Empower

by Jessica Shirvington

  “GET. UP!”

  His voice was so strong that even in my haze, it was loud and fearsome.

  “GET. UP. NOW, DAMN IT!” Lincoln bellowed.

  And then I felt it through our connection. It rocked me to my core and beyond.

  Decima had told me I could not win against Sammael if I fought with no heart. She was right. And Lincoln was showing that as he pushed everything we were, are, into me—our strength, our purpose, our friendship, our loyalty, our passion, our loss, and most of all our love. And I realized that it couldn’t be about risking it all.

  That was the whole point.

  It was about fighting to keep it.

  Fighting for our life together, our love to go on. Fighting for our right to free will. To be human. To be flawed. To be fragile and foolhardy. To have the chance to make every mistake but then somehow learn to get it right.

  If Sammael defeated me, his sword would rise above my angel maker and all of those rights would be lost. The world would be forever changed.

  He grabbed my hair, pulling me to my knees and holding me out to the angels as a sacrifice. I remembered the way Lincoln had taught me to slow down and control my movements—to be economical and see the fight coming. I closed my eyes. I would only get one move in before my body gave out on me. My sword returned to its slightly shorter katana blade and I dropped it to the ground between my knees.

  “She will be your warrior no more!” Sammael yelled.

  I breathed deeply.

  In.

  Out.

  Focused.

  He yanked my braid hard, baring my neck, and his body pulled away as he drew his sword wide for the final, sweeping blow. My eyes closed. I felt his strike race toward my neck. At the final moment, I dropped my head, as if in prayer, and the sword sliced through my braid, releasing me. I spun on one knee, lifting my katana as I lunged forward.

  The blade pierced Sammael’s lung, perilously close to his heart. Caught off guard, he dropped his sword and froze.

  Keeping one hand wrapped around the hilt of my katana still lodged in his chest—not a killing blow yet—I quickly filled my other hand and rose, my stance deceptively steady.

  Unnatural silence surrounded us as Sammael’s wide eyes watched my blade.

  “That is not a Grigori blade,” he said, but his eyes did not match the confidence of his tone.

  “That’s true,” I conceded, as I sharply twisted the blade. It might not have been a Grigori dagger, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a bitch.

  “And it does not hold your blood,” he growled, gaining sureness even as I continued to hold him still.

  I managed to raise a blood-filled smile. “That’s true too,” I admitted.

  Sammael’s lips twitched.

  His eyes narrowed.

  He planned his next move.

  He was already too late.

  The arm resting loosely at my side drew back and then swiftly forward, jamming Sammael’s own sword—the one that had landed at my knees—into his stomach.

  “You dropped something,” I said. And he knew instantly that it was over—for he had ensured that his sword had well and truly been covered in my blood.

  Yeah, consequence is a bitch.

  And because of everything that was at stake, and just…because, I didn’t wait for him to fall or disappear, or even be taken away by the angels. Instead, I pulled both blades back and wide and in one final show of speed and strength, I scissored them straight through his neck.

  Sammael and I fell to the ground together.

  But he would never rise again.

  “There is a certain greatness in the angels; and such power that if the angels exert it to the full, it cannot be withstood.”

  Saint Augustine

  Sammael was gone.

  Given the extent of my injuries, I should have been close behind. And yet, my lungs continued to fill and my heart continued to beat.

  Lincoln skidded to the ground beside me, pulling me into his lap.

  “Vi, I…I…I…” he stuttered, his trembling hands sweeping over my face frantically. “There’s so much blood, Vi,” he said, his voice thick.

  “It’s okay,” I said, my breathing evening out. “I know.”

  Our powers did not work the same way in this place. He could not heal me.

  “We need to get you back,” he said, looking up at the angels. “We need to get her back!”

  “Linc,” I said softly, causing his wild eyes to come back to mine. “Breathe,” I said, lifting my arm up. “Good.” I smiled weakly. “Now, help me up.”

  He shook his head. “You shouldn’t move.”

  “It’s okay. Trust me,” I said.

  With a furrowed brow, he took my waiting arm and helped me slowly to my feet so that I could face my maker.

  “Are you strong enough to cross the realms?” Lincoln asked.

  Before this moment, I would have answered no. But something had changed in me—an acceptance of everything that I am and can be. I nodded, my bloodied hand cupping his face. “This first,” I said, leaning into him and pressing my lips to his.

  His kiss was gentle and powerful all at once, and even as his lips trembled with his fears, his touch was sure and claimed me in every way. He pulled back, his forehead resting against mine. “How are you standing?”

  I smiled. “I’m not—you’re standing for both of us.”

  When he stared back at me in utter confusion, I turned to the angels, looking until I found him. He was mounted on a white horse in the front line, Nox beside him. “Tell him, Uri,” I said, looking at my guides.

  Uri grinned—a rare display of emotion. “It is beyond his comprehension.”

