Become

by Ali Cross

  If Heimdall fell, everyone fell. The Gardians on Earth could never return home to Asgard, let alone Ascend.

  If Heimdall fell, Father would have his wish—everyone would be his.

  Forever.

  “Well, okay then,” I said—my ability to state the obvious one of my greatest talents.

  Cornelius cleared his throat, but I glued my gaze on Longinus. I needed the strength of his conviction if I was going to be any use to them at all.

  “The blood of the Lost,” Cornelius said. “The blood of one who has sold their eternal soul for the trappings of this human life.” Cornelius looked at me over the silver rims of his glasses. A list popped into my head: Daniel, Marcus from homeroom, James. Miri.

  My gaze slipped, along with everyone else’s, over to Miri. She seemed completely at ease under our scrutiny.

  “I’m not going anywhere alone,” she said. “You guys are my protectors. I’m going to make like a shadow—” I flinched. “I mean, I’ll be like chocolate on peanut butter—just try to shake me.” She laughed a little, but I still noticed the way her cheeks paled and she lost the nerve to meet my eyes.

  “Truly, she must not be left alone. Not for a moment.” Longinus tucked the spearhead into his shirt, his body fairly trembling with emotion. “I will not allow any ill to befall you.” His fierce declaration to Miri rocked me and a measure of sorrow seeped into my bones. He loved her. Like a father he loved her, and oh she needed that kind of love. Someone to look over her. Someone to save her. Someone who gave a damn.

  Uncomfortable in the silence that stretched out from this pronouncement, I asked, “What are you guys talking about, anyway?”

  Cornelius removed his glasses and leveled his eyes with mine. “Why, the End, my dear. The Apocalypse.”

  “But, I thought all we needed was to make sure Akaros doesn’t get that.” I pointed at Longinus, meaning the spearhead he’d tucked back under his shirt.

  Cornelius sighed and let his glasses fall to his chest again. “Oh, my dear. There is so much more. Lucifer’s plans are myriad and complex. Perhaps he even intended you to aid him, during your sojourn on this world.”

  Unbidden, my eyes flicked to Miri. Did he? Am I helping him?

  “And it is our duty,” Cornelius continued, “to thwart his plans at every turn. We may not be able to defeat him in battle, but we can weary him. We can let him know we will not go down without a fight.”

  He stood straight while I looked in each of the faces around me.

  When my gaze returned to Cornelius, he held his hands out to me, asking for my trust.

  I felt my Shadow stretch, felt it yearn to align itself with the dark, with Akaros and Father. It filled with

  pride

  anger

  fear.

  Would Father call the Apocalypse? Challenge all the gods? Could he?

  Michael reached out and brushed his fingertips against my right hand. Fire flamed up my arm as the golden tendrils snaked their way to my heart. There were more emotions—ones less familiar. Ones I was not equipped to handle.

  Determination.

  Love.

  Hope.

  chapter twenty-eight

  Michael’s eyes, warm as an embrace, drew me to him. He twined his fingers around mine, and when our palms met, everything fell away—the room, the cathedral, St. Mary’s, the crypt. We stood in a place bathed in light, the colors of the rainbow filling my vision.

  A bearded giant of a man, his hands resting on the hilt of a sword so broad it was as wide as me, stood in front of an octagonal building with a beam of light shooting from its center into the vastness of space. He nodded when our eyes met, but didn’t speak.

  “Where are we?” I asked in a whisper. Michael dipped his head, resting his forehead on mine, our noses touching.

  “We’re nowhere. Everywhere. We’re on the Bridge between worlds.”

  “How did we get here? And why is there no Remembering?” I shivered as I realized I might Remember . . . things . . . with Michael right here beside me. I didn’t want him to know just what kind of monster I’d become since the time when he loved me.

  “Heimdall,” Michael glanced at the giant god, who nodded once more and turned his back, giving us privacy, “is a friend. He extracted no price to bring us here.” Michael lifted my chin with his finger, so I couldn’t hide with my cheek against his shoulder.

