“How old is it?” asked Imorean. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the building. The golden sunset overhead only made it look more ancient. High pillars, a slanted roof and every angle perfectly designed. It was a marvel of ancient architecture. In spite of the evening, the plaza in front of the Pantheon was still crowded with residents and tourists.
“Hmm … nearly two thousand years old.”
“That’s just insane,” Imorean grinned. “Nearly as old as you.”
“You push your luck, Frayneson. Come on. We should go to our hotel. I am sure that the Cherubim will be looking for me already.”
“How will we recognize them?” asked Imorean, falling into step next to Michael.
“A majority of them are wearing uniforms.”
“Don’t tell me they’re the police. Michael, don’t look at me like that.” He stared at Michael, whose sheepish expression deepened. “They’re the police, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Precisely why I have been ejected from this country several times.”
“I could get into real legal trouble doing this for you.”
“Tell me, what is the worst that could happen?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Become an international criminal, maybe?”
“What do international statutes matter to angels? We are immortal and adhere to laws and codes all our own.”
“I don’t want to get arrested,” snapped Imorean.
“Lower your voice,” said Michael. “You will bring the Cherubim down on us.”
“Just … just tell me you’ve got a plan. And that it’s not something stupid.”
“We go to them before they come to us.”
“I said not stupid, Michael. I thought the plan was to avoid them.”
“I have to give them a chance to bargain, Imorean. Once I have given them that chance and they deny it, then we steal from them. Personally, I would also rather go to them before they have the opportunity to find out where we are located.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just skip the first part? Giving away our element of surprise seems weird to me,” said Imorean.
“We have to do things this way, unfortunate though it is. Angel politics and decorum are a mess. It is easier to stay out of them whenever possible. This is part of the reason I dislike interdepartmental relations so much. Gabriel is better at them than I am.”
Imorean turned down a narrow side street with Michael. A few dark doorways lined the walls. Businesses all closed for the day. “Why didn’t you bring Gabriel instead of me?”
“Because Gabriel is in equally as bad of standing with the Cherubim as I am. We orchestrated liberating the Holy Grail together.”
Imorean snorted. “Liberating? And I suppose that’s your excuse for getting the map? We’re ‘liberating’ it and putting it to good use?”
Michael plowed on, his wings, unseen by human eyes, twitching. “Raphael is still in good standing with them and I do not want to tarnish his reputation. I would not want Uriel with me on a mission like this, given his track record. Nor would I want any of the Lower Archangels. For the reason I told you before, you are undetectable by the Cherubim. They will not notice you.”
Imorean paused, a question on the tip of his tongue, but Michael stopped dead. “What is it?”
Michael shushed him. Imorean looked back toward the end of the street they had just come from. It was dark there now, not lit up by streetlights. He strained his ears. It was quieter down here than it had been in the main plaza. Much quieter. Almost too quiet. He stiffened. He could sense something. Something outside the norm.
“Cherubim?” he asked, pushing the thought toward Michael. A vague sense of affirmation was all he got back. Imorean held still. Brown eyes stayed riveted on the darker end. What was that? Sound. Footsteps? Yes. Definitely footsteps. Coming closer and closer every passing second.
Worry. He could sense worry from Michael. They would be caught before they had even started.
“Can’t you teleport us out of here?” asked Imorean.
“No. My movements are too deliberate. They would be able to follow them or at least suspect where I had gone.”
The steps were closer now. Imorean’s ears strained toward the end of the alley.
“Move!” Imorean dove forward, knocking Michael backward into one of the darkened shop doorways. Michael stumbled and Imorean found himself braced against him. But they were hidden. Out of sight. For the moment. He flattened himself as far against the wall as he possibly could, watching through his peripherals as two figures walked around the corner at the end of the alley.
“This is cozy. What now?” asked Michael. Even the thought was a whisper.
“I hadn’t got that far. You’re sure you can’t teleport?”
“Positive. But … you can.”
