“Yes, I told you.”
I’m not sure what to do, what to believe. I’ve never dreamed of the future before, just the past, but who am I to say it isn’t possible?
“What exactly did you see?” I ask.
He pinches his eyes shut. “Fire. There was a fire.”
“Like at the school?” Jake asks.
“No,” Marco says, frustrated. “Smaller. But Henry was there, in a wheelchair. Damien stood over him with a scabby-looking knife. And Liv was there, you guys! She was screaming.”
He gave us the whole dream, but I heard only three words: scabby-looking knife.
“Kay, did you tell Marco about the dagger in Canaan’s" class="tx" a
31
Marco
Liv leaves the door open and walks back to the seating area. The air moves when she steps in front of Marco. She smells of fall. Of cinnamon apples and spice. He lets her pass, Brielle’s keys flipping on his finger.
“You going to put it on?” he asks.
“Is it going to make me change my mind about the files?” She drops back to the hearth. “Is that why she gave it to me?”
“She doesn’t have an ulterior motive, Liv.”
“Everyone has an ulterior motive.”
Marco slides the letters aside and sits next to her. “I don’t. If you want me to help you destroy the files, I will. Just like that.”
“There are only eighteen files, Marco, and I have a fire. I don’t need help.”
“Then why haven’t you done it?”
“I don’t know,” she says, looking around. “Where did the wine go?”
“You always know. Why are they in your safe when you could have burned them next to those hard drives?”
“Because I’m not sold on destroying them, okay? I just . . . Ah! I hate having that little know-it-all dictate to me.”
Marco stands and retrieves the bottle from the mantle. “You have a warped view of Brielle, you know that?”
“Do I? You don’t think she’s pulling strings? Trying to get everyone to do things her way?”
“Sure she is,” Marco says, handing her the bottle. “But aren’t we all? Aren’t you?”
“Always.” Her eyes drift to the bookcase by the door. To the halo sitting there, shining, beckoning.
Marco watches her. “Liv, when was the last time you felt hope?”
The creamy skin of her brow gathers, and she blinks her focus away. “When was the last time the Seahawks had a shot at the Super Bowl? 2006?”
“You don’t even watch football.” next to Canaan’s.29p A
“I do when we have a decent team,” she says.
“Liv.”
“Look, Marco. I’ve survived. Survived Javan and Henry. Survived Damien. That has to count for something. And what’s up with you, anyway? You were jonesing to kill Henry, what, two days ago? What kind of hope is there in that?”
He turns, stares at the old man.
“I don’t know what’s happened to me, Liv. Honestly, I have no idea, but it’s better. Whatever’s happening in my head isn’t as miserable . . . I haven’t felt hope since Ali. And even then, it was just hope for us, hope for our future and our little family. But that halo . . .”
She stands, moves away.
“Listen to me, Liv,” he says, standing. Following her. “I have hope now. Beyond just me. I have hope for you and for your future. For Jake and Brielle. For all those children you want to help in Beacon City. I even—gah, Liv, I even have hope for Henry.”
“Don’t you dare,” she says, spinning, jabbing a finger in his chest. “Don’t you dare. He doesn’t deserve hope.”
He grabs her wrist, refusing to let her walk away from the conversation. Needing her to understand.
“And I do? The warehouse Ali died in, I sold it to Damien. I knew he was up to something, but I didn’t care. I was selfish and I got my girlfriend killed, my unborn child murdered. I don’t deserve hope.”
“Marco . . .”
“Hoping good things for you is easy,” he says. “For Jake and Brielle it’s cake. But I’ve seen what Henry could have been. In my dreams I’ve seen what he could have done in this life if it weren’t for the disease, for all his diseases. And for the first time in months I know that darkness isn’t all there is.”
She tugs her arm free. “It’s all I’ve ever seen.”
He stands eye-to-eye with his childhood friend. “Then put it on.”
