“Did you get a chance to tell Mom the good news?” I asked.
He put his arm around my shoulders and led me into the kitchen. “Shh,” he said. “I’ll tell her tomorrow. Today’s about you, kid.”
I wished for a button I could press to set my eyes on roll.
Mom walked into the kitchen. “Okay,” she said, “let’s cut the cake.” Her words came out in a rush of air as if she had been holding her breath.
“Wait,” I said. “Uncle Jonah’s here. He’s in the bathroom.”
A look of concern crossed Mom’s face. Dad narrowed his eyes as Jonah made his way into the kitchen. He stumbled as he approached the counter. Jonah put his arms around Dad. At first, Dad’s arms hung limp, but slowly he brought one up to pat Jonah on the back.
Mom smiled, tight-lipped, and opened the box. She removed the cake which she placed on the table. She took out a box of matches from a drawer in the kitchen and lit the three candles. On the cake, written in curly frosting cursive, were the words: Happy Birthday, Lia! They came at me like a neon sign as if I hadn’t heard those words enough. I waited through the cringe-y Happy Birthday song and blew out the candles.
Mom beamed, and tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her waist and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, Mom.”
She cut the cake, and we all sat on the sofa in the living room while we ate. The sofa faced a brick fireplace. The television was mounted above the mantel. Dad’s paintings hung on the walls. A girl stood in a white gown with a raven perched on her head. A dark snake floated through the mazelike cluster of leafless trees rising from the mist. A man sat bent over a heavy book, his face blurred out like a drop of blood in the water.
The airiness of the cake settled on my tongue. Crumbs found their way into my lap. The sharp sweetness of frosting awakened my taste buds as I licked my lips.
Dad finished first and set his plate on the coffee table. He got up and moved behind the sofa. When he came back, he held a box wrapped in silver paper. The box was roughly four feet long and half as wide.
“What’s this?” I asked as he placed the box in front of me on the coffee table. Sim weaved between my ankles.
“Open it,” he said.
I knelt by the table and ripped off the wrapping paper. I took the top off the box. A black guitar case nestled inside. I flipped open the latch. In the case, a guitar lay in a bed of velvet, but not just any guitar. The instrument was a Fender Stratocaster with a lacquer black finish and maple neck, the same guitar played by Pink Floyd guitarist David Gilmour. I cradled the guitar in my hands.
My eyes widened. I looked up at Dad. “This must have cost you a fortune.”
“We’ve been saving up for it since you were nine years old.”
I placed the guitar against my chest and strummed a few notes. The notes carried through the air like whispers. The guitar needed an amp. A Frontman sat in my room for my old Firebird. I couldn’t wait to hook up the Strat and play it.
“Hey, I got you something too.” Uncle Jonah shoved a small box into my line of vision.
I knit my brows and stowed the guitar back in its case. I opened the box Uncle Jonah handed me. A small heart-shaped locket slid inside the box. It looked antique, not my style, but I was so excited about my new guitar I didn’t care. “Thanks,” I said.
“Why don’t you try it on?” he encouraged.
I smiled thin-lipped. “Okay.” I clasped the chain around my neck. The heart-shaped locket dangled upon my black Metallica t-shirt.
“Looks good on you,” said Jonah.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. I wanted to get back to my Strat.
Uncle Jonah grumbled something about needing to use the bathroom. He stood and ambled out of the room.
Dad sat down next to me, and I hugged him and Mom. “Thank you so much. A Strat. I can’t wait to play it on my Frontman.”
“Where do you want to go eat, kiddo?” Dad asked.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Wherever you guys want to go. I’m good with anything.” My eyes swept over the guitar. “I’ll be good with anything for a long time.”
“How about Urban Ambience?” Dad asked.
“That’s all the way in the city,” Mom said.
“Yeah, but how often do we get to go out there. It’s still early. Plus, you can get that drink you like.”
“Well,” she said, “we better leave now.” She got up from the sofa. I’ll go grab my purse. Micah, you might want to check on Jonah. He’s been in there an awful long time.”
