Angels Defying (Angels Rising Book 3)

by Harriet Carlton

“Why? What’s the point of being here?”

  Raphael inclined his head, actively listening. Imorean gathered a deep breath and forged onward. Things he didn’t want to say were hovering on his tongue.

  “There’s no point, Raph. Michael’s as good as dead. My family is wiped out. I betrayed my squad. They’ll never trust me again. Because of me, Ryan got hurt. There’s no hope left. We’ve fallen apart. Michael’s unreachable. Vortigern’s going to win. There’s no point to being here.”

  “Where? At Upper Morvine?”

  “No point to being alive.”

  “Do you want to end your life?”

  Imorean looked up. He didn’t want to die. He simply wanted to not exist. He wished he had never been born. A moment later, Imorean shook his head. It wasn’t a matter of ending his life. It was a matter of not existing, simply vanishing like a puff of smoke in the wind. To be and suddenly not be. To cease. That was different to dying, wasn’t it?

  “Good,” said Raphael. He checked his watch. “Our hour is nearly up. I want to see you tomorrow. Bright and early. Shall we say ten o’clock?”

  “I thought you said Friday.”

  “Tomorrow, Imorean. Don’t debate me on this. We’re going to try a different kind of therapy.”

  “Should be… fun.”

  “I’m sure it will be. Take care, Imorean. And do try to eat something.”

  “Yeah.”

  Imorean stood and looked around Raphael’s office for a moment. It was painted a quiet yellow color. A few messages about positivity hung on the walls. He had to wonder if Raphael himself believed them. A small ladder led upstairs to a loft. Imorean knew Raphael’s bedroom and sleeping quarters must be up there. Truth be told, he was convinced Raphael was counseling him out of his living room.

  “Get going,” said Raphael with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Imorean quirked a small one of his own and opened the door, exiting into the cold.

  The cold sea air bit straight through Imorean’s jacket as he leaned on the boardwalk railing. The Terrace’s fjord opened right out onto the North Atlantic. Somewhere out there, slightly south of where he stood now, was Iceland. Imorean trembled at the very thought. He never wanted to go back. Not to where he had screwed everything up so badly. Imorean turned. His own hut was behind him, the red and white exterior walls too cheery. They didn’t match how he felt. Only the clouds heralding sleet overhead echoed his sentiments.

  The door creaked as Imorean pushed it open. The house he shared with the other males in his squad was larger than Raphael’s by far, built into the mountainside at the very periphery of their island camp, almost directly opposite Raphael’s. The kitchen and living area were downstairs, as was Imorean’s bedroom. Colton and Toddy shared a room, while Dustin and Baxter had chosen to sleep alone in their own rooms. Roxy and Mandy shared the smaller apartment next door. They would have to shuffle some beds when Ryan returned to action. Imorean sighed and pushed the door shut. Flying for some time had been monitored and kept to a minimum while everyone recuperated from the battle. One week. It had only been one week. How had it only been one week?

  “Hey,” said Roxy, looking up from the kitchen.

  “Hey,” replied Imorean, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “Everyone else went to The Main to visit Ryan. I already saw him this morning, so I figured I’d hang around so you’d have someone here when you got back. How’s it going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I know what you mean. My sessions are going the same way. Want to talk about it?”

  “No. How’s Ryan doing?”

  “Better. He’s not angry with you, you know?”

  Imorean collapsed on the faux-leather sofa and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He should be.”

  Dimly, Imorean remembered seeing Ryan in the hospital once after they had returned. The ginger haired boy had been cornered by two demons during the retreat and had sustained injuries to his wings and arms. He had been lucky to escape with wings intact. At the thought of the hospital, Imorean shuddered. Michael had been there too, hidden behind white curtains. Imorean hadn’t gone to see him. The idea of seeing Michael incapacitated, lying as though dead, was almost too much to bear.

  “We know why you took off after Bethany,” said Roxy, sitting down next to him.

  “That doesn’t make what I did right.”

  “Any of us would have done the same thing.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” said Imorean, rolling his head to the side to look at her.