  “Besides, I am your memory too. And I wanted you to Remember me.” His eyes deepened as I stared into them. I felt like I was falling,

  falling,

  falling

  into them and I never, ever wanted to stop.

  He held my face in his hands. Kissed my forehead. Kissed the corners of my eyes, and oh, I’d never felt kisses so gentle. He kissed the corner of my lips, just the corner. I wished for him to really kiss me, but at the same time I didn’t wanted him to stop this soft shower of love.

  I Remembered the first time I met him, standing in my favorite garden.

  When I enter the clearing, he stands with his back to me, and I almost turn around. At first I don’t recognize him, and I think I know everyone in the Great City. So instead I hang back, one hand holding the branch of a birch tree so I can see him unobstructed.

  He crouches and plucks a tender stem from the cluster of Lily of the Valley at his feet. The stem bows under the weight of its tiny, heady blossoms. The man puts a shining sword on the ground next to him, and I gasp.

  I do know him—he is Michael, Odin’s general, a great warrior.

  He turns then, one hand hovering in the air above the hilt of his sword. When our eyes meet, he pulls his hand back and rests it lightly on his knees. And then he smiles.

  “Hello,” he says.

  “Hello.” I step around the tree and smooth my dress. “I’m . . .”

  He stands and crosses the short distance until he’s close to me. Very close. “I know.” And searching his eyes, I see he does know. And I do too.

  He smiles, as glorious as the sun, his eyes a pool of love that I want to swim in forever. Michael, my love, tilts his head back to greet the sky with his laughter. And when he pulls me to him, I laugh too. Because this is how it sometimes is in Asgard. You can know, or not know, someone your whole life and then you See them. A gift from the gods—love.

  Complete.

  Perfect.

  Forever.

  At the Bridge, Michael moved his hands up my arms and smiled, a subdued reflection of the one he gave me that day in the garden. “Do you Remember?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  I Remembered everything.

  I Remembered the day not long after meeting Michael, that Odin presented me with the staff. He told me I was his Spear of Destiny—that I would bring truth to all the worlds when it was most needed. He said the staff could be used to commit great evil or great good, and that I would determine its path. I didn’t understand what he meant but I glowed with happiness as I accepted the staff, a rare gift from the Tree of Knowledge itself.

  I Remembered other things, too.

  Akaros and his seething jealousy.

  Loki and his endless debates over whose plan was best, his or Odin’s.

  The dark and dreadful day when Michael raised his sword against him and all who sided with him. The day Odin cast them out.

  And I realized then that Father did have reason to call the Apocalypse. Because he had always wanted to punish Odin, to punish all of us. He always believed he’d been wronged.

  I straightened my back and looked Michael square in the eye. I nodded. “I Remember.”

  Michael pulled me to him once again and wrapped his arms around me.

  When he stepped back, I realized it hadn’t been his arms only, but his wings as well. Their golden Halo gently receded and I found we were back in the room. No one seemed to have noticed we were gone—it seemed only our spirits had made the journey. But Knowles had a small smirk on his lips and something like wariness in his eyes.

  “So Fathe
r is calling for Hell on Earth.” My voice rang in the small room like a gong. “How do we stop him?”

  chapter twenty-nine

  An hour later, Michael and I left Cornelius, Knowles, Longinus and Miri in a heated discussion. I didn’t have anything more to add. All that talk about Lost Ones and someone Pure of Heart and the blood of a god—it made my head spin.

  Before, I thought I knew it all. Thought I knew all about Hell, even though I knew I didn’t know much about Heaven—but now it felt like I didn’t know anything at all.

  We walked toward the back of the cemetery, where we’d had lunch earlier. Except it wasn’t today anymore—it had to be two or three in the morning. I looked into the sky, searching for the moon, for the coming sun—anything to ground me in this moment. But storm clouds hid the moon from view.

  Michael tightened his grip on my hand, swallowing it up in his large, strong one. A thrill shot through my arm and all the way down my spine.