Mom disappeared into the hallway, and Dad walked over to the guest bathroom. He banged on the door. “Jonah, everything okay in there?”
I approached the hallway and listened from the other side of the wall.
“Just a minute,” Jonah yelled. The door creaked open, and a thud shook the wall.
“You’re high, aren’t you?” Dad’s voice was tense.
“No,” Jonah stammered.
“How dare you, Jonah? You came to my little girl’s birthday party high, and you’re doing drugs in my bathroom?”
“I wasn’t…”
“Oh, yeah. Then, what’s that?”
Jonah murmured something I couldn’t hear.
“Get it out of here,” Dad said.
Feet marched down the hallway, and the front door slammed. I walked into the hall. Dad’s arm leaned against the doorframe. His head was down.
“You made him leave?” I asked.
Dad rubbed his eyes.
I shook my head. “He can’t help it, Dad. You said to treat people the way you want to be treated, but you’ve never treated Uncle Jonah that way. You always kick him out.”
Mom reached the bottom of the stairs. She put her hands on my shoulders. “Uncle Jonah has a problem,” she said.
“But he can’t help it.”
“It’s the kind of problem that’s not safe for him or us.”
“Uncle Jonah would never do anything to hurt us.”
“Not on purpose,” Mom said. “We can talk about it when we get home. I don’t want you to miss dinner. It’s still a school night. How about a rain check? Deal?”
I was quiet for a moment. Uncle Jonah was sick. Dad knew it. I wished he didn’t kick him to the curb like that. You don’t do that to family. But the hopeful and concerned look in Mom’s eyes told me this was not the time to discuss Uncle Jonah’s problem. I didn’t want to ruin this day for her.
I nodded. “Deal.”
STREET lamps spotlighted the interstate. Darkness shrouded the lake. The headlights of passing cars cast odd shadows inside Dad’s sedan. I nodded to Eulogy as the song blared over the radio, and the rain battered against the windows.
Mom leaned over and put a hand on Dad’s arm. She smiled at him. The smile said I’m happy and I love you without the words. Mom was always good at saying what she meant with an expression or a touch. Dad smiled back.
I wanted to tell Mom that Dad got into the Diavolo gallery. She’d be ecstatic, but I couldn’t do that to him. He wanted to wait to tell her. Maybe he’d tell her tonight after dinner. I imagined the look on her face: a smile erupted, and her eyes crinkled to the point of tearing up.
Dad’s work belonged in the Diavolo gallery. His paintings were as dark and passionate as rock and roll. I shivered. The angel’s eyes punctured my consciousness. He was canvas, nothing more. Art should give you goose bumps sometimes, right?
The rain melted down the window as the railing of the bridge raced. I wanted to bang out a few songs on the guitar. I couldn’t play all night. Mom needed to go to work in the morning.
After two or three songs, I’d head down to the living room to watch TV and eat ice cream till two in the morning. I would be groggy when the bus came the next morning, but I’d settle for tiredness if it meant staying up watching bad movies and playing my Strat.
Lightning ripped the sky and jolted my focus to the front windshield.
Mom screamed.
Something slammed onto the fron
t of the car. The back tires left the ground, and the hood crushed under the pressure.
Wings spread against the sky. White feathers loosed in the wind. A staff impaled into the body of the car. The angel’s eyes fixed on me. The eyes moved like they reflected flames.
The angel kicked off the car, and I felt weightless.
We tumbled. Metal skid against the road. The sedan headed for the concrete guardrail. I screamed as the radio continued to blare on.
Glass around me shattered, but didn’t touch me. The car groaned as pressure caused the front of the vehicle to flatten like a soda can. The seat beside me was caved in, but I was safe. My side hurt from the impact, and I was shaken but otherwise unharmed. The car was turned upside down. The rain stopped.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and fell to the roof of the car. Blood dripped, and my vision blurred.
“Mom, Dad?”
Their bodies dangled from their seats. I reached for Mom’s seatbelt.
“Don’t, honey,” she said. “My legs. They’re stuck.”
