“Take mine. It works almost anywhere,” said Michael, fishing in his pocket and maintaining his hold on Gabriel.
“Dude, what’s going on? What does your mother have to do with this? What’s wrong?” asked Toddy, looking at Imorean in confusion.
“I—it—it’s a long story,” replied Imorean, diving to catch Michael’s phone. He opened it and entered the long series of area codes and his mother’s phone number from memory. His hands were shaking. He swallowed hard as it rang once. Twice. Three times. Waiting was agonizing. Imorean’s heart thundered a tattoo in his chest, yet, at the same time, it seemed to barely beat at all.
“Hello?” came a voice down the line. It wasn’t his mother’s voice. The voice was aristocratic, firm and most definitely male.
“Who is this?” asked Imorean, his grip on the phone tightening as his blood ran cold in his veins. The world stopped and stood still. Michael was looking at him in pale green concern. None of the other students were moving.
“If I didn’t know who I was talking to, I would be asking you the same question,” chuckled the voice down the phone line. Imorean’s breath hitched. He had heard this voice before. He had heard this voice over Christmas break. This voice belonged to the creature who wanted to murder him. The demon commander Vortigern.
“Where’s my mother?” asked Imorean, his voice weaker than he had intended. He could now feel the eyes of all the other students on him. The center of the action. He was the focus. He wished they would look away.
“Roxy, watch my brother,” said Michael. Imorean barely heard him. The Archangel’s voice was little more than a murmur in the background.
“Your mother is on her way to the place where I will send all those who help you and the rest of those festering angels,” hissed Vortigern down the phone. “Turn around.”
Imorean spun, looking at the nearest television. It crackled, the screen went static, then suddenly it launched into life. Every eye in the great room turned, riveted to the screen. The grinning figure of Vortigern was in the center of the screen. His gray eyes were as cold as stone and empty as a freshly dug grave. Behind him, Imorean could see the interior of his own house. Windows were smashed and one of the couches looked as though it had been overturned. Somewhere nearby, Roxy gasped loudly. Imorean dropped Michael’s phone.
“Nice laptop your mother’s got here, Imorean. Still can’t keep your tech lines safe, can you, brother?” asked Vortigern, his voice hollow in the tiny phone speaker.
“Let her go,” said Imorean, his breath coming more quickly. This couldn’t be happening. Vortigern couldn’t have his mother. He had just spoken to her that morning. No. Vortigern couldn’t have her. It wasn’t possible. Please, no. The television volume burst into life. Imorean felt as though he had been punched in the gut when he heard the sound of his mother screaming in the background. She was out of the screen, but Imorean would know her voice anywhere. Her cry sounded like a garbled version of his name. There were higher, shriller cries as well. Rachel and Isaac. All of a sudden, the sounds were louder, as though the volume had been turned up. Screams, wails, begs. Imorean stared in horror, paralyzed by fear. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. He was powerless. Vortigern looked over his shoulder, tipped his head back and laughed. A chorus of voices joined his. Raucous, heinous laughter. Reveling in causing terror. Laughter, screams, laughter, screams, laughter, screams. All the sounds blurred into one. This couldn’t be happening! Imorean himself all but wailed as he heard his mother cry out for Isaac and Rachel to be left alone. He barely heard the sounds of panic around Felsenmeer’s entrance hall.
“Please,” begged Imorean, staring directly at Vortigern. “Please. Don’t do this. I’ll do anything. Just let them go. They’ve done nothing.”
“Oh, Imorean. I told you when I first met you that I wanted to watch you bleed. You didn’t listen, did you?” said Vortigern in a sing-song voice. Imorean covered his mouth as a few tears rolled down from his eyes. His breath came in sobs. There was a dark laugh from the speakers, and Vortigern hummed softly, that satisfied, passionate smile still on his face. His voice was everywhere.
Imorean barely noticed it when Michael rested a hand on his shoulder. He was desperately scanning the screen for his mother. Vortigern looked back at the camera.