  She shrugged. “I would have. Doesn’t matter what you could have said to me. If Bethany had done to me what she did to you, no force in the world could have stopped me from trying to chase her down.”

  “What I did still got Ryan injured and it got Michael… it got Michael where he is.”

  “Have you been to see Michael?”

  “No.”

  Roxy put a hand on his shoulder. “You should.”

  “Why?” asked Imorean, trying not to flinch under the contact.

  “He’d like it.”

  “Michael isn’t here. His consciousness… it’s not here. He wouldn’t know I’d even been.”

  “That’s wrong, Imorean. He’d know.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Roxy’s voice was quiet, but Imorean couldn’t help but wonder if he heard a tiny note of blame in her tone. “That’s up to you. Do you want a coffee?”

  Imorean’s mouth twitched upward. “Sure.”

  Rainbow wings caught the fluorescent light as Roxy spun in the kitchen, pouring coffee grounds into the maker. Imorean leaned on the countertop. Deep down, he was glad she was here. Being alone after Raphael’s appointments always made him feel even more isolated.

  “Did Raphael ever say anything about angels in medically induced comas?” asked Imorean.

  “Only that they’re very unpredictable.” Roxy set the water to boil. “Since angels have natural access to the astral plane, there’s a much higher chance that they’ll never return from it. Also, it’s super rare to have to put an angel into a coma. Normally, they just… well, you know.”

  “So, Michael’s unstable anyway, but even more unstable because he’s an angel?”

  “Michael’s always been unstable.”

  “I mean physically,” said Imorean, taking a mug of coffee from Roxy.

  “… Yeah.”

  Imorean nodded, resting his nose on the brim of the mug. “Have you seen Gabriel at all since we got back?”

  Roxy fumbled the creamer. “No, I thought he was bunking with Raphael?”

  “I thought he was still in the hospital at The Main.”

  “If he is, I haven’t seen him. Are you thinking we may have two of the five main Archangels MIA?”

  “Four main Archangels, Roxy. I don’t count.”

  “Michael thinks you do.”

  Annoyance reared up hot in Imorean’s chest. “Michael doesn’t even have a voice right now.”

  “Don’t bite my head off, Imorean, jeez. We’ll ask the others when they get back, yeah?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do try and sound a little less like I’m inviting you to a morgue.”

  “Do you want me to do some backflips?”

  “Only if you can do them without spilling the coffee.”

  Imorean smiled slightly, the expression feeling foreign on his face. It slithered away a moment later. He didn’t want to smile.

  Colton, as it turned out, was an incredibly good cook. Imorean had to wonder how he had never known this before. Perhaps it was just due to the fact that Colton had never had full access to a kitchen.

  “What’s on tonight, Colt?”

  Imorean’s eyes opened and he looked up at the ceiling as the stairs over his bedroom rattled and the herd of elephants that were Toddy’s two feet thundered down them. He smiled and shook his head. Enough of lying on his bed doing nothing productive. If Raphael wanted him to socialize a bit more, he would do
his best. Quietly, he exited his room and padded into the living room. There was activity on the ground floor. In a way, it was nice.

  White wings folded slightly as Imorean leaned on the wall. Toddy and Mandy were in the kitchen, busily getting in Colton’s way. Dustin and Baxter had the television tuned to sports. White noise over the sound of cutlery clattering in the kitchen.

  “Nice to be around human beings?”

  Imorean turned. Roxy had come up behind him.

  “Yeah.”

  “It has to be better than skulking in your bedroom.”

  Brown eyes blinked and Imorean knew Roxy had seen the flicker of humor in his face.

  “What’s for dinner, Colton?” asked Imorean.

  “He lives!” shouted Toddy, spinning and dropping a plate on the floor. There was a collective flinch in the room. Imorean shuffled and reset his wings against his back.

  “Eggs Florentine. They’ve got a great store for the students at The Main,” said Colton, turning with a grin. “You should come next time.”

  “Maybe I will,” replied Imorean, making his way across to the kitchen.

