by C. Gockel
How drunk was he?
He inspected himself, probing for bleeding of any kind. Dirt streaked his ancient Harley Davidson shirt, which he brushed at absently. After inspecting his jeans, he noted no new rips, which was another surprise. He hadn’t even broken his phone. His tongue seemed to be the only injury, and it smarted like a redheaded bitch.
“I need to cut back on the Jack,” Clark said shakily when he realized he made the nearly one hundred-foot fall from the cave’s roof completely unscathed. His insides turned mushy, and a cold, shivering chill overcame him.
And then he puked violently.
When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Tears brimmed along his eyes and actually threatened to shed. Clark swiped them away, feeling immediately embarrassed. He imagined his father’s expression if he saw Clark crying.
“I almost freaking died. I can cry if I want to!” he told himself in his own defense.
His voice echoed, and Clark realized he stood in a cavern. He meant to figure out the real-life explanation for what had stopped his fall, but the sound of a waterfall brought him back to every night he’d woken drenched in sweat from the dream. The cold air condensed against his clammy skin—as it did in the dream. The pressure made his ears pop—as it did in the dream. He got a really bad feeling—as he did in the dream.
He was here.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Clark swore.
He didn’t want to step forward, but he was pulled. There was a shadow in the darkness that could have been anything; it didn’t have to be the body of an angel. His eyes roamed the space again until he was certain it was the cave from his dream.
He was.
Clark paused for only a second, because he knew what he would find. Then he took off, skidding across the slippery rocks and crashing into the small stream. When he reached Michaela, he crouched beside her, hesitating before touching her.
Her face was half submerged in the water. Long, pale arms splayed outwards at her sides. Blood no longer poured from her like it had, and he was thankful for that mercy; blood made him sick and weak in the knees. Instead, it was dried across her back, the ground, everywhere except in the stream that ran clear and pure beneath her. She was half drowned and half torn apart, yet she still lived. He knew that before he saw the water bubble by her lips.
And she was naked. He hadn’t remembered that part.
Clark yanked off his jacket. The whiskey didn’t lend his actions much care, but he drew her from the water and awkwardly tucked the jacket around her shriveled form. He avoided looking at her back, which had poured forth not only blood, but muscle and bone.
Michaela groaned in his arms. Her head lolled back, and fresh, gold blood trickled from between her cracked lips. Cuts covered her battered face, and bruises, shaped like fingers, stained the pale skin of her throat. Her arm flopped over, exposing the horrible black marks underneath her skin that stank of infection.
Clark wrapped his arms around her, avoiding the gaping hole in the middle of her back. He shifted his numb feet. Times like this made him wish he’d spent more time in the gym. He gritted his teeth and prepared to lift her from the water.
For the second time that night, “Welcome to the Jungle” blared into the cavern, echoing back and forth across the rocks. Clark jerked in surprise and nearly dropped Michaela back into the stream. She gurgled in pain. Propping Michaela against his shoulder, Clark ripped at the back pocket of his jeans to get his cell phone out.
“Hello?” he croaked.
He prayed he didn’t sound drunk. He focused hard on how he remembered himself talking when he was sober.
“Where the hell are you? Why did you answer your satellite phone instead of your cell phone?”
“Dad, I—” Clark began. He couldn’t help it, a surge of excitement went through him as he imagined what his father would say when Clark told him he had found the Archangel Michaela. Clark would be a hero for rescuing her.
“Come back now. A meeting has been called.”
“Okay, but I—” Clark started again.
“Now, Clark. Michaela betrayed Heaven,” his father snapped.
Clark paused, stunned. That wasn’t what he expected. He must have heard his father wrong. Michaela would never betray Heaven, and, at the moment, she looked like someone had betrayed her. His brain played catch up through the fog of Jack, near-death experiences, and near dead angels.
“What?” was all he managed, which was definitely not up to sober Clark’s standards.
His father sighed forcibly into the phone. Clark pictured him sitting in his ridiculously uncomfortable chair behind his much-too-large desk covered with way too much paperwork while he silently cursed his failure of a son.
