Angel Born

by Brian Fuller

  “I don’t want you to be a memory,” she said, face lightening as the Inspiration took hold.

  “Tela,” he said, “you barely know me. I don’t know why you’re having these dreams about some random guy, but it’s not right.”

  Her eyes fixed on his, her grip tightening around his hand. She looked like she wanted to confess some secret to him. “What are you?”

  He grinned. “That’s classified.”

  “No,” she said. “That’s not what I mean. I’m not talking about your job. I may not know you very well, but I know you’re not some ‘random guy.’ My dad told me to trust what I felt about people, said I had a gift. From the moment you helped me out of the trunk of that car, I knew you were not just some beefy guy with a gun and a grin. This is going to sound corny, but I think you and I are connected. Not because of what you did for me. It’s something else, something I know. I know you’re not . . . I don’t know . . . I know you’re not like other people.”

  Helo knew she was Attuned. What did she sense? Whatever it was, he couldn’t let her entertain ideas that would make other people think she was crazy. “Look, Tela, I’m just a regular guy, really. Sometimes when someone rescues you from—”

  She shook her head. “No, Helo, stop right there. It is not some stupid crush! I am not having flirty dreams about you being a sexy pirate and me being a milkmaid or something. This is real. What I feel is real. What I dream is real.”

  “I’m not saying that—”

  “Hear me out, okay? I asked my dad once if he thought there really were angels in heaven. He said there were, but he also told me there were others all around us in disguise. I asked him if there was any way to figure out who they were. He winked at me and said, ‘You’ll know.’ Well, I know. That’s who you are. I can feel it.”

  He extinguished the Inspire. This was getting out of hand. “Those are just stories, Tela. I’m just a—”

  “You just stopped doing something to me. What was it?”

  He pulled his hand away and folded it on his lap. “What are you talking about?”

  She smiled victoriously. “You know what I mean. I’m in here with my mind buzzing and my heart ready to explode. You come in, take my hand, and all of a sudden it’s like the world is okay and I’m okay and everything’s going to be okay. You’ve done it to me twice. That’s what angels do, isn’t it? One of your gifts.”

  He stood. He wanted to ask about the dreams, but he had no idea how to handle this. “Look, you’re tired and not thinking straight. I’d better be going. I’ll text you later to see how you’re doing.”

  She folded her arms, face set. “I’m not going away, Helo. My dreams say you’re in danger, and maybe that’s my gift to you.”

  He put his hand on the doorknob. “Well, if I’m an angel, you don’t need to worry, right?”

  She held his gaze. “There are places even angels fear to tread, Helo. I had the dream about you as a tree. One of those bloody men ripped one of your roots right out of the ground and cut it off. You . . . you . . . it was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Her voice quavered, and he swallowed hard, pulling open the door. “Just a dream, Tela. Get some rest.”

  She exhaled, face earnest. “Please come back to me.”

  Her words sobered him, her face a mix of sadness and longing. He stepped out of the door. She was getting too close to the truth, and he couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing. But one thing was sure: he had to find a way to get the dreams out of her head. He had to set her free.

  Chapter 19

  Hearts

  The team convened in one of the underground command centers in Chicago. It was situated beneath a Rafael’s Goodwill Barn, a thrift store company owned by Ash Angels. Argyle was launching into “the plan” and reminding them all of the proper procedures to follow.

  Helo glanced at his phone—another message from Tela at 4:40 a.m.

  They were worse last night, Helo. I’m scared. I need my angel back.

  It had been two days since Aclima had confessed her sins to him, and each night Tela had sent a text at some ungodly hour repeating the same message of doom. Her dreams were the same but increasingly more intense, frightening the poor girl out of her mind. She nagged him until he sent her a selfie to show her he was okay, but even then she checked in on him several times a day.

  It will be okay, Tela! he texted back. They’re just dreams. They’ll go away.

  “Something you want to share, Helo?” Argyle asked.

  “Nope,” Helo answered, stuffing his phone back in his pocket.

  “We need your complete attention,” Argyle remonstrated, eyes and flattop sharp. “This is an important op.”

  “Got it.” It had been hard to focus. The Ash Angels had concluded that a Sheid morphed to look like his brother Brandon had killed his parents, and the Gabriels were no closer to finding where the Dreads had taken the real Brandon than they were after he was taken. Add to this Tela’s worried texts and his stewing over Aclima’s past, and his mind felt like it was running a maze with no exit.

  Helo felt eyes on him, and he found Goliath staring at him with a concerned look. She glanced away first, and he settled back into his chair while Argyle droned on. Aclima sat on the other side of their semicircular row. She at least seemed at peace. They hadn’t spoken since her confession, and he was glad. What could he possibly say?

  The horror of her atrocities competed with his recent experiences with her and with what Rachel the Unascended had told him in the reliquarium nine months ago. How could the person who had saved his life, who had been so affectionate and inviting, who had tenderly comforted him at his brother’s disappearance be the same person who had murdered her niece to create a Sheid in a fit of revenge? And who knew how many other skeletons were in her proverbial closet, a closet about the size of a football stadium.