  I laughed, grimacing as pain shot down my side. They were the same words Uri had given me the first time we’d met and I’d asked for an explanation. “Try,” I suggested.

  Uri looked at Lincoln, his eyes dancing with secrets. “You are strong. Made of a Power. Your destinies have always been entwined. But destiny must also be chosen. It was never a matter of if, but rather when and how. Like all things of greatness, when used to cause harm, your union brought devastation. You have both fought against your souls, and it was as useful and painful as hiding from air when it is the very thing most fundamental to your survival.”

  Lincoln glanced at me.

  I shrugged, then grimaced. “He likes being cryptic.”

  “Comprehension is always in the eye of the beholder,” Uri continued. Cryptically. “When she first came to me to embrace, I sent her on a journey and told her that even though her powers would be plenty, even the greatest bringers of justice will only find salvation in…” He looked to me.

  “Surrender,” I finished, then turned to Lincoln. “I thought it meant giving up my life to be Grigori. That it meant fighting and surrendering to Lilith. Or even losing you. In the end, I hated that every time I saw Uri, he reminded me that I still had to find my surrender even at times when I felt I’d given everything.” I swallowed back the tears. “But it wasn’t about giving or sacrificing, not really. It was about letting go. Surrendering my heart—to myself and thereby, to you.”

  “And through your surrender, you find your salvation and your ultimate power,” Uri said, turning to Lincoln. “For she may be our Keshet—our rainbow—but you are what brings her light. Why do you think you had to wait so long for her?”

  Lincoln had waited years until he was appointed his partner. Me.

  It always had to be us. Not just me. Us.

  “All this time, you wanted us to be together?” Lincoln murmured.

  “Of course. Your power is in your balance, in your surrender to your purest emotion of love. Humans strive for love—it is the one thing they give the most and yet fear they receive the least. You are strange creatures. And yet, it is your ability
to love this way that makes you capable of the extraordinary.”

  I shook my head, knowing that it would have been easier if they’d just told us all of this in the beginning, and yet I understood. It was all of the mistakes, the separation, the friendship, the fear, the determination, and the love built not just on simply loving but on thousands of moments shared and missed. Our choices and our consequences are ours and could only be reached through our own journey.

  I looked at my angel maker. His eyes were lowered and his expression grave.

  “Why so sad?” I asked as Lincoln steadied me when I swayed. We had defeated Sammael. Surely he was satisfied.

  “Judgment must come to pass.”

  My stomach sank and I shook my head.

  New Orleans.

  “No. No. We know you’ve saved the city before. You can turn the hurricane back out to sea. We stopped Sammael. Now you can do it again!”

  “We are angels, child. Our function is finite.”

  “What? You’re just going to wipe out the entire city?”

  “The land is intended for the ocean. Life will be reinstated beneath the water in time to come.”

  “And all the people who live there now are just supposed to die? What will they do?”

  Stoically, he replied, “What they always have. They will panic, they will mourn, and they will fight back. Eventually, they will move on, speculate, learn, and, in time, forget. It is the way of humanity.”

  “But I’m supposed to be your rainbow, the symbol of this covenant that protects us, that promises faith in humanity!”

  “And you have done your part and more in protecting the masses. You will continue to do so.”

  “But it’s not enough?” I asked, my legs giving out as Lincoln caught me.

  “We need to get her back!” he said urgently.

  My angel maker ignored him as we continued to stare unblinkingly at one another. “Right?” I pushed.

  His chin lowered slowly. “It is the way it must be. We cannot deny the opportunity to right what was wronged and rid the world of so many of our exiles. You will understand in time.”

  I shook my head. “No! No amount of time will ever make this right. This is because of exiles, not humans. The time of punishing humans for suffering the choices of angels and the insanity of exiles is over!” I stood taller as my angel maker raised an eyebrow at my outburst.

  But I held his gaze, letting him see the truth.

  With Lincoln and I joined as we were, and with everything I now knew, I was complete. And I was capable.

  “I can see what you are thinking,” he said.

  “Is it possible?” I asked.

  He considered me, glancing briefly at Lincoln as if seeing him for the first time. It probably was the first time he’d bothered.

  “You have proven that much is a possibility. But even so, there will be a price.”

  “There always is, Michael. There always is.”

  My angel maker, the commander of all armies, the greatest of all the Sole angels, and according to some, one and the same as Jesus, gave me a small and knowing smile, raising his chin slightly, as if basking in his name. And I watched, stunned, as a solitary tear crept down his cheek.

  “I never asked for you to fight him,” he said with a touch of defiance.

  “With my blood on his sword, would you have won?” I asked.

  “It is likely.”

  The angel, identical to Michael, standing at his side, chuckled lightly.

  I almost did a double take. It was such a strange thing to see an angel so animated.

  “But not certain?” I pushed Michael.

  “Not certain,” he conceded.

  I shrugged. “Well, that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. Not when it seems you’re kind of important to the end game.”