  “Desi . . .” His breath hitched and he stopped walking, his face caught up in the shadows of the overhanging trees and the dark night. He sighed, a sound that filled my heart with longing, and took my other hand. He looked down on me. His lips parted. His eyes glittering with their own light. I stepped closer. “I’ve missed you so much.” His husky voice caressed me and I yearned for him.

  With a soft rush of air he grasped me to him and pressed his lips against mine. Not soft this time, but crushing, passionate, hungry.

  I lost all track of time, all conscious thought.

  There was just Michael.

  His hands, warm and strong on my back, pressing me to him.

  His heartbeat matching the crazy rhythm beating in my own chest.

  His lips, soft, pliable, moving on mine in a kiss that fit perfectly.

  His taste—oh, a taste I’d so missed even though I never knew it. Now I wondered how I could have ever forgotten.

  And oh, oh, oh.

  There was only us.

  Michael released his grip and softened his kiss. I sighed and leaned forward, resting my forehead on his chest where his heart tried to regain its normal rhythm. My mind reeled. Could it really be? Could this be real? Michael and me?

  My legs quivered and I felt . . . free. Joyful.

  This wasn’t like it had been with James. Every time with him I felt a little dirty, like I was using him. It felt good but . . .

  It could never be like this.

  I didn’t have to Remember to know it could only be Michael.

  Would always be Michael.

  Forever.

  He pulled me to a slightly damp bench facing a towering stone angel. It seemed to be bestowing a blessing on us, the way its head bowed in our direction, its hands clasped in prayer. Looking at it, I couldn’t help but wonder about Michael—and about me.

  The pathway at my feet was dotted with puddles of rain water—I guess it had rained while we were inside. I patted a puddle with my foot.

  “What’s it like?” I blurted. “Asgard, I mean.” I took a shaky breath, not realizing until the words came out that I really wanted to know. About heaven. About me.

  Michael sighed, a happy sound, and he slouched a little, letting his body rest against mine. My stomach flipped again and I wanted to take his hand, hated seeing them hanging loosely between his knees like they were.

  No sooner had I thought it than he reached across our laps and grasped my hand. He began to trace aimless patterns on my open palm.

  “What . . . what do you Remember?” He hesitated, like he was afraid of the answer.

  I wasn’t so sure of the answer myself.

  How could I explain how I both loved and hated the dreams, the Memories? That while I felt hope, I also felt horrible and awful—completely unworthy? I wasn’t that girl, the one in the dreams. I wasn’t who Michael Remembered.

  Michael swiveled until he faced me. His fingers tightened around mine and his gaze pierced my heart. “Desi, I know you. I know you from the inside out. Maybe I even know you better than you know yourself.”

  I jerked back, trying to pull my hands away—but he wouldn’t let them go. His eyes begged me to listen to him, to stay and talk with him. And love for him burned within my soul—I knew I had no choice but to listen.

  “I don’t think I like you reading my mind.”

  And Michael smiled, glorious and bright and I knew—I knew—that I’d do anything and everything to see him smile like that, every day, always.

  “Of course you don’t.” His smile took on a mischievous slant, turned up on the left corner. Love flared within me, so familiar, so unreal. “And of course I’ll respect your wishes.” He pulled his lips down and faked a serious expression—even though his eyes kept glimmering. “I promise, I will never read your mind—unless you ask me to.” He laughed, a soft sound that felt as refreshing as a light rain. I couldn’t help but join him.

  “If I ask you to? Why in the world would I ask you to read my mind?”

  He dipped his head, and with his right hand pulled mine forward so our foreheads met. “I can think of a few reasons. Like this,” he kissed my temple, “and this,” he kissed my cheek, “and this,” he kissed the corner of my lips. And damn him, I’d been thinking of those very things, those very kisses, and oh, I wanted more.

  “Hey,” I managed, but my heart wasn’t in it.

  Michael laughed, pulling back and making me employ all my will to resist leaning in and making him kiss me—forever.

  “Well, I wanted you to know just how useful reading your mind can be.” His eyes sparkled and I knew he knew what I was thinking. I felt my cheeks grow warm and the sensation was so surprising that I had to reach up and touch my face. My cheeks burned beneath my cool fingers—I had never felt my body so warm, except when I’d Become. But right now I was just me. Just Desi.