“Michaela has been marked as a traitor. The holy angels consider her an active threat, so get your ass back here so you can be briefed.”
“No, dad—” Clark started to argue.
“Damnit, listen to me!”
“But, dad,” Clark continued like his father hadn’t spoken. “Michaela wouldn’t do that.” His heart clanged. “She wouldn’t. You always said she was the best of all the angels. She couldn’t fall. She wouldn’t. She—”
“Shut up, Clark!” Clark swore the phone vibrated from the sheer force of his father’s angst. “She organized an invasion of Heaven. She and the Archangels have fallen. Now stop asking questions and get back here.” His father paused, like he sniffed Clark’s breath over the phone. “Are you drunk?”
“No! No way,” Clark answered too quickly.
His father was silent for a long moment. Clark kept his mouth shut like he’d been told.
“Your mother would be so disappointed in you if she could see you now.”
His father’s words cut Clark only slightly. They weren’t anything he hadn’t heard a million times before, but this time they were literally heavy in his arms. He looked down at Michaela and knew, in that moment, that contrary to what his father claimed, his mother would be proud. In some way, Clark was sent here to find Michaela. And he had. For the first time in his life, Clark had done something right.
“What about you, Dad?”
Clark sensed his father’s anger through the phone like the lash of a whip. He had gone too far. His father drew in a deep breath, readying to launch into an epic ass chewing when Michaela groaned.
“What was that?” his father snapped into the heated silence.
“Nothing.”
Clark hung up. He looked down at Michaela. If things were different, he would report her to his father, who would report her to the holy angels to be dealt with. Being a Descendant of Enoch, the blood in Clark’s veins had sworn an oath that dictated Clark would obey the orders of the angels and, by extension, the Descendant’s leaders. He should turn her in, but he wasn’t going to. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. He would do anything in his power to help Michaela.
His mother had led him to this cave so he could save Michaela, and he wasn’t going to give up on either of them now.
With a grunt, he lifted Michaela. She stirred. Her eyes blinked open momentarily to reveal a shocking cobalt blue so rich she had to be from Heaven. He sighed knowingly. He’d always been a sucker for blue eyes.
“We are totally screwed, Michaela. Now, where the hell is the exit?”
Chapter Eight
Gabriel was losing it, and what little sanity he had left was going fast. When he’d lost Michaela’s connection, he had also lost her location. Gabriel knew the general area, but he and the Archangels were struggling to find her exact position. By the progress of the moon, midnight had come and gone, which meant Michaela had been missing for most of the night, and the longer it took to find her, the tighter Gabriel’s skin became.
Gabriel’s head snapped up at the sound of a twig breaking underfoot. “Anything?” he asked, forcing his voice to be even and quiet.
Raphael, an Archangel with arm muscles the size of cannons, shook his head. “Nothing.” His dark sk
in gleamed in the moonlight as he waited with Gabriel.
Gabriel raked his hands over his face, grabbing the back of his head. The skin under his eye twitched. The area was too big with too many caves, and Michaela was just one lost angel who could be hurt…or worse. Gabriel had never felt so hopeless.
Ophaniel, Simiel, Uriel, and Zarachiel approached, joining Raphael and Gabriel in a small clearing beside a Mammoth Park sign. They spoke quietly to each other, but Gabriel didn’t bother to listen. For the countless time, he searched every corner of his being, looking for her presence. He only heard the echo of his heartbeat.
“Gabriel?” He looked up. The Archangels stared at him. He arched an eyebrow, not speaking, because he didn’t trust himself at the moment.
“We have a summons to return to Heaven. Everyone feels it,” Raphael said. Gabriel nodded, because the pull was in him too. “We need to go back.”
“I can’t leave without her,” Gabriel said around the tightness in his voice. He paced away. There was an animal in him trying to claw and shred its way out if he didn’t get to her soon.
“Have you thought—”
“Raphael, don’t.” Gabriel looked back when Zarachiel warned Raphael. “Don’t say it.”
