“It’s that no-dogs-allowed thing again, isn’t it?” the Lab interrupted Aaron’s thoughts again, frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t eat. Gabriel loved to eat—and to talk … and talk and talk. “Is it because they think we smell, Aaron?” the dog asked. “I don’t think I smell any worse than most babies do.”
Being able to understand the dog—being able to understand the language of all living things—was but one of the strengths of Aaron’s Nephilim birthright. With the help of his angel mentor, Camael, and an old fallen angel called Belphegor, he had successfully merged with the power of Heaven that flowed through his body. This power provided him with the strength and skill he would need to achieve his destiny, as well as deal with the threat still posed by Verchiel and the Powers.
“I think you smell better than most babies too,” he complimented the dog, “but they still won’t let you eat inside. We’ll have something when we get back to Aerie. Don’t worry; I won’t let you starve.”
Aerie was their home now, a settlement of fallen angels and Nephilim dedicated to the belief in the ancient prophecy that Aaron was supposed to represent. Aerie had also become his responsibility.
The dog grumbled, not completely satisfied with the compromise, but knowing he had little choice. Aaron knew that feeling well enough. He could complain all he wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he had a destiny to fulfill. He tried not to allow his new duties to overwhelm him, but it was a challenge. Not only did he have to protect the citizens of Aerie, knowing that Verchiel was still out there looking for revenge, he also had to look after Vilma and deal with the most recent revelation that Lucifer was the angel who fathered him. Who ever said that being a savior was all fun and games?
Aaron turned away from the restaurant and looked toward the phone booth where Vilma appeared to be wrapping up her call.
“I’m worried about her,” Gabriel said, putting words to Aaron’s sentiments as they both watched her hang up the phone and emerge from the glass-and-metal cubicle.
Vilma had been part of Aaron’s old life, before the power of the angels asserted itself and turned the world as he had known it on its ear. Although he had kept in contact through e-mail, he hadn’t really thought he would ever see her again, yet another piece of his life that he was forced to abandon. But here she was, inexplicably made part of his new existence—a Nephilim too. He always felt he was in love with her, always knew there was some powerful connection, but that just made her involvement in the whirlwind that his life had become all the more scary.
“Is everything okay at home?” he asked as she approached them.
The girl shrugged, combing a nervous hand through her shiny, black shoulder-length hair. “As good as can be expected, I guess,” she said, not looking at him.
She was sweating, even though the temperature wasn’t above sixty degrees, and he also noticed the dark circles under her normally beautiful brown eyes.
Aaron reached out gingerly to touch Vilma’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.
Vilma raised her face to look at him, eyes filled with emotion. “No,” she answered, shaking her head as the tears began to tumble down the dark skin of her cheeks. “I’ve been taken away from my home and my school, been tortured by …monsters, I’m having dreams that make me afraid to go to sleep, and … and there’s something coming alive inside me that I can’t even begin to understand. No, Aaron, I am so not all right.”
She was angry and scared, and he knew exactly how she felt, for it wasn’t that long ago that he first experienced the awakening of the angelic essence within himself. He tried to think of the right things to say to reassure her, but he couldn’t; he didn’t want to lie. Aaron had no idea how things were going to be in the future—for her, for himself, for the fallen angels. Life was uncertain right now, and that was something that he was learning to live with. It was something Vilma was going to have to learn as well.
As if on cue, Gabriel leaned his large, yellow body against the girl, nudging her hand with his cold, damp nose. “Don’t cry, Vilma,” he said consolingly, his dark eyes looking up into hers. “Everything is going to be fine. Just you wait and see.”
She began to pat his blocky head, and Aaron could see the immediate calming effect that the dog’s presence had upon her. In the week since they had saved her from Verchiel’s grasp, Gabriel had become Vilma’s anchor to sanity.
“I’m very tired,” she said, her voice no louder than a whisper. “I think I’d like to go ho—” Vilma halted, the word catching in her throat before it could leave her mouth. She was going to say “home.” But it wasn’t home for her, although it would have to do until the threat of Verchiel and his Powers was ended once and for all.
“I’ll take you back to Aerie,” Aaron said quietly, putting his arm around her and gently pulling her close.
She nodded and said nothing more as Gabriel, too, stepped closer.
Using another of the gifts from his angelic nature, Aaron willed them all invisible, then allowed the massive, shiny black wings to unfurl from his back. He thought of Aerie, picturing in his mind the abandoned neighborhood built atop a burial ground for toxic waste, enfolded Vilma and Gabriel within his feathered embrace, and took them there.
Deep within the hold of oblivion, Lucifer had sought the escape of torment, and instead found memories of times preferred forgotten.
He saw it all as he always did when he closed his eyes: the crimes he committed against God, the war he waged in Heaven in the name of petty jealousy. But when those recollections were spent, the wounds of his past discretion reopened, the first of the fallen saw that the painful conjurings of his mind were not yet finished with him.
It had been years since he last dreamed of her—thought of her—and he moaned in protest as remembrances long suppressed played out upon his dreamscape. Her name was Taylor, and the memory of her was as painful as anything he’d been forced to endure since his capture by Verchiel and his followers.