  Whatever that meant.

  I took a breath, trying to steady my racing heart, cool my burning cheeks. “So. What’s it like?” I turned away from Michael—which felt like the hardest thing I’d ever done—and stared at the face of the stone angel. I willed myself to stop thinking about kisses and touches and . . . . Stop. Just . . . stop.

  Michael waited a moment before slipping his hands from mine and facing the angel. He kept his pinky hooked around my own. It felt so good. So natural.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  I almost interrupted him, because really. Beautiful? I figured it was beautiful. But I was glad I didn’t because he started talking again. “It’s lush and rich. Green hills, lots of trees. Just . . . beautiful.” He shrugged, probably thinking his description was a little vague. But I closed my eyes and I could see the whole thing.

  “Are there gardens?”

  “There are many gardens. There are gardens full of flowers, gardens with koi ponds, and gardens with so many roses you can get drunk on the scent alone.”

  My shoulders sagged. I wanted him to tell me about our garden, the one from my dreams. Maybe I’d just imagined it, after all. Michael took my hand, curling his fingers around mine.

  “Is it warm?” And I wished I could have made my voice sound strong, but right at that moment I didn’t feel it. I felt lonely, and embarrassed and something that felt like homesick. But can you be homesick for a place you’ve never been? Or at least couldn’t really remember?

  “It’s so warm,” Michael said. “There’s this one place,” he scooted a little closer to me and rubbed his thumb gently on my hand. “It’s secluded. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone else there, at least . . . not for a long while.” His voice trailed into a whisper and he grew quiet.

  “But it’s my favorite place in all of Asgard. It’s a small clearing, with a stand of birch trees surrounding it. The sun filters down just so, giving enough light that the space is warm and the golden light dances around on the grass in a way that is . . . perfect.” He turned his face to me, and I could see him out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t move. “And in the shade of the trees grow hundreds of Lily of the
Valley. All year long. It’s the sweetest scent in all creation.” In a whisper he added, “They remind me of you.”

  I did face him then, and I knew. I knew he was talking about my garden—our garden.

  It was real.

  He was real.

  This was real.

  “I’m not perfect,” I whispered. I hadn’t felt the tears coming, but the next thing I knew my eyes filled up and cool tears slid down my cheeks.

  Michael slipped a hand under my hair and around my neck. I wondered what he thought when he touched me. Did he think my skin was too cold? When he looked into my eyes—or worse, when he read my mind—what did he think of the things he saw there? Of the evil I’d Become?

  “Desi, I’m not blind to what you are. But you are the same warrior I knew in Asgard. You look the same, you feel the same.” He brushed his thumb across my cheek to dry my tears, but they kept coming.

  “But I’m not the same. I’m not.” He had to understand this. Had to know. I pushed away from him and stood, walking a few paces away, splashing in the puddles. I couldn’t think when I was so near him. “Michael, I’m not the girl you Remember.” I forced myself to look at him. Forced him to look at me. I let my Shadow expand until it towered above me. “This is what I am now.”

  Michael sat there, elbows on his knees, hands dangling loosely between them. He didn’t take his eyes from mine. Didn’t even glance at the black-as-night monstrosity that was the essence of my shadow-self.

  His eyes locked on mine, he said, “That’s what you are, not who. I know the who, and that’s the person I love.” And then he did look at me—all of me. He took his time, looking first way up to the tips of my wings, then around the perimeter of my right wing, and then back to my eyes. “Maybe it’s you who can’t accept what you are.”

  I let my Shadow take on more substance, not just the hazy quality of shadows, but more like smoky glass. “I accept it. This is who I am now. What I am.”

  Michael stood and took my hands. “Not all of what you are.”

  His skin began to glow, softly at first, like a trick of the light—except there was no light here, it was utterly dark, and my Shadow only deepened the night around us. His Halo materialized behind him and my breath caught in my throat. He was so beautiful.