“No, I can’t. I don’t know how.”
“Just focus.”
“Oh, thanks, Michael. On what?”
Twin sets of footsteps drew closer. Imorean was certain the figures in the alley with them could hear the thundering of his heart.
“Anywhere we have been today. Anything. It can be random,” replied Michael.
Imorean’s mind churned. Somewhere they had been today. Hard to choose. Switzerland? Anywhere along the train journey? Somewhere in Rome? Their hotel? What was Michael after?
“Hurry.”
“I am. Be patient for once in your life.”
“Somewhere that is not the hotel.”
“Okay!”
Nerves seized Imorean’s mind. A bridge over the Tiber River. One they had crossed earlier in the day. Michael’s hand landed on his wrist and gripped tight.
“Reach for it through the astral plane. Bring the location to you as you push the rest of the world away.”
Imorean gritted his teeth. Easier said than done. Faster than he ever had before, he forced himself onto the astral plane and focused. He didn’t pay attention to the orange soul-life of the world around him. He didn’t have time. In his mind’s eye, he saw the bridge and desperately tried to reach for it, all while not moving a single muscle. God, the only times he had ever done this had been out of desperation. How could Michael expect it of him now? Under pressure.
“The bridge.”
“Good. Get us there.”
The bridge. The bridge. Get to the bridge. That was all that mattered. The voices were distinct now, speaking a language Imorean felt he should have known. But the bridge was rising to his reach. A surge of energy crashed against the side of his head. Stone beneath him fell away. Reality dissolved.
The world flashed white. Stark. Almost blinding.
Boots hit the ground. Imorean slipped. He was falling backward. The world distorted. Everything was dark. Orange. Dark. Orange. Dark. He flailed his arms, trying to gain purchase on thin air. Wings snapped outward, a second attempt to stop his downward fall. No help. Dimly, he heard a crash, then he was underwater. Sinking. Bubbles leaped from his mouth, opened in a silent scream. Brown eyes opened. Black water. Nothing. And panic. Terror grabbed every single vein as Imorean paddled furiously under the water. Which way was up? He couldn’t think straight. Up. Down. They were both the same. Interchangeable. Which one was which? A second crash from somewhere overhead. There was an arm around his chest, pulling upward. His head broke the surface. Someone was holding him, body pressed flush against his, keeping him up on his feet. A desperate gasp pulled air deep into Imorean’s lungs. Air. He coughed, filthy water from the Tiber River running down his face. The arm across his chest tightened.
“Breathe.”
Imorean looked over his shoulder. Michael stood behind him, shoulder-deep in the river. Turning, Imorean coughed again, spitting away more water. “I could breathe better if you weren’t half choking me.”
“Sorry,” replied Michael, loosening his grip. “You seemed to be in some distress.”
“Distress? I teleported and fell in the river, Michael. I feel like distress is an understatement,” said Imorean. He pressed
a hand to his throat. His voice sounded hoarse. Michael dropped his arms. Imorean floundered. Boots sunk into the mud at the bottom of the river and the water came level with his eyes.
“You got us out of the alley. And in a pressurized situation, no less,” said Michael, turning and wading through the water to the footpath bordering the side of the river. Imorean groaned aloud as he felt a brief wave of amusement from Michael. “You missed the bridge by more than four hundred yards, but I am pleased with your work. Even if it did end up with both of us in the river. I doubt the Cherubim would have expected this sort of destination.”
Following more slowly, Imorean traced Michael’s path. With the depth of the water, it was easier to swim. He clambered out of the river and onto the footpath, pushing up to unsteady feet. His clothes were heavy and he felt sick, his stomach turning against him. “Can we just go back to the hotel? I think I’m going to die.”
He swallowed as Michael faced him again. Under the yellow streetlights, Michael’s eyes shifted, going from amused to concerned in a fraction of a heartbeat.
“You are bleeding.”
“Yeah? What’s new?”