“Ah, it’s not just your mother, you know, sonny boy. I’m sure you can hear your two little siblings crying out for you. They’ve been doing that for some time. They want their big brother to come and rescue them. So sweet. How much they love you is just so cute and the thought that you’ll come and rescue them is even cuter. I have also had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your old grandparents too. Very interesting guy, your grandfather. I’ve met him before. During Vietnam, I think… It all boils down to the same result, dear boy, I hold your cards now. I win.”
Imorean’s hands went slack and his heart seemed to still in his chest. His whole family. Vortigern had his whole family and he was going to kill them. Michael stood next to him and addressed Vortigern directly.
“Vortigern,” said Michael in a voice that echoed absolute fury. “Let Imorean’s family go or I swear I will–”
“You’ll what?” hissed Vortigern. “Sorry, big brother. I don’t take orders from you. If you want to save them though… meet me at my Dzhendema base in Bulgaria. You have ten minutes.”
Michael snarled. “I cannot get there in ten minutes. Dzhendema is a fragment of area under your control. You would have me cross an undisputed border?”
“Hmph. So much for angels being able to teleport. Shame. Amelia’s a pretty woman. Seems almost a waste to toss her into the horrible nightmare of death itself. I feel sorry for your brother, too. He’s got a soft spot for Amelia, doesn’t he?”
“Michael… please,” whimpered Imorean, turning his eyes onto his mentor. He hadn’t realized he’d started crying. Michael gave him a sidelong glance.
“More time, Vortigern. Just give me more time.”
“Sorry, Mikey. This game is set up to my rules. No more time is allotted to any players… but you do have something I want. Hand over Imorean and we’ll call it even. His family lives.”
“Absolutely not,” snapped Michael, walking a few paces toward the television. Imorean trailed behind him, waiting to see what the Archangel would do.
“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to send you all a video of Imorean’s family screaming for mercy as I destroy them, won’t I? Tell Imorean to enjoy it,” said Vortigern with a laugh. The commander spun the camera. Imorean caught a glimpse of his mother, her desperate, terrified eyes finding his own. The screen clicked and went black.
Imorean looked up at Michael as the Archangel turned to face him. There was clear apology written in his green eyes. Even his impassive face of stone seemed to have broken. Empathy. Michael then raised his eyes to view the rest of the students. The businesslike, cold mask was back on his face. Gabriel had managed to struggle to his feet.
“Roxy, show your classmates to their rooms. Gabriel take yourself to the hospital wing. Some of the staff there will treat you.”
“What about my family?” asked Imorean, standing between Michael and the others.
“There is nothing I can do about them now. I am sorry, Imorean.”
“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do?” shouted Imorean, not caring about the eyes of the students boring into his back.
“I mean that Vortigern has deliberately set us up for a game that we cannot win,” replied Michael. “I am sorry.”
“No! You said it yourself, you’re one of the most powerful creatures in the universe. Then prove it! Do something useful for once and help my family.”
“I do not have the manpower to save them, nor do I have enough time. Vortigern has set up parameters we cannot meet. That is the point of his game,” said Michael tersely. “Right now, I must ensure that the rest of the students are remaining as safe as we can keep them. They are my priority.”
“I’m begging you
.”
Michael shook his head.
“How can you do this?” snarled Imorean, his temper getting the best of him. “How dare you let Vortigern take and hold my family? No member of my family is expendable! I don’t have a massive family like you do! They’re all I have!”
“Imorean–” said Michael in a warning tone. The Archangel took a step toward him and Imorean took one back. The atmosphere in the room was tense and heavy. Dimly, Imorean was aware of Roxy taking the opportunity to start ushering the students toward the stairs in an attempt to get them out of the crossfire of the argument that was getting ready to erupt. Gabriel lingered on the outskirts of the lobby.
“Don’t!” shouted Imorean. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t you dare chastise me! You can’t abandon them like this! They aren’t just something you can sacrifice!”
“Imorean, if I saw that we had even the slightest chance of getting to your family in enough time to save them, I would go and help them, but I do not see any chance.”
“They’re my family. There’s always a chance! You just don’t care!” A fresh set of tears ran down Imorean’s cheeks. “For the love of God, help me!”