  “Be glad you came out tonight,” said Baxter, muting the television. “Last night he decided to make something with pickled herring. Not a fan.”

  “It’s called Sursild,” said Colton. “And you should be glad. It’s the first time we’ve got a taste of the Norwegian culture through food.”

  “Did anyone see Gabriel at The Main?” asked Imorean, moving around to the far side of the bar, feeling like he was in the way.

  “No,” shrugged Dustin, taking shelter by the refrigerator. “We all thought he was here.”

  “He really is missing then,” said Roxy.

  “What?” asked Baxter. “How did they lose another Archangel?”

  Imorean folded his arms and straightened a fork on the bar’s tile top. “We haven’t seen him here either.”

  “Where do you think he is?” asked Mandy.

  “No idea. And that’s what worries me.”

  “When did you last see him?” asked Toddy.

  “The battle. I don’t remember seeing him afterward.”

  The room fell strangely silent. Imorean felt all the eyes on him and lost his appetite. They were looking to him for answers. Answers that he didn’t have. His stomach turned inward against him. He ran a hand through his white hair and turned on his heel, moving toward the front door. He wanted to be away.

  “Imorean!” called Roxy.

  He pretended not to hear her. With a squeak, which annoyed him this time, the door swung open. He stepped out into the night air and tugged the door shut. Absently, he crossed the narrow boardwalk and leaned on the railing, eyes on the sea. The gray clouds from earlier had given way to stars and a night with no moon. It was cold, but Imorean barely felt it. The battle. His fault. Michael was in the hospital because of him. All of this was his fault. Guilt, tearing, agonizing guilt stabbed through his chest. Imorean closed his eyes. He wanted his mother. He wanted somewhere kind in the world that he could run to. A quiet place. He wanted home. But home was nowhere to be found. He drew a deep breath and his entire face felt stiff as he tried not to sob. Tilting his head back, his eyes narrowed at the stars themselves, he asked, “Why are you against me?”

  Chapter 44

  Morning was sunny. Imorean loathed it. His shadow fell behind him as he walked along the wooden slats toward Raphael’s cabin. Spring was in full swing. It felt like an insult. What right did the world have to be bursting into life when he himself was still buried in winter? From somewhere inside his chest, a deep coldness had seized him.

  “I hope you’ve got your walking shoes on,” said Raphael.

  Imorean looked up. The doctor Archangel smiled broadly and tucked his keys into his pocket.

  “What are we doing?”

  “We’re going for a walk,” replied Raphael.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’ll do you good to get fresh air in you.”

  “We live on a fjord. I get fresh air every day.”

  Raphael’s smile broadened. “Ah, but not this kind of fresh air.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I thought you’d say that,” said Raphael, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Come on.”

  “I don’t get a choice?”

  “Not today.”

  With that, Raphael set out. Imorean inclined his head. He was intrigued. Against his own wishes, set off after the black-haired angel.

  Imorean barely noticed as The Terrace dropped away behind them. He was out of breath. His muscles ached. Already, they had left the wooden surroundings of The Terrace behind, to be replaced by a more natural setting. Real wood. Trees.

  “This is what you get for starving yourself,” said Raphael, stopping on the gravel pathway through the woods. “I could go all day.”

  “I’m sure you could,” replied Imorean, bracing his hands against his knees.

  “Stand up. You’ll breathe better.”

  “When did you turn into your brother?” asked Imorean.

  “Which one?” asked Raphael.

  Imorean smiled and shook his head. A moment later, he straightened, his heartbeat calming. He had his second wind. Raphael stepped off again, heading deeper into the woods. The ground was steep underfoot.

  “Hey, Raphael,” said Imorean. The silence between him and the doctor had grown comfortable.

  “Yes?”

  “Why do you wear glasses? You’re a doctor. Why couldn’t you correct your own vision?”

  Raphael chuckled and took his glasses off, passing them to Imorean. For a moment, Imorean paused, holding Raphael’s wire rimmed spectacles. He didn’t know what to do with them. Next to him, the Archangel seemed to walk without any reservations, as though he could see perfectly where he was going. Imorean slid Raphael’s glasses up his own nose.