He saw her as he had that very first time: a beautiful, human woman who emanated life and vitality, with rich, dark eyes the color of polished mahogany, and jet-black hair that curled seductively around her shoulders. She was wearing a flowing yellow sundress, leather sandals upon her delicate feet, and she was playing with a dog—a golden retriever named Brandy. There was something about her that drew him in, something that made him believe he might not be the monster his own kind had branded him to be.
In the brief time that he had been with her, Lucifer had almost been able to convince himself that he was just a man, not the leader of a rebellion against God. How beautifully mundane his life had become, the urge to wander the planet, as he had done for thousands of years, suddenly stifled by the love of an earthly woman. It was as if she had been touched by the Archons themselves; there was an inherent magick in her that seemed to calm his restless spirit and numb the pain of the curse he would forever carry as the inciter of Heaven’s war.
Lucifer fought toward consciousness, but the current of the past was too strong, and he was drowned in further memories, pulled deeper. It was in fact the dreams that had been harbingers to the end of his happiness with the woman. He had begun to experience dreams of the turmoil for which he was responsible, of the blood and death—the faces of those who had died for his cause haunting his attempts at peace. The dreams were relentless. They reawakened in him the enormity of his sins, and he knew that he must move on. He had not yet earned the right to peace and happiness. How stupid he had been to think that his penance might be at an end. Though it pained him, he left her—the beautiful, magickal Taylor—and began his wanderings anew.
And in his fevered mind he saw her as he had that very last time, asleep in the bed they’d shared as man and woman. How beautiful she was. He had left her during the night, sneaking silently out into the darkness and out of her life. It was for the best, he had told himself, for he could bring her nothing but misery.
But this time the memory was different
and he did not leave. Instead Taylor stirred upon the bed, as if feeling his gaze upon her, and she rolled over to look at him, a seductive smile spreading across her features, clad in the shadows of the early hour.
“Hello, Lucifer,” she said in a voice filled with the huskiness of interrupted sleep, and he felt his love for the woman swell within him.
It was as if he had never left her.
CHAPTER TWO
Lorelei sighed as the commotion continued to escalate. She placed her hands flat atop the table, took a deep breath, and forced herself not to utter an incantation that would have called down lightning from the sky and permanently silenced the agitated citizens gathered in the meeting room of Aerie’s community center.
“People, please,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above their frenetic din. “We’ll get absolutely nothing accomplished here if we’re all talking at once.”
The citizens ignored her and continued their excited chatter, the volume within the low-ceilinged room intensifying. She remembered how easy it had seemed for Belphegor to preside over these meetings. All the ancient fallen angel had to do was stand up from his chair and clear his throat, and immediately they would all fall silent, awaiting his words with rapt attention. And that was just one of the things she missed about their leader.
Belphegor had been mortally injured during the Powers’ attack upon Aerie, in a violent duel with their commander, Verchiel. They had found him close to death, but Aaron Corbet had set him free from his shell of flesh and blood, forgiving him and all the others that had fallen in the devastating battle, allowing them to return to Heaven. Lorelei had been happy for them; it was what every one of the fallen inhabiting this place dreamed of, but Belphegor’s absence was felt each and every day.
“There’s been enough talk,” said a fallen angel named Atliel. He was standing up beside his metal folding chair, his single eye and badly burned face commanding the attention of those around him. The angel had been scarred in the battle with the Powers, but at least he had survived when so many others of the citizenry had not.
Lorelei looked about the room and was reminded of how many had been lost trying to defend Aerie from Verchiel’s soldiers. Not all of them died; Aaron had freed many fallen angels who had managed to hang on to a thread of life. Even still, their numbers had been cut easily by half, and that didn’t count those Nephilim who had been seriously injured. They were still trying to heal, the question of their survival nowhere near certain.
“We must act at once or suffer the fate of our brothers,” Atliel proclaimed, looking about the room, his scarred visage quieting the congregation far more effectively than had Lorelei’s raised voice.
“And what do you propose?” the Nephilim asked, rising from her chair as she’d seen Belphegor do in the past, hoping she could regain some control of the meeting. She knew many of the citizens were not happy that she, a Nephilim, a half-breed, had assumed control of the angelic settlement with their founder’s passing, but it had been Belphegor’s wish. His confidence in her ability to lead had always surpassed her own. Even though the fallen angels and the Nephilim lived together in relative harmony, there was still a certain amount of prejudice—especially when it came to the decisions that would govern the future of Aerie.
Atliel turned to fix her in the gaze of his good eye. It was obvious that he didn’t appreciate her interruption. “We must do what we have in the past when we’ve been threatened,” he answered, a hint of petulance in his voice. “Aerie must be relocated. We cannot chance another Powers attack.”
Lorelei watched the reactions of those before her. They were a mixture of shock, quiet acceptance, and complete despair. Aerie had been in many places throughout the millennia it had existed, moving from one secret location to the next as the Powers grew closer to finding them. To many of the sanctuary’s newer residents, the abandoned neighborhood of the Ravenschild Estates was the only true home they had ever known, and that she knew from personal experience.