The dashboard crushed her legs, and blood slid over her jeans. The car’s windshield was cracked all over.
“I can get you out.” I tried to sound hopeful for me and for her.
Dad’s hand was on mine. His head lulled back and forth. Heat fought against the misty cold.
Dad let go of my hand. A mixture of pain and sadness lit upon his face. “Go, go. Run!” The words sounded difficult for him to get out as if his lungs were collapsed.
“I can’t leave you.” My eyes reflected the flames.
His jaw clenched. His face rang with urgency, fear, and something else: regret. The regret wasn’t because he was dying, although he didn’t want to, regret because he wanted to say goodbye the right way. He cared about stuff like that. But he couldn’t say goodbye the right way because he would feel guilty if he didn’t use his last words to save me. That was all he cared about, but I cared too, and I wouldn’t let them die.
“Mom?”
She looked at me. Blood trailed down her forehead. Her hand stroked the side of my face, and she smiled that smile that said I love you.
The wind ripped through me as an invisible force threw me from the car. I rolled along the road until I stopped belly down palms against the ground. I rose on my knees. My feet were unsteady. I tried to run back to the car. “No!” I screamed, my hand outstretched.
The car went up in an explosion of flames and knocked me to the ground. My body melted into the asphalt. Tears ran down my face. My whole world changed.
Sobs racked me so hard I felt like someone punched me in the chest. I held my hands against the ache. A shadow, faint in the dim, veiled me in deeper darkness.
A man stood over me, a man with wings like the creature who landed on our car. I shuddered. But something put me at ease unlike the terror as I gazed into the eyes of the one like him. His eyes were melted gold, and they shone like metal.
The mist curled around us.
“Who are you?” My voice cracked.
“You can see me.” He squinted like I was something impossible when he was the one with wings.
“Of course,” I said. “But why are you dressed like that?”
He wore a long-sleeved shirt with gloves to cover his hands. The material was metallic like silver. Several cuts marred the fabric. And was that a sword at his side?
Like a knight out of the Middle Ages, he had a sword with a silver hilt that hung in a sheath at his side. Had this man, if I could call him that, fought that monster who attacked us?
Flames still flared from the sedan. I clung to him. “My parents, you have to help my parents.” The chances were slim, but I saw other impossible things that night. “Please,” I begged.
The golden-eyed stranger shook his head. “They’re gone, and you have to come with me.”
I rubbed my temples. I must have hit my head when I was thrown from the car. Maybe I was hallucinating. I might have gotten a concussion when I hit the ground. No, you were seeing things before you were thrown from the car. I wasn’t hallucinating, I just wished I was. This winged stranger asked me to go with him. “I can’t. I don’t even know you.”
“I’m Adriel. I can protect you. But coming with me isn’t really up to you.”
I gaped at him. “You want to kidnap me?” I reached into my back pocket for my phone. He didn’t try to stop me. Dizzy, I backed away and pressed the speed dial for Jonah.
“Uncle Jonah?”
“Lia? How’s everything going, hon?” His words were slow.
“We were attacked,” I said.
“Attacked? Where are you?” Jonah’s voice was clarity mixed with panic.
“We got into an accident on the bridge.” My thoughts were clearer. I didn’t want to look at the winged man who stood a couple feet from me. I didn’t want to admit what I was seeing. Not now. No time for crazy now. “Please, come. I think Mom and Dad are dead.” I sobbed out the last words. I didn’t know if he heard.
“Oh, my God, Li. Stay right where you are. I’m calling the police.”
The call ended, and the screen faded to black.
“We don’t have time to wait for the police,” said Adriel, “and they won’t be able to keep you safe.”
Keep me safe? My parents were gone. No one would keep me safe anymore. The world is a lyre, and its music is sorrow.
My head swam. I fell, but Adriel caught me before I hit the ground, right before everything went dark.
TWO
HIS eyes were cobalt blue, not the eyes of evil, but I grinned in relish while he burned. His staff lie useless on the ground as my fingers curled around his neck. And all around us angels fell. They plunged from the sky, fiery like shooting stars.