  “You are of great importance too.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re about to find out exactly what I can do.”

  He bowed his head. “You will not have much time to act once you return.”

  I understood. For now, time was halted, but once we returned, the city of New Orleans would still be crumbling around us.

  I turned slightly to the angel standing beside Michael. He was garishly dressed in snug black pants, a silver shirt, and lightly tinted sunglasses, and when I looked straight at him, he was striking in a way Michael was not. I couldn’t take my eyes off him and yet, when I hadn’t been looking at him, I wasn’t drawn to him at all, as if he were somehow hidden in plain sight.

  “If you stand at the side of the Prince of the Elect, am I right in assuming you are the Prince of the Malign?”

  He nodded, his eyes brimming with mischief.

  I watched curiously. “But you’re an angel? All about function and all that?”

  “To an end,” he said, his voice unnervingly similar to Michael’s.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know your name?”

  “Oh, everyone knows my name, at least, one or two of them. But I prefer that you simply think of me as the one who shines brightest.” He smiled.

  Michael cleared his throat, cutting him off. But when they looked at each other, their eyes shared a brotherhood and fondness that was distant yet true.

  Light and dark. Elect and Malign. United, as has always been.

  I marveled at the complexities of life as I moved my hand into Lincoln’s. He sighed with relief that it seemed I was ready to get moving. I started to turn but then looked back at the angels, feeling an overwhelming sadness in the knowledge that one day, some of them might choose, through pride and ego, to exile in an attempt to take charge of my world.

  “Now that we have created this space, can you return here anytime you wish?” I asked.

  Michael nodded. “If we were to wish.”

  I squeezed Lincoln’s hand as I absorbed Michael’s words, a seed of an idea already blooming in my mind. I smirked at Lincoln and he smiled back, shaking his head as if he already knew what I had in mind.

  He probably does.

  “Can we please go now?” he asked.

  I nodded, knowing that my plan could wait.

  I started to concentrate on crossing us back over when the angel beside Michael spoke up.

  “Aren’t you going to ask?” he called out.

  “Ask what?” I replied.

  “About God!”

  “Oh. No. I don’t need to,” I threw back.

  “Why?” he asked, genuinely intrigued. “Everyone asks.”

  I looked up at Lincoln, whose expression suggested he was about to take on the Prince of Malign angel himself if he didn’t let us get going soon so he could heal me.

  “Nah,” I said, keeping my eyes on Lincoln. “I know where Heaven is and I’m going there now. I’m not stupid enough to waste my time sweating the small stuff.”

  And then the oddest thing happened.

  As Lincoln and I crossed the realms, I was sure the last thing I saw was thousands of angels laughing. And the sound…soul churning, like a choir of harps, a sole trumpet rising above, heralding a new era.

  “What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  The winds assaulted us the instant we returned to the rooftop. Lincoln put his arm around my waist and half carried me to the elevator.

  The hurricane was in full force, the battle below at its height, and all around us, the city was crumbling. The riverbank was overflowing, and far out, I could see the waters moving in, taking the land bit by bit, and I knew that the angels would not stop this until they had their reason.

  “I need to get closer!” I yelled as I stumbled.

  Lincoln put me down on the ground, helping me all the way when my legs gave out. “Concentrate,” he ordered.


  I nodded, drawing into my weakened power and opening myself up to our connection. I felt his power, strong and ready, surge into me, charging me like a battery so that together, we could heal my wounds.

  Once satisfied, he rocked back on his heels and brushed the hair out of my face. “Better?”

  “Better,” I said, sitting up and then standing. I was ready.

  Lincoln grabbed the bag he’d left lodged by the elevator. He pulled out a long cable rope.

  “The power is down; we’re going to have to jump,” he instructed, already tying the rope to a metal support beam and then to his belt. I loaded up with the extra katana I’d packed in the bag and my spare dagger. Carefully, I nicked the edge of my wrist, noting the large scar that now lived there, and edged the blades with my blood, swiping Lincoln’s from his waist and giving it the same treatment before he could stop me.

  He grabbed it back, resting his hand on my wrist to close the small wound before fighting against the wind as he walked over to the edge of the tall building.

  He held his right arm out, and without hesitation, I stepped into his embrace and we backed off the edge of the building.

  Propelling into a war zone in a shower of glass as windows exploded under the hurricane’s force, Lincoln expertly guided us down, and the moment our feet touched the ground, we unsheathed our weapons and ran toward the river.

  We worked quickly and relentlessly as we charged through the battlefield. Exiles had lost whatever hold on reality they once had and were attacking Grigori and exiles alike, all while dragging innocent humans in for the slaughter.

  I saw two exiles beating a group of human men who were trying to defend two women and their young children. Lincoln saw at the same time, and we risked the quick detour, running down the street now ankle-deep in water, grabbing the exiles and pulling them off the men before dispensing with them.

  The men scrambled to the women and children protectively. “What the hell’s going on?” they screamed over the hurricane.