“Don’t you think we’ve come too far for that?” she asked, stoking the fires of Atliel’s ire. “Do you think that Belphegor and all the other citizens who fell during the battle did so only that we could run and hide again? I seriously doubt it.”
Atliel gripped the edge of the chair in front of him, knuckles white with the force of his frustration. “Verchiel and his followers know where we are. They can return at any moment to finish what they started. Aerie must survive if we are ever to find forgiveness from our Father in Heaven. Nothing else matters.”
Lorelei moved out from behind the table. She knew they were afraid, but she couldn’t believe that they were so blinded by their fear that they didn’t see the signs of change that were upon them, changes that had begun soon after Aaron Corbet had arrived in Aerie.
“I believe the time you’ve been waiting for, the forgiveness you’ve been seeking, is upon us, Atliel,” she said, leaning back against the table edge and crossing her booted feet at the ankles.
“You’re referring to that Nephilim, Aaron Corbet,” the fallen angel responded, a sneer upon his damaged features.
“Yes,” she replied emphatically, “I am.”
Atliel slowly shook his head. “The savior of prophecy,” he grumbled, looking at those gathered around him. “I’m having great difficulty believing that—”
“You saw what he can do,” Lorelei cried, pushing away from the table to stress her point. “You saw what he did for Camael—what he did for Belphegor and all the others who fell in battle.”
“Yes, but—”
“He forgave them,” Lorelei continued over Atliel’s protest. She didn’t have the patience for his or any of the others’ doubts. Aaron Corbet was the One, and she wasn’t about to let a discordant voice among them detract from what was finally, after thousands and thousands of years, about to happen to them. “Aaron allowed them to return to Heaven, and I believe he’ll do the same for you.”
The room was suddenly quiet and Lorelei saw that all eyes were finally upon her. She was proud of herself for speaking out. The citizens of Aerie could no longer allow themselves to be governed by fear. These were new times ahead of them, and they needed a fresh perspective.
“And where is our savior?” Atliel posed his question to the room at large. “Was he not made aware of this gathering?”
“Yes, he was, but—”
It was Atliel’s turn to interrupt as a low buzz moved through the crowd. “He was aware, but he chose not to attend. Is that what you’re telling us, Lorelei? That the fate of our hopes and dreams is teetering on the edge of a precipice, and Aaron Corbet could not be bothered?”
“Look,” she began, exasperated—by Aaron’s unexplained absence, by Atliel’s persistent questioning, by her own lack of control. “All I’m saying is that we need to consider all our options before we turn tail and run. At least talk to Aaron, he might be able to give us—”
“And all I’m asking, Lorelei,” Atliel said, cutting her off again, “is for our savior to start acting like one and offer us some guidance.”
She didn’t know how to respond, choosing instead to say nothing, and in a matter of moments the commotion was on the rise again, voices of fallen angels and Nephilim alike, all speaking at once, clamoring to be heard.
Shit, Aaron thought, suddenly remembering the meeting at Aerie’s community center that he had promised Lorelei he would attend.
He was in the process of transporting Vilma, Gabriel, and himself back to their house in Aerie, traversing the void between here and there. It was one of the few angelic skills that he genuinely appreciated. All he had to do was picture in his mind the place he wished to be, wrap himself within his wings, and in a matter of seconds he was there. In this particular instant, though, he was forced to change his mind mid-trip, and he opened his wings to emerge on the street in front of the community center.
“I’m really sorry about this,” he apologized to his traveling companions as his wings receded beneath the flesh o
f his back. “I just remembered that I promised Lorelei I’d go to the community meeting today and…”
Vilma smiled weakly, and he couldn’t get over how tired she looked. “That’s okay,” she said. “I think I need to lie down anyway. I’m still feeling pretty exhausted.”
Aaron glanced over at the entrance to the community center and caught Lehash sitting out front, watching them. The fallen angel in charge of Aerie’s security tipped his cowboy hat in greeting, looking every inch as though he’d just walked out of an old spaghetti Western. Aaron smiled and waved briefly before turning his attention back to Vilma.
“Gabriel will go with you,” he told the girl.
She reached down and scratched the top of the Lab’s bony head. “Is that what you want to do, Gabe?” she asked him in the language of dogs.
“Will you give me breakfast?”
“Of course I will,” she assured him.
“Then let’s go,” Gabriel said, already beginning to walk in the direction of the house where they were staying. “I’m starving.”
Vilma laughed, then paused to look back at Aaron.
“I’ll see you later?” she asked, and he could hear the sadness permeating her voice.
It just about broke his heart. But it won’t last forever, he tried to reassure himself. He stepped toward her and put his arms tentatively around her. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered in her ear, squeezing her tightly.
Vilma hugged him back, but said nothing to prove that she believed in what he had told her.
“C’mon, Vilma. Let’s go,” Gabriel called, his tail wagging eagerly as he urged her to follow.
She was the first to break the embrace, looking deeply into Aaron’s eyes and forcing a smile before turning to join the dog.
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