He flinched as Michael reached out, long fingers swiping his earlobe and coming away shiny with blood. Imorean’s stomach turned again. Seeing his own blood reflected darkly under the lamplight was doing nothing to help his nausea.
“Is it normal for your ears to bleed?”
“No.”
“Come on,” said Michael. “I have some first aid supplies in my bag at the hotel.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The smell of rubbing alcohol had always made Imorean feel sick. Having alcohol swabs this close to his nose was doing his lingering nausea no favors. Sitting with his eyes closed seemed to make the smell easier to block out. Then again, he would rather smell rubbing alcohol as opposed to the Tiber River any day. He was just glad they were back at the hotel.
“I am no Raphael, but my intuition says this is nothing more than some minor barotrauma,” said Michael. “Combined with the energy used during astral plane movements and shifting both of us, I can hardly say I am surprised. Other than your ears bleeding, how are you feeling now?”
“Still nauseous,” replied Imorean, cracking one eye open. They were both sitting on Michael’s bed, a small pile of bloodied cotton swabs clustered in a plastic bag between them. Imorean swallowed and looked away.
“As expected. Extreme releases of power have a tendency to do that, and as this was one of your first times making a teleport, I am not surprised that you do not feel well. You should get some rest. We will offer the Cherubim a compromise tomorrow.”
“Yeah, what’s the plan with them?”
“At the outset, we will go peacefully to them. Remain as close to me as you can. Watch my back and I will watch yours. For now, regain your energy.”
Imorean yawned. “Sounds like a plan, I guess. I just wish you’d be a little clearer about what you want to do.”
“Long experience has taught me that in these situations, often the less others know, the better.”
“And you say I have trust issues,” replied Imorean, standing up. He sifted through his bag for a moment, looking for something more comfortable to wear.
“You should have a rest,” said Michael.
Imorean turned. There was something hard in Michael’s voice now. He took a breath and stepped into the bathroom. Sometimes with Michael there was just no winning. He should know that by now. He looked at his phone as it connected to the hotel’s internet. It should have received some messages. He swallowed. A picture message from Ryan. A text from Colton and Kadia each. Nothing from Roxy. Roxy hadn’t sent him a single thing. He opened the messages from Colton and Kadia. Each one asked him how he was doing and when he would be back. He shot a return text to each of them, hoping one of them would pass the information along to Roxy. Words couldn’t express how much he missed her. He ran a hand through his hair. His affection for her was something he didn’t tell her nearly enough. And he knew it. His fingers shifted on the screen and he opened the picture message Ryan had sent him. His heart dropped to the floor. The picture was taken at a distance, but Imorean recognized each of the figures in the photo by their wings. Colton’s bright red, artificial ones were among them. Outlined against a white, glacial background, Imorean could see Ryan’s huge, dark wings taking the forefront of their arrowhead formation. He took a breath. Ryan was his second in command. Ryan did lead the squad while he was away … and by now, he was away more than he was with them.
Imorean shook his head. His fingers tapped the screen as he typed up a reply. Looking great! What else could he possibly say? The formation was solid, even if he wasn’t the one leading it. No reply. It must be the middle of the night for them. He turned his phone off.
Chapter 53
Cold wind tore across frozen ground. Imorean stared ahead. Sunlight bounced off the snow. Glare seared his eyes. He squinted. There, in the far distance, was a line of figures. Were they human? He couldn’t tell. A few drifts of snow blew across the open ground. He could barely count the shapes. There were over ten. But why so many? Snow crunched on either side of him. Spooked, Imorean spun. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel had appeared out of nowhere. Their glowing, astral eyes were fixed ahead, staring into some distant abyss that Imorean himself could not see. Michael’s neon eyes turned and lingered on him. Imorean stilled. The expression in Michael’s eyes pinned him where he stood. Choose. Choose what? He swallowed. Six pairs of wings flared. Two pairs of emerald. One pair of green-mottled tawny. Blue-black. Deep brown. The ground beneath Imorean’s feet shook and he slipped on the ice. Hands and knees hit the frozen surface hard. A second, stronger tremor.