“What shouldn’t he say?” Gabriel’s eyes narrowed on the two angels.
Zarachiel put his hand on Raphael’s arm, which Raphael shook off when he spoke to Gabriel. “Have you thought there is a reason we might not be able to feel her anymore?”
“What reason is that, brother?” Gabriel stalked to within inches of Raphael’s nose.
“She’s a fallen.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Do you guys smell that?”
Gabriel and the others looked at Ophaniel. Her long, wispy blond hair blew in the breeze as she took a deep breath. Everyone paused, sniffing the wind. After a second, Gabriel spun around, as did the other Archangels, their noses pointed east. Without looking at each other, without a word, they eased toward the smell—their movements, lithe and silent.
Down a small ridge, Gabriel and the other Archangels found a newly dug entrance into a cave. Gabriel smelled the freshness of torn dirt. The Archangels circled around the hole and waited.
It wasn’t long until the other group of angels Ophaniel had smelled climbed out. Gabriel expected to meet fallen, but holy angels stepped out instead.
Immediately, Gabriel recognized them as Seraphim by their red tipped white wings and silver eyes. The Seraphim were a choir of holy angels—like the Archangels. But unlike the Archangels’ high standing in the order of angels, the Seraphim were relegated to a much lower, servant choir whose duty was to serve the higher choirs. They didn’t question or doubt or wonder. They did as they were told.
The Seraphim climbed out, their eyes oddly cautious when they took in the Archangels around them. Gabriel signaled for the Archangels to step back and give their fellow holy angels room.
The Seraphim gathered above ground, wary and watchful. Gabriel’s eyes drifted to the cave the Seraphim had just left. Michaela’s scent blossomed out behind them.
“Gabriel,” a seraph acknowledged.
“Jehoel.” Gabriel greeted the seraph, recalling his name easily. Jehoel looked surprised for a moment before an unfamiliar hard mask slid back onto his face. “Is Michaela with you? Was she in there?”
Jehoel tensed. The group of Seraphim stared back at the Archangels with narrowed, almost angry eyes that cut through the darkness. A stifling tension hung thick in the air that Gabriel hadn’t expected. It made everyone uneasy.
“No. Is she with you?” The suspicion was evident in the Jehoel’s voice. Gabriel’s hackles rose. He motioned to Zarachiel, a tall, handsome angel with short, cropped dark hair and tanned skin, who immediately stepped forward, his eyes trained on the Seraphim. Uriel mimicked Zarachiel’s movement. Her short black hair was slicked back, unmoving in the night breeze.
“Search the cave,” Gabriel told them.
“No.” Jehoel stepped forward, blocking the two Archangels’ path. The Seraphim tightened behind Jehoel.
“Why not?” Gabriel asked.
Raising his eyebrows, Jehoel said, “So you don’t know then?”
“Look, seraph, you’d better tell us what is going on now. We’ve been on Earth a while, and we are ready to leave,” Raphael said, stepping forward until the Seraphim where almost backing into the cave again.
“Heaven was invaded,” Jehoel answered, glaring at Raphael. “Michaela left the gates open. Thankfully, we fought the fallen back.”
The other Archangels were stunned, but Gabriel paid little attention to their anxiety filling his head. Since they had been on Earth together for the same amount of time, their telepathic link was still functional. “Michaela would never leave the gates open. Why did she go outside Heaven’s walls?”
“Presumably to let the fallen in.”
“What are you saying about her?” Gabriel asked quietly. The Seraphim must have seen something in his eyes, because they all stepped back, hissing beneath their breath.
“Let’s all calm down and quit acting like a bunch of humans,” Simiel said with an easy smile on his pale, freckled face. He patted Gabriel on the shoulder and stepped forward, blocking Gabriel’s view of the Seraphim so all Gabriel saw was the red shock of Simiel’s hair. “Is Heaven okay?”
Jehoel nodded tightly. “Yes.”
“Okay. So why can’t we look for Michaela?”
“We already searched the cave. She isn’t there anymore,” Jehoel said.