“We will not get there in time,” said Michael, shaking his head. His voice was soft and much more gentle than usual.
It was the condescending, gentle tone that caused Imorean to snap. He flared his wings and launched forward. Hands curled into fists. His left caught Michael square on the chin. Hard. The Archangel stumbled back one step. Imorean took flight. He arced up high toward the ceiling. He thanked the powers that be for Felsenmeer’s high ceilings and angel-friendly design. He needed a way out of the building. Now. He dove down, heading for the main door that was still open after Michael had hit the emergency bar. He had almost reached it. Gabriel hauled it shut. Imorean pulled out of the dive and banked sharply. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Michael was also in the air. Already, the Archangel was catching on his heels. Imorean twisted down and away from him. His wings tight against his sides. He was mere feet from the floor. Suddenly, Imorean saw his escape. His only opportunity to get away from Felsenmeer and make even the slightest attempt at helping his family.
Imorean smacked down hard into the wooden floor and skidded for a few feet. A couch stopped his slide. He whirled around, tucked his wings tight against his sides and ascended sharply. Michael’s hand just grazed the back of his sleeve. All eyes were on him. Nobody quite dared move. The white-haired teenager pulled his wings all the way against his sides, making his body as flat as possible, as he slipped through the empty pane of glass above the main doors. A flash of emerald clouded his vision for a moment, but Imorean was already through the window. Michael was too large to fit through the narrow gap. Imorean knew that Michael’s size would buy time. In the back of his mind, he thanked Michael for breaking the glass only minutes before. It was colder outside than it had been minutes ago. Much colder. Imorean pushed the cold away. He had vastly bigger things to worry about now. The tracks his tears had made as they ran down his face froze immediately. The perishing wind bit all the way through his clothes. The snow battering his face beat the same sporadic drumbeat as his heart. Imorean darted a glance at his wings. There seemed to be a dusting of ice on both of them. Not good. Imorean shook his head. He couldn’t lose his only chance to go after his family. Not now. How long did he have? Five minutes? Somewhere in his rational mind, it registered that Michael had been right and that he would have no chance of crossing an entire ocean and half a continent in five minutes. But he had to try. Anything to try. He couldn’t sit back. He had to feel as though he was doing something to help them. He beat his wings hard and ascended up into the clouds, hoping to find a way out of the billowing snow. Soldier on. For as long as he could keep going, he would. The golden lights of Felsenmeer dropped out of sight as he ascended into the frigid, winter sky.
Imorean had lost track of how long he had been in flight. Snow blurred his sight. Darkness above him, darkness below him. Nothingness. A strong gust of wind blew him entirely off course. It tossed him around like a small ship on an ocean, tumbling him over and over again. All of a sudden, he couldn’t tell which way was up and which way was down. Dizzy and disoriented, Imorean tried to right himself, but before he could do so, he was caught in another wind current. All knowledge of how to navigate strong air currents deserted Imorean as he began to panic. He couldn’t be caught in a blizzard now! He had to save his family. Imorean whined and fought against the wind current, folding his wings, twisting, ascending, diving, pulling, pushing, rolling. Doing everything he could think of to get out of it. But he couldn’t. It was stronger than him. Frustrated, he shouted to the sky, forcing his wings down as hard as he could. Snow clouded his vision and he couldn’t see. Everything was blurred. Minute by minute, his hope of being able to save his family filtered out of his heart. Michael had been right. There had been no chance to begin with.