  “They’re fake!”

  Raphael shrugged. “They make me look more intelligent and more handsome.”

  “You vain bastard,” replied Imorean with a smile, taking them off and passing them back.

  “All angels have their flaws.” Raphael put his glasses back on. “Though some may contest that statement.”

  Without another word, Raphael veered off the path and struck off through the woods.

  “Where are we going?” asked Imorean.

  “Be patient,” replied Raphael, his voice quieter than it had been. Imorean shot the doctor a suspicious glance but followed him anyway. He liked Raphael and trusted him. What could it hurt?

  “How far from The Terrace are we?”

  “Over a mile.” Raphael turned and tapped the side of his nose. “Far enough from prying eyes and ears.”

  Imorean followed Raphael, no less enlightened. He emerged a few steps behind his therapist in a large meadow. To their right, a mountain reared its high, sheer face to the sky. The grass was swept with a few white heads of early clover. Imorean’s mouth opened in a surprised grin as a figure emerged from the brush on the opposite side of the field. His heart skipped a beat. Michael! Logic crushed him. Not Michael, but Gabriel. Silently, Raphael led the way across the field toward his brother. All three met in the middle.

  “No one behind you?” asked Gabriel. Imorean noticed the sword strapped across the Archangel’s back.

  “No. Just me and Imorean.” There was a harsh edge to Raphael’s voice.

  Gabriel nodded stiffly, giving the woods a glare. Then he and Raphael embraced. Gabriel sighed heavily, his wings dropping out of their tight fold to flop down into the grass. The brothers backed away from each other a moment later. There were dark shadows under Gabriel’s eyes. Imorean tensed as Gabriel hugged him too.

  “Good to see you, Imorean,” he said.

  “Good to see you, too,” replied Imorean, standing awkwardly. He broke the hug before Gabriel did and looked between the two Archangels. “Why are we out here? I know this isn’t a family reunion.”

  “Not at all,” said Gabriel, a
seething anger under his voice.

  Raphael took a seat on the grassy earth. “Gabriel and I noticed something.”

  “What?” asked Imorean, following suit.

  “We all know Uriel was never supposed to advance,” said Gabriel, settling on the other side of his brother. He laid his sword on the ground in front of his feet.

  “What we’re saying, Imorean, is that Uriel defied Michael’s direct orders. Archangels don’t do that. Not without good reason, anyway. There was no reason for Uriel to advance, so what was he doing in the battle?”

  “Have you noticed anything about Uriel lately, Imorean? Anything odd?” asked Gabriel, his hazel eyes tired and without their normal glow.

  “He’s gray,” replied Imorean. The words were out of his mouth before he thought about them.

  “Exactly,” said Gabriel. “See, Raph, that’s exactly what I said.”

  “Let me clarify, Imorean. Gabriel and I have a theory. Uriel was never given an order from Michael to advance, so who gave it to him? He has been very odd ever since he was captured in the autumn. Odder than most angels are after rescue.”

  Gabriel took up the explanation. “We think he might be being controlled by someone else.”

  “Someone like Vortigern?” asked Imorean.

  “Yes,” sighed Raphael. “Have you noticed anything about him? Anything at all that might refute this?”

  “… I’ve noticed something that enforces it,” replied Imorean. Raphael groaned.

  “What is it?” asked Gabriel.

  “His eyes. They go gray. They’re normally brown, like mine, so it’s really noticeable. He did it all the time at Felsenmeer.”

  Raphael rested his chin on his knees. “He wants to watch your counseling sessions.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Imorean, I wasn’t going to tell you this, but…”

  “Raphael, you need to tell him.”

  “Uriel wants us to stand down in the way of Vortigern.”

  “What?! No! He can’t do that!”

  Raphael sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Technically, he can. He’s the new chief. He can do whatever he wants. Don’t look so upset. I’m standing firm in his way for now, but there’s only so much I can do before he overrules me. Which none of us want.”