Her eyes flit to the halo once more, and Marco thinks, Maybe, maybe. But a cool breeze appears out of nowhere, and her hair lifts. The room goes cold and the air whistles as something slices through it. And then in the corner of the room, Henry sputters. Marco turns toward him. Wine dribbles from his lips, down his chin.
But wait, it’s not wine, it’s blood.
“He’s been stabbed.” Marco hurdles the coffee table and stumbles over the corner of the rug in his attempt to get to the old man.
“That’s impossible,!.”owpD;” Liv says, her voice trembling. “It’s just us.”
And then it isn’t.
Damien stands between Henry and Marco. He has some sort of army knife in his hands, Henry’s blood dripping from the blade to the floor. Marco tries to back away, stumbling over the rug he just upturned.
“Why?” Marco asks. “He’s all but gone.”
Damien wipes the blade on his pants and slides it into the sheath strapped to his thigh.
“Oh, I’m just finishing him off. I cut his soul down days ago, while you were in Stratus securing me the halo.” His eyes are on Liv now. “Without Javan, he was showing signs of remorse, and I promised my old friend I wouldn’t let his pet project switch sides. I gave you a few days, though, doll. Thought you’d like to watch him waste away.” He grins. “You’re welcome.”
“Don’t talk to her,” Marco says.
Damien shoves him aside. “She’s mine. I’ll do what I want with her.” He strides across the room, leaving Henry slumped in his chair. Marco stares at the old man, everything in him screaming out, wanting justice and wondering if justice was just served.
Liv backs away as Damien approaches, her calves striking the coffee table behind her. But Damien turns, cutting between the couch and the desk. He’s heading for the door.
“Why are you here?” Marco asks.
“I came for her,” Damien says, his back to them. “But there was a Shield nearby.”
“Canaan,” Liv whispers.
“So I waited.”
“Chicken,” Marco says.
“Oh, Canaan will get his. Don’t you worry about that. But speaking of cowardice, I find it ironic that this thing”—he turns around, the halo clenched in his fist—“frightens you, Olivia.”
“It speaks to me,” she says, pressing a hand to the soft spot between her ribs. “I . . . I feel the words. Here.”
A low growl rumbles from Damien’s chest. “And what does it say to you?”
“Liv,” Marco says, “you don’t have to talk to him.”
Damien disappears from his spot by the door and reappears in front of Marco. He grabs Marco’s shirt and lifts him off the ground. He doesn’t even have time to flail. Two steps and Damien’s pressing him against the mantle, a knife pressed to his throat.
“I have no use for you,” Damien rumbles.
Marco tries to find the ground with his toes. “But you won’t kill me,” he says. “You can’t.”
“And what makes you think that?”
The air is thin, his windpipe collapsing with Damien’s weight. “He showed me.”
Damien shoves him higher, the knife scratching, drawing blood. “Who showed you?”
“God,” Marco gasps. “He showed me.”
Damien pulls the knife back, its blade aimed at Marco’s heart. “Showed you what?”
But Marco can’t breathe, much less speak.
“He showed you what?” Damien yells, spit flying.
“The future. And I’m there. I have one. So you can’t”—M
arco gasps and gasps—“I know you can’t.”
Damien falters, his knife hand dropping maybe a millimeter. Marco’s vision is sketchy, spots starting to form, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Liv grab the poker off the fireplace and swing it at Damien. It hits the demon’s abdomen, but all it seems to do is shake him from his lapse. He raises the knife as Liv swings again. She’s aiming for his knee this time, but Damien’s fast, and the makeshift weapon is kicked away before it does any damage.
Damien howls. The knife drops from his hand, disappearing before it hits the ground.
Damien releases Marco and spins around.
Helene is there, holding his knife. She’s not smiling, not really.
“It’s always the little ones,” Damien growls.
“New knife?” she asks him, turning the weapon in her hand.
“Same knife, new victim,” he answers.
“You entered Stratus?” she says, incredulous. “With the Sabres there? With Michael’s forces engaged?”
He taps his temple. “New eyes, remember.”