“Imorean.”
He looked up. The voice. He knew it. Female. He snapped to his feet, white wings pulling him up.
“Imorean.”
A second speaker, more authoritative. Male. Imorean looked over his shoulder. Michael’s glowing eyes were on him. Imorean swallowed, caught between the two groups. He looked back to the first. Another voice, one he knew equally well called his name again. A pang tore through his heart. Roxy. His best friend. They may not have truly talked for some time now, but she was still his best friend. He spun on his heel and sprinted forward across the icy landscape toward her. Toward them. A third tremor rocked the world and Imorean fell hard on the ice. Something black squirmed beneath the surface, flooding the area. He scrambled to his feet again. Black smoke shattered the ice, engulfing him. Feathers settled against his wings. Imorean swallowed. He was back-to-back with someone. Someone he had a horrible feeling that he knew.
“You and me, Imorean.”
Oh, yes, he knew. That voice. A voice that would never fail to chill him. Vortigern. He took a breath. No light pierced the darkness where they now stood.
“Whoever, however, you choose. It’ll be you and me at the end. You know that. I’ll be waiting.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Imorean gasped and sat bolt upright. He was drenched in his own sweat. Vortigern’s voice in his dream had been unmistakable. He swallowed and shook his head, trying to loose himself from the lingering anxiety of the dream. A tremble rushed from his chest and he swallowed again. He glanced over at Michael, who lay on his back, eyes open, green and glowing. On the astral plane. He looked at his watch, the black stone face illuminated green by the night light. Three fifty-nine in the morning. The second hand ticked past the twelve, heralding four. As though he had an internal clock, Michael’s eyes faded back to normal and he stirred.
“Ah, you are already awake. Perfect,” said Michael.
“Yeah,” nodded Imorean. His voice was quieter than he had intended.
There was a pause, then Michael broke the settling quiet. “What is it?”
“Just a dream,” muttered Imorean. “It’s fading now.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just a little rattled. That’s all.” Imorean turned and glared as he fe
lt a push against the side of his head. Michael. Probing again. He mentally shoved Michael’s presence away with both hands, and across the room, Michael flinched. “I’ve told you, Michael. Don’t pressure my mind for information.”
“I apologize,” replied Michael. “Seeing as you are up, we can go on and speak with the Cherubim now. The city will be quieter.”
“Will they be awake?” asked Imorean, the question out of his mouth before he could really think.
Michael scoffed. “No angel needs sleep, Imorean. The Cherubim even less so than others. They never sleep. Gabriel sleeps because he enjoys it. All an angel needs to recharge is to enter the astral plane. Sleep is not part of us.”
“Right. Yeah, sorry. I forgot. So we’re going now?”
“We are indeed.”
Imorean nodded in the darkness. “What do you need me to do?”
“Stay behind me. Do not speak to the Cherubim. Watch my back. I will need you now more than ever.”
Imorean locked Michael in his gaze. He could just see his outline. “Are you sure you trust me to do that?”
“Beyond all doubt. Now, get your sword and stay with me.”
Imorean stood and buckled his sword on his back. Its familiar weight was a morbid comfort to him. His defense. Someone else’s possible death sentence. He turned. Lamplight streamed in through their open window. Michael crouched just inside, wings half flared.
“Lead on,” said Imorean.
Michael slithered out of the window like a wraith, dropping from sight for a heartbeat, then swooping back into view, green wings beating. Imorean raced across the room. Hands rested on the window frame, then he hurled himself out into the night.
It was cool, next to no humidity. Imorean beat his wings a few times to catch up to Michael and glanced down. Artificial, yellow light from below shone upward, illuminating them. There was something comforting in it. Imorean tilted his wings, the bottoms of them reflecting orange, and coasted next to Michael.
“How many Cherubim are there?” asked Imorean.
“Not many, but their forces are centralized here. They have been for centuries.”
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