“Well then, I think it’s only fair that we get to look too, right?” Simiel motioned for Zarachiel and Uriel to go into the cave. The Seraphim didn’t want to part, but the Archangels shouldered them out of the way and disappeared underground.
“Is this where you sensed her?” Jehoel asked, looking at Gabriel. “You followed your connection to her here?”
Gabriel nodded. Ophaniel shifted behind him, snapping a twig in the process. It was the only sound in the woods.
“Do you feel her now?” Jehoel asked, pressing the point.
“If I did, do you think I would be standing here talking to you?” Gabriel said pointedly. He stepped around Simiel, his patience a thin wire. Just then, Zarachiel and Uriel emerged from the cave. They shook their head at Gabriel as they returned to their spots behind him.
Zarachiel spoke to Gabriel’s thoughts. She was down there not long ago like the Seraphim say. We probably only missed her by a few minutes.
How did we miss her? She had been so close…
It looks like she went out through an underground exit that put them on the other side of the park. We couldn’t have smelled her. There was something else we found in the cave…
Zarachiel paused as if he didn’t want to mention the next detail, but Uriel charged ahead indelicately. There was a lot of her blood. We smelled it everywhere. She was likely too weak to reach us telepathically.
Gabriel didn’t react to the brutally delivered news. Zarachiel went on much more delicately after shooting Uriel a frustrated glance. We smelled a human too. We think he must have come through the ceiling of the cave. It was at least a hundred foot fall.
His body? Gabriel questioned, assuming the human to be dead after such a long drop.
There was nothing. Not even a drop of human blood. He left with her, Zarachiel answered before Uriel.
Gabriel took a deep breath. He was starting to get a bad feeling, because something was bothering him. “We need to search this area thoroughly.”
Jehoel narrowed his eyes. “No. We have our orders.”
Gabriel’s brows rose. “Last time I checked, we are your commanding choir, and you are not to speak to us with such disrespect.”
The seraph behind Jehoel sneered. “Then clearly you haven’t checked recently. A new choir leads Heaven now—the Aethere. They took control of Heaven after the fallen attacked.”
Gabriel knew about the Aethere. They fell right below the Archangels in the
power ranking of choirs with the duty of judging souls. They sat in chairs for never ending days, hardly speaking except to issue judgments and rarely went outside their tower. In truth, the other angels avoided them, because the Aethere were a breed of angel far outside the normal.
The Archangels stirred at the seraph’s words, drowning his thoughts. His brain swelled, pressing against his forehead and making the vein pulse faster. But Gabriel didn’t react. He had always resented the fickleness of feelings, which is why he often chose not to express them.
“And why did they do that?” Gabriel asked.
“Doubt has been cast on your allegiance, because half your choir fell from grace.” Jehoel squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.
Everyone grew silent as the news sank in. The Archangels didn’t even speak to one another through their thoughts. They had been on Earth for weeks, drowning out their telepathic link to the others in Heaven so that they hadn’t even realized the moment they lost touch with their fallen brothers and sister. Small tinges of denial and blooming sadness welled up from the others in Gabriel’s mind, but he couldn’t let himself dwell on those who had fallen. His one and only concern was Michaela.
“You are to come with us. The Aethere have summoned the remaining Archangels to Heaven,” Jehoel said.
“Well as you can see,” Gabriel said, “we did not fall. So why are we being questioned?”
Jehoel frowned at Gabriel’s resistance. “My orders were to bring you back to Heaven once we found Michaela.”
“And yet you haven’t found her. Which makes me wonder…how did the Aethere know where Michaela fell if they were busy saving Heaven from the fallen’s attack? I doubt they watched where she crashed. So how did they know?” Gabriel delivered the words quietly, evenly, in the manner of someone who didn’t take the time so speak out loud much.
The Seraphim stirred. Wrinkles formed in Jehoel’s sharp, angular face, like he was thinking too hard. Gabriel knew from looking at their reactions that none of the Seraphim had thought to ask before they’d come to hunt Michaela.