“It seems they’ve made you stupid.”
“I prefer fearless.”
“I’m sure you do.”
He swings at her, but she steps to the side and jabs at him with the knife, nicking his knuckles.
“I’m faster than you in this realm as well,” she says.
“You weren’t faster than me last time.”
next to Canaan’s.eate “I made a mistake last time,” she says. “Today I have reinforcements. See for yourself.”
He looks doubtful but vanishes.
Liv crawls to Marco’s side. She tips his chin and presses a silk handkerchief to the slice across his neck.
And then Damien’s back. “Why bring reinforcements if they’re going to remain at a distance?”
“Because you won’t be destroyed by a blade of light. Not tonight.”
He steps closer. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re going to leave. You did what you came to do. You finished off Henry. Now go.”
“You let me kill him?”
“My hand was stayed.” There’s sadness in her tone, but no regret. “Now go.”
Marco watches as Damien slides the halo into his pocket. Liv’s halo. It’s hers now. And Damien doesn’t get to take anything else from her. He lurches forward in protest, his voice box bruised, refusing to cooperate. Liv grabs his arm and pulls him back.
“Let him,” she says. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes,” Damien growls. “Let me.” He rounds on Marco, but Helene’s fast, moving in a blur, cutting him off.
And then the room explodes in light and color. And heat. Marco blinks and blinks, but the colors won’t stop moving. He gasps, chokes, inhaling air and fire. Somehow he is yanked to his feet. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, his eyes stream tears, and Liv is pressed next to him, her screams deafening.
“Peace, peace.” It’s Helene. He can hear her, but he can’t see her. And he can’t move.
“Where are you?” he cries.
“Closer than you can imagine.”
“And Damien?”
“You’re safe. We have him surrounded.”
But the room is empty. And so, so bright.
“Where?” Marco asks.
“I’ll show you,” she says. Is her voice in his head? And then air presses against them and his feet lift off the ground. His peripheral vision catches white flashes against a red sky and he turns his head, first left and then right.
Wings. Moving up and down, lifting them off the ground.
TI’m not sure aid=" for ahey’re flying!
“You’re carrying us.” He turns to Liv, sees her golden face, her glowing eyes. “She’s carrying us,” he says.
Liv is quiet now, small black beads breaking out across her forehead. He watches as they dissolve in the heat. “There,” she says, tilting her head to the sky. “Look.”
Marco obeys and catches his first glimpse of Helene’s angelic face. So bright, so beautiful. She’s looking upward as well. Past her chin, he sees what Liv’s pointing at.
It has to be Damien, but he’s never seen anything so ugly, so vicious.
“He really is a demon,” Marco says.
“Did you doubt it?” Liv asks.
“No, but seeing makes it hard to deny.”
Helene rights them, the demon twenty, thirty feet away. And she’s right. They have him surrounded. Gigantic armed angels encircle him. They’re easily one and half times his size, but they keep their distance. Helene takes her place among them.
Damien flies in a circle now, snarls vibrating from his lips.
“You can’t touch me tonight,” he says. By the look on the faces of the angels gathered, Marco’s not the only one hearing Damien’s voice in his head. He watches as Damien draws a sword from the sheath at his waist, something like dry ice spilling from the blade. He shakes it at the angels positioned around him. “The little one told me. You’ve not been granted my destruction.”
His lips spread wide, and a celebratory kind of cry escapes. The angels remain where they are, their massive wings holding their circle in place. He flies higher, but the angels rise with him, keeping Damien at their center. A raging cry rips from his chest and he lashes out, flying toward an angel on Marco’s right. He swings his weapon, the white angel drawing his. Sparks fly, smoke hissing as the swords collide. Damien swings again and again, trying to wound, trying to maim, but the angel only blocks his blows.
Damien moves to the next angel, striking, striking, absorbing the vibrations of the Warrior’s sword, but doing no damage.
“Why aren’t they fighting?” Liv says.
“Because they don’t have to.” Helene’s voice is steady, certain.