Even if the Archangel had been able to teleport both of them to Bulgaria, the effort of doing so could have killed him. All of a sudden, a muscle in one of Imorean’s wings snapped and he cried out. He couldn’t feel it. His left wing was limp next to him. Raising it to flap hurt. Imorean looked in desperation at his right wing, hoping he would be able to glide back to the ground with just one, but his hope was dashed by horror upon seeing that a thick crust of ice had formed on the feathers. He rose up, fighting the air… and stalled. He hung, for what seemed like an eternity, in the terrible black sky. Then he fell. Torrents of air tugged and grabbed at him. Gravity was stronger. It pulled him down. Imorean knew he was powerless to fight as he tumbled head over heels, his wings fluttering uselessly on either side of him. He could not fight. He was overpowered. Imorean couldn’t even hear his cry over the howling wind as his back crashed into something solid, cold and hard. Stars flashed in front of his vision as his head smacked into what felt like rock. His teeth caught the inside of his cheek and blood flooded his mouth. He couldn’t move. Terrible paralysis swamped him. Had he broken his back? All feeling was sucked from him. He could feel neither his hands nor his feet. Numbly, Imorean tried to feel what he had crashed into, but all sense of touch was gone from his fingers. As quickly as he had stopped moving, he started again. This time though, he was falling down toward the ground, dragged down again by gravity. Imorean landed on the fresh, powder snow with a sense of terrible finality. His wings were too iced over now to be of any use. One of his wings was utterly useless. His body was battered and beaten. His back may be broken. He was bleeding. Snow was landing on his clothes and soaking through the fabric. Imorean though took little notice of it. He raised his head, wanting to crawl forward. But for what? He would never make it to save his family. He was never going to have made it. Imorean’s head dropped down to the snow and he stared listlessly into the gray, shadowy world closing around him. He glanced at his watch. It had been his father’s. The iced over face ticked away time without mercy. The minutes were over. Vortigern’s game, complete with goals that were unattainable. It was finished. Imorean couldn’t even find it within him to cry as he thought of his family, far, far away and ready to be murdered. It wasn’t right. He was wretched. Useless. Incapable. Powerless. The only Archangel-hybrid in the world and he was powerless to stop the murder of his own family. Why him? Why was it him that had to be dragged into this?
Imorean smiled slightly, his lips cracking and bleeding. Hadn’t Vortigern gotten what he wanted in the end? Separated now from everyone he loved, Imorean was dying. He was far away from Michael, his friends, his family. Alone. Preparing to sink into death. He sighed silently. Vortigern had managed it. He had won his game. How nice for him. An entire family decimated in one night. Imorean’s brown eyes finally fluttered shut. He didn’t think he really felt cold anymore. Everything was surreal and the world was slipping away. Slowly, Imorean closed his eyes. If death was coming, he welcomed it.
Imorean’s eyes flicked opened a fraction as he heard voices in the far reaches of his mind. All of a su
dden, there was activity. Lights were shining on him. Were those car doors slamming that he could hear? Where was he again? Was this death? It would be a strange way to enter what lay beyond life. Imorean closed his eyes again.
“Imorean,” said a distant voice. It was familiar.
“Come on,” said a second voice. “Get him inside. We need to get him back. We are taking you home, Imorean.”
Imorean didn’t react as he felt himself being lifted from the cold ground. He tried to whine as his injured wing was jarred, but no sound left his mouth. He could feel the primary feathers dragging through the soft powder. There were more distant noises that didn’t make much sense to him. Soon he was being laid down on a soft surface and lukewarm air was being blown over him. It was artificial. Too dry to be natural. Someone pulled a blanket up around his shoulders.
“Why did you have to do this, Imorean?” said someone in a quiet, relieved voice. A warm hand hesitantly stroked his head for a moment, then stopped when Imorean opened his eyes ever so slightly. He was somehow surprised to see Michael looking down at him. Seeing Michael meant that he hadn’t died. For a little while, he was convinced that he had. Michael’s face was lined with concern and those emerald eyes were wide in what looked like fear. Imorean wanted to smile at him, wanted to apologize, although he couldn’t quite remember what for. Instead his eyes flickered closed again, shutting out the world once more.
Chapter 7
Imorean wasn’t sure what woke him. Whether it was the sudden feeling of warmth washing over him like a tidal wave or if it was the crackling and popping noises nearby. All he knew was that something woke him. Slowly, he opened his eyes. They hurt to open. Imorean looked around with bleary vision and thought he recognized the high shelves and muted, green colors of the library. Why was he in the library? When had he gotten here? Imorean raised his head slightly from the pillow it had been resting on. He paused. Pillow? Blankets? In the library? None of this situation was making any sense. His memory was confused and blurry somehow, like a dream.
Angels Defying (Angels Rising Book 3) Page 5
