was an honor for the Halos to select it for training. They quickly gathered their things and Uriel, and left.
When the barn was cleared, the five candidates fell in line and stood at attention with their hands tucked behind them. Squad Master Camael stood aside as Chief Master explained the three-trial process. The first trial was the Test of Spiritual Commitment. The candidates were instructed to disregard al
l earthly distractions, leave behind memories of saved souls, and abandon all pride from defeating evil entities; in short, they would need total concentration and devotion or they would not prove their commitment to the work.
“To begin, you must harness your spiritual energy and retain it here.” Chief Master thumped his fist against his heart. “All of your energy.” He spoke directly to Michael, and the other candidates looked down the line at him. Michael was the only one radiating a cerulean light. His energy was still high, and he shifted uncomfortably, forcing himself to deaden his feelings for Sophia. He’d been imagining their date tonight when he would tell her about his candidacy. He wanted to impress her and make her proud, and well, yeah, show off a little. But none of that would happen if he couldn’t even control himself during the first trial.
He had to focus. He couldn’t afford to be an idiot now.
Michael’s light dimmed, so Chief Master continued. “It’s important to learn to narrow your energy. This is different from when you feel it gathering for the purpose of soul saving. Yes, you must let the energy swell inside you but then you must control it, turn it back on itself. Allow it to flow freely without obstruction throughout your system. But always under your command.”
He strolled among the candidates with his palm out, feeling the power of each individual life force. He nodded encouragingly as the young candidates struggled with the exercise. And then he reached the end where Michael stood.
Oddly enough, this was a technique familiar to Michael. He’d already been training himself to do exactly as Chief Master had instructed, not for the Halos but for Sophia. It was the only way he could control his emotions when she was around. His overwhelming love for her translated to a dominant pulsating energy force. This was also the kinetic instrument he used to pull Sophia to him when he wanted her close.