My eyelids were difficult to open like honey crusted over them. I blinked. The bed was soft beneath me. Above me was an off-white ceiling and a dusty fan. Dull orange light poured in.
I hauled myself onto my elbows. Every muscle in my body ached, and my skin felt bruised all over. A television sat in the hollowed-out wardrobe.
A presence lingered near me. I glanced to my left. A pair of wings consumed my vision. He stood by the window with his back to me. I yelped and scrambled to the other side of the bed.
“You’re awake.” Adriel turned, and I breathed a sigh. I didn’t understand why his presence brought me such relief, but it did.
A headache was coming on. I rubbed my temples. “Where am I?”
“You’re at a motel,” said Adriel. “I fought him off. But I was afraid he might return.”
“Who?”
“The one who attacked you.”
Adriel wore a dark jacket over a white t-shirt and black jeans. A dozen horizontal cuts patterned the jeans, like he got into a knife fight. No, the rips were the style of the jeans unless the knife fight was with a dwarf or someone who crouched a lot.
I hoped that the stranger who pulled me from the scene of a car crash and watched me from my school wasn’t the type of guy who got into knife fights.
Although the silvery armor he wore the night before also bore a pattern of cuts. That night, he had a sword. Where was that weapon now? Had I imagined it? Was I imagining him?
His wings glimmered in and out of focus like my mind was trying to reject their existence.
I approached him.
“Stand back,” he said. “And don’t touch me.”
I narrowed my eyes. If anyone should be scared, that person was me. Whoever this man was, he had wings like the monster who killed my parents. But despite that, this odd sense of comfort lingered around him, more than comfort. I felt as if he could protect me from anything.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked.
The room smelled musty. The comforter lay at the foot of the bed. I must have kicked the blanket off me last night. Did he watch me sleep?
My danger meter should have been off the charts, but for some odd reason this perfect stranger made me feel safe. He was so familiar.
He stared ou
t the door’s peephole. He moved to the window and pulled back the curtain enough for him to peer outside.
I was transfixed by the white wings on his back. A glow came off them, like the moon against the dark sky.
“Hello?”
“You’ll be safe here at least till morning.” He didn’t look at me but continued to peer out the window.
“Safe? What are you talking about? Why would I not be safe?”
“Do I have to remind you what happened out there?” He turned around and faced me.
He was tall, more than a head taller than me anyway. His eyes were bright like a light shined behind them. He pushed all the darkness away.
I forced my eyes shut and shook my head. No, he didn’t have to remind me that my parents were dead, that a beautiful monster hurdled onto their car and pierced me with those horrible eyes.
Adriel turned away to look out the window one last time before he closed the curtains to the morning light.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “I won’t stay here with a stranger in a Halloween costume.” I grabbed the door handle. Before I could turn the knob, his gloved hand was around my wrist.
“If you go, he will find you.” His voice was a whisper but held more power than any words I’d ever heard spoken.
My heart dropped. Could he mean the man who murdered Mom and Dad? But that was in my head.
“He who?” I asked.
“Raphael.”
“The painter?”
“The Archangel.”
Did he say Archangel?
“Um.” I didn’t know what to say. They couldn’t be real. A licensed therapist told me that much. I was in a seedy motel room with a crazy person. Sure, the costume was convincing, but whoever this guy was, he was one of the men who followed me. Maybe he thought I figured out that he belonged to a super-secret gang, and they needed to kill me. But that didn’t make any sense either.
I was hospitalized because I told my caseworker that I saw winged people and dark monsters. No one else ever saw them. I was the crazy one. The stress was too much. I was hallucinating again. But I never talked to one before. Maybe I should have let them lock me up in a psych ward.
“Look,” I said. “I know what I’m seeing isn’t real. I mean you have wings, and you’re telling me that an Archangel is after me. Oh, my god, what am I saying? This isn’t real. I’m talking to a hallucination.” I turned my back to him.
The Wings of Heaven and Hell (The Arcadian Steel Sequence Book 1) Page 2