“But they’re stronger than he is.” Liv’s words tremble. “They could destroy him.”
“Watch.”
When Damien gets to Helene, she draws her sword, but the angels on either side of her close in, drawing theirs, blocking Damien’s access to her. To Liv and him.
“Is that all I& betterowpD; had to do to get your attention? Approach the humans?”
Marco watches between the heaving wings of the angels before him.
“I said, is that all I had to do?”
But they remain silent, something that seems to enrage Damien. He shakes, spit and fog spewing from his mouth. He’s close now, a slick, black tar slipping and sliding over his warped, muscled body. The thick talons of one hand wrap around his sword, the halo clenched in his other fist.
And then next to Marco, Liv speaks. “Are you scared, Damien?”
Her question takes Marco off guard. But it’s not just the question itself, it’s the tone. Damien seems surprised that she’s addressed him as well. But he answers, swinging his sword wide.
“Of these? Never.”
“Of the halo,” she says.
Damien smirks, holds it out. “Am I scared of this? This trinket that gave one healing powers, another sight, and your boyfriend here nightmares? No, doll. I am not scared of something that can only give what I already have.”
“I think you are,” she says, holding his gaze. “I would be.”
He leans as close as the angelic guardians will allow. “You’re human.”
Her hand finds her chest. “I can hear it, Damien, and it’s talking to you.”
He scoffs. “It’s not—” But he stops midsentence.
“You can’t feel regret, can you?” she asks. “You can’t feel what you’ve done to me, to any of us. I feel every mistake I’ve ever made. But not you. You feel nothing but rage.”
“Stop talking,” Damien says, but his eyes jump from the halo to Liv and back again, and Marco’s not convinced he’s speaking to her.
Liv’s eyes are glued to the halo, as though she can see the words it whispers. “He offered you forgiveness, but you walked away from it. And He still shows you mercy.” She pauses, confusion in the swirling colors of her face. �
�Without hope of forgiveness, remorse is the worst kind of torture. It’s a kindness that you can’t fKIL">And then
32
Brielle
The flight from Olivia’s place is short. So much shorter than I anticipated. When Canaan starts his descent, I haven’t had near enough time to sort out everything we just learned. So many new puzzle pieces and not nearly enough time to put them together. I turn to Jake now, but his eyes are on the building below.
“Where are we, Canaan?” I ask.
“Good Samaritan Hospital,” he says, his voice quiet in my head.
My heart bounces in my chest. “Regina?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, Brielle. She didn’t make it.”
I’m aware of a lot of things after that—Jake taking my hand, whispering prayers in my ears; the raindrops sparkling like psychedelic art as they fall to the ground; Canaan’s wings slowing as we dip through the roof of the hospital—but I think I stop feeling altogether. There’s just too much to think. Too much to understand. Too many questions that will never have answers. I’m a sponge that’s reached capacity, and I sink into the absolute numbness of the moment.
And then Canaan sets us down in an empty elevator and releases us from his wings. He pushes the number three, and the elevator jolts into motion.
“Have you . . . ,” I start. “Did you try . . .”
“I tried,” Canaan says. “But my hand was stayed.”
“What about Jake? Can Jake . . .”
“That’s why we’re here,” Canaan says, his voice gentle.
The elevator doors open onto a hallway that may have once been beige but is now black and morbid. Fear crawls like a thousand fingers down the walls and across the ceiling. It drips to the floor and oozes toward us. Still, we step out. We walk toward it. Canaan goes before us, Jake’s hand in mine. The fear parts for Canaan, and we stay close. He rounds one corner and then another before turning back to us.
“Her room’s just ahead. Across from the nurses’ station. I’ll be right here.”
Ahrough the air
nd then his celestial form replaces his human one, and I realize he’s transferred. I’m the only one who can see him now. Silently, we walk forward. Canaan stays ahead of us, his wings brushing the walls, the fear dissolving on contact. I’m grateful, so grateful he’s here.
Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel) Page 21
