Falling From Grace (Grace Series)

by S. L. Naeole

  I rushed downstairs to grab a quick bowl of cereal and ate it standing up, leaning against the counter as Janice walked in to make Dad his breakfast.

  “You’re up early,” she said while yawning.”

  I nodded, my mouth full of milk and cereal flakes. I finished and washed my dishes, leaving her to fry the eggs and bacon before my stomach started complaining about my choice of breakfast fare. I was halfway up the stairs when Dad started coming down. “You’re up early, kiddo. Must be an important day.”

  I bit back the grin that wanted to spread across my face with enthusiastic glee. It would look more psychotic than ecstatic. I simply nodded quickly, and continued to my room.

  I took the envelope with Robert’s note in it off of the mirror, and put it in my book bag. I stuck Robert’s feather, which I had been keeping under my pillow, in my binder, and placed that in my book bag as well. I sat down on the edge of my bed and looked out of my window. The sky was changing from the bruised purples and blues to the blush of morning’s pinks and oranges.

  The clock on the dresser said half past six. That gave me almost an hour before Graham would arrive to pick me up—I still hadn’t found out who it was that had told him about Robert leaving, but he had shown up that first day back to school after Thanksgiving and had so ever since—and drive the two of us to school. After he had eaten a second breakfast, of course.

  I double checked to make sure that my essay was in my binder and, satisfied that I had everything I thought I would need, I went back downstairs to wait for Graham, opening the kitchen window…to let out the smoke, I told Janice, smiling as I saw a light come on over at the Hasselbeck house.

  ***

  School the day before a long vacation always felt more like one large party. The teachers were lenient in ways they never were on a normal day. Rules weren’t just bent or broken; they were tossed out of the window, or decimated and written out of the books completely. The bells ringing at the beginning and end of classes were now just a mere annoyance as we all shuffled lazily from one class to the other.

  During lunch, Lark seemed annoyed that Robert hadn’t told her about coming home this afternoon, and she took out her annoyance on nearly everything she could. She snapped at Graham for complimenting her British accent, and she criticized Stacy for being obnoxious to Graham. Both things had always pleased her before so it was especially shocking to actually hear her demand that it stop.

  As the end of the day drew near, the excitement in the school was at its peak. The only time it was ever rivaled was the last day of school, and that was still over six months away. I turned in my essay to Mrs. Muniz in fourth period, who seemed pleased after skimming the contents, and I even smiled at Mr. Branke, who was not his usual touchy-feely self today. That was cause enough to be charitable. Sixth period Theater class with Mr. Danielson had gone over well as we acted out Christmas carols in different moods and accents—another exercise in humility, Mr. Danielson told us. It definitely was an exercise, trying to sing Jingle Bells as though it were a funeral march rather than a jovial tune.

  When that final bell rang, the school emptied out rapidly, everyone excited for Christmas shopping, parties, and parades. I rushed out of the school and headed towards Stacy’s car. She had agreed to drop me off to meet Robert, even though it was in the opposite direction from the Tae Kwon Do school.

  “Thank you, Stacy. I really appreciate this,” I told her as she pulled into the gravel parking lot.

  She pulled her lips into a half-hearted smile and shrugged her shoulders. “Hey, at least one of us gets to be happy today.”

  I saw her grip the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white as she fought against something inside of her. “What’s wrong, Stacy?”

  “I’m just annoyed by the way Lark’s been acting ever since you told her about Robert coming back. She’s not just verbally angry, but she’s also mentally angry. She doesn’t seem to realize that her thoughts cut worse than anything else.”

  I understood what she meant. Lark could control what came out of her mouth, just like most people, but her thoughts ran free, and if we were granted the access to hear them, sometimes it was just too harsh and cold to deal with for a normal person. A lifetime of being teased and ridiculed had given me a slight advantage over Stacy, but I knew that it hurt. I placed my hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “I know she doesn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Stacy.”

  Stacy turned to look at me, her eyes red with tears. “It’s not my feelings that are hurt, Grace. She’s physically hurting my mind when she thinks about Robert coming home and not telling her.”

  My own eyes widened in shock. “She must not be aware that she’s doing it, Stacy.”

  She nodded, more a patronizing motion than anything else. I couldn’t do anything else but hug her. “You’re a good friend, Stacy. Thank you for being mine.

  She hugged me back, her smile tinged with a bit of sadness. “Anytime, Grace.”

  I climbed out of the car, glancing at the little clock on the radio as I did so, and closed the door. I watched as she drove off and then walked over to the bench where Robert and I had had our first conversation. Where I had first learned he could read my thoughts. Where I knew that I had first fallen in love with him. That little revelation brought a smile to my lips, because it wasn’t silly teenage romanticism as some might call it. It was real. What else could have brought my heart back from the cold and ashy death that it had suffered?

  I looked up at the sun in the sky. It was slowly retreating into some light clouds, the afternoon light dimming as the weather gave a hint that things weren’t going to be so clear for long. The clock in Stacy’s car had said it was a quarter past three. I had forty-five minutes left before Robert would show up. I closed my eyes against the warmth of the sun’s rays and thought of Ianthe and Angelo as the clouds moved across the sky, taking with them each minute until I would be reunited with my own falling star.

  REVELATION

  I waited for Robert until the sun had nearly set. I waited for his mind to fill my own with his love. I waited for him to wrap his arms around me and kiss away all of the trepidation that had settled around me since he had left. I hadn’t realized just how unbelievably bereft I felt without him near, how it had changed me. It was as if there were two Graces, and the one that stood here was merely the photocopy: flat, 2D, and monochromatic, while the real Grace was off floating somewhere with an angel up among the stars and the clouds. And I envied that Grace. I hated her, too.

  When the last of the sun’s rays had