  But watching her now, at peace and even eager to sacrifice herself, convinced him that, no, this was not the same person who had murdered an innocent thousands of years ago. It was, but it wasn’t. She saw the blood on her hands, and for the last couple of days, he had seen it too. He doubted he would ever look at her the same. At the same time, he couldn’t get Rachel the Unascended’s voice out of his head telling him Aclima would save him. Had that been accomplished? Was he saved now?

  But most of all, he had missed her. She was stubborn. She won at everything. She meddled in his personal life. But she had also supported him at every turn, been concerned and helpful, and had filled dead hours with crazy stories. And now they were going to let her go get captured. He couldn’t believe it.

  “That’s it” Argyle concluded. “Any questions?”

  Helo fought the urge to roll his eyes. His briefing had been a long-winded explanation of how the Gabriels would be doing all the surveillance work and Sicarius Nox would be sitting in an SUV waiting for the order to swoop in and scoop up Jumelia—except for Helo, of course. He was to remain at the command center running comms—normally Faramir’s job. He supposed he deserved it, knew they feared he would go off script if left in the field.

  The funny thing was they kept talking like they were actually going to catch Jumelia. Helo wasn’t buying it. The Dread Loremaster wasn’t going to be anywhere close to the train station. She probably wouldn’t even be in Chicago. They might burn the Dread Aclima was to meet at the bus station, but he had no doubt the Dread would be an ignorant tool who knew nothing of Cain, Jumelia, or much else beyond the end of his nose.

  While half listening to the plan cooked up by the tactical advisers in the Medius, Helo had been trying to get into the heads of Jumelia and Cain, a couple of experienced liars and schemers. Something about what Jumelia had said in her video to Aclima struck him. She had explicitly said she would let Aclima return to the Ash Angels after the meeting. That made no sense. They were taking her to keep her. He was sure of it. Why would they even promise to release her or think the Ash Angels would believe it?

  But the ans
wer was staring him right in the face the whole time. There was a way they could let her go and take her at the same time—her heart. All the Dread had to do after contacting her was get her to surrender it and then let her go back to the Ash Angels. If they had a plane at the ready, Aclima’s heart could be halfway around the world by dawn. They’d have to keep the Ash Angels from healing her to restore her heart, but they could do it if a Sheid poisoned her with darkness.

  When no one asked any questions, Argyle stepped aside into parade rest and Goliath took over.

  “This is a dynamic op,” Goliath reiterated. “The Dreads have the upper hand, and we will be one step behind. Everyone needs to be sharp. The Dreads would be fools if they thought we wouldn’t try to take advantage of this. It also might be a distraction for some other action they’re taking. We’ve got one hour before we start gearing up and getting in position. Anybody got anything else to say?”

  “We keep Aclima’s heart,” Helo said. “That way they can’t take her for good.”

  “The Medius thought of that,” Goliath said. “They’re afraid if she shows up without a heart, we will have violated the part of Jumelia’s instructions that says no tricks.”

  “Yeah,” Faramir said. “If they’re as experienced as they say, that will probably be the first thing they check.”

  It was true. But Helo had another idea. “I agree. But hear me out. We at least extract the heart and have her carry it in a purse or something. If they don’t check, she might have the chance to ditch it somewhere without them seeing. If they do check, she can show it to them and satisfy their demands.”

  Goliath thought for a moment. “Not a bad suggestion. I’ll see if it clears the Medius. On a related note, the Medius is weighing in on risking some kind of recording device on Aclima. Faramir, is there anything we can do, some signal they wouldn’t be able to pick up on a casual scan?”

  Faramir’s face lit up, and he reached up for the hat toggles he no longer had. “I’ve got just the thing. I have a blouse she could wear with buttons that snap together. One button down from the top is special. You see, the front side of the button has the transmitting device, the back side has the power source. As long as the front and back are separated, there is no signal to detect. After they do their scan, button it and the transmission begins. Sends audio and GPS.”

  Argyle shook his flattopped head. “But what about—”

  “Continuous transmission scanning?” Faramir finished. “If they’re doing that, then all bets are off. Aclima would have to make a judgment call.”

  “Do we risk it?” Goliath asked.

  “No,” Aclima said. “We can’t put people’s lives in danger.”

  “We must do it,” Shujaa put in. “It’s our best chance to know where to find Dreads.”

  “I say no,” Argyle added. “Safety of normals is first priority. No blood for information.”

  “Helo?” Goliath prompted.

  “I say we do it,” he said. “We’re idiots if we think Cain and Jumelia are going to play by the rules. We send it so we can get her back not if, but when, they pull something.”

  Aclima glanced at him briefly and then returned her gaze to the front. The closer they came to the mission, the less Helo liked the idea of sending her out the door.

  “I say we do it,” Faramir said. “We need the info. And what if Aclima goes out there and tells Jumelia everything she’s learned about the Ash Angels? No offense, Aclima.”

  “Some taken,” she said, voice strained.

  “We need to know what’s going on,” Faramir continued. “And Shujaa’s right. What’s the point of this mission if we don’t get a chance at Jumelia? The transmitter is the best chance we have.”

  “All right,” Goliath said. “I’ll run the idea by the Medius, too, and get instructions. I want everyone geared up and ready. We want all the field units out of here before dawn. Dismissed.”

  Helo leaned back. He didn’t have to gear up or get ready at all. On her way out, Aclima looked back and waved at him. He waved back, the odd pang of loss filling him again. He was going to lose her today. He knew it. But what could he say to her? How could he get the longing for her and disgust he felt over her past to sit down at a table and come to some sort of understanding? It was the same situation he was in with Scarlet, but he didn’t miss Scarlet.

  “Helo,” Goliath said. “Can you stick around for a sec? I need a word. I just have to report to the Medius first.”

  He nodded, and she pulled out her phone and dialed. For the next few minutes she paced the floor, relating the results of the meeting. Helo checked his phone. No new messages from Tela. Hopefully she had managed to get back to sleep.

  Goliath finished up and walked over to him, hands on her hips. “Looks like your heart idea and the transmission device are a go. You all right?” she asked.

  “Ready to get to work,” Helo said.

  “Not what I asked,” Goliath returned.

  Helo shrugged. “A lot on my mind, that’s all.”

  “Look,” Goliath said, eyes soft. “You’ve been through all kinds of hell in your afterlife, more than almost anyone I think I know except for Argyle.”

  “Argyle?”

  “Yep,” Goliath said. “You may wonder why he is such a stickler for rules and totally no fun at all and kind of a prick. I doubt he’d want me telling you this, but back in the first Gulf War, he was a sniper on overwatch. He got to joking around with his spotter, and they missed an Iraqi with an RPG sneaking up and blowing a troop carrier all to hell. The ambush in full swing, he saw a single survivor of the attack, leg blown off, scooting away. He ran to retrieve him and got shot.

  “Imagine carrying the blood of all those men into the afterlife. Well, it got worse. He felt so bad about what he had done, he wanted to do something for the families of the men who were killed. He left the Ash Angels after initial training and broke the first rule about leaving your old life behind. As a result, the Dreads saw him and actually ended up murdering the wife of one of the dead soldiers on his account.

  “So that’s Argyle. Two lapses in judgment with awful consequences. Since then, he has checked every box, dotted every i, and memorized every rule. And you know what? It’s so annoying it makes me want to shoot him in the face sometimes. But you know what else? He has the highest rate of success of any field commander in the Michaels. If his social skills didn’t suck so bad, he’d probably be in line for Mars’s job.”

  Helo could only imagine the guilt. What had Argyle seen when he got torched? “Why are you telling me this?”

  “He and I will get her back, Helo,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what you two are going through right now, but I know you don’t want to let her go. It won’t be the last time you see her, I promise.”

  He nodded.

  Helo wished he could believe her. He didn’t. They weren’t in control. Cain was. The thought of Aclima with him made his insides squirm. Cain might never win her allegiance, but he would try to turn her red again out of spite. With Cain’s sneering face in his mind, Helo’s heart finally settled some of its debate. Whoever she was and whatever she had done, she did not belong with the Dreads anymore.

  Goliath patted his shoulder. “Head to the command center and get up to speed with the comms system. I’ve got to tell Aclima and Faramir about the revision of the plan.”

  “Will do,” he said.

  Goliath left. He paced for a moment, mind trying to find some way to keep Aclima away from the Dreads without getting kicked out of the Michaels and without her being furious with him. But what could he do?

  He wandered out into the hallway. He had never been in this section of the Chicago base before, and he checked a sign at one of the intersections. And there on the sign was the solution he was looking for. Beneath the white engraved text for “Command Center” was “Extraction.” Heart extraction and heart travel. Cassandra’s trick to sneak on board the boat with him when he was sent to face Cain on t
he Tempest immediately sprang to mind. He mentally thanked his trainer. Though it would be tricky, he knew what he had to do.

  He jogged to Extraction, the gray metal door sliding open at his approach. An Asian woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail looked up from a tablet she was holding. Her white lab coat had Misty embroidered on it, and she raised her eyebrows as he entered.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  He tried to act casual. “I need an extraction.”

  “Great. I’m Misty. You part of the group going out today?”

  “Yep.”

  She put the tablet down on the counter next to the blender-like device that would burn a heart and collect the ashes. “Hop up on the table, please, and remove your shirt. I don’t remember seeing you around here. What’s your name?”

  “Helo,” he said.

  “Are you serious?” she said, eyes wide.

  “All the time,” he answered, lying down on an examination table like those in any doctor’s office. He pulled his black shirt up.

  “Wow!” she said, grabbing a medieval looking device with two cutting arms and hooking it to a receptacle on the table next to his chest. “So you’re the one who did that Naked Nazi thing, right?”

  He clenched his jaw for a moment. “Yes.”

  “I’d love to hear how that went down,” she said, clicking a button on the center of the device to activate the camera. “Now, hold still, please.”

  Extracting a heart with the least amount of muscle and tissue damage was an art, one the Ash Angels had mastered. Misty did it in under three minutes, pulling out his heart with all the arteries and veins neatly trimmed.

  He sat up and pulled his shirt down while Misty took the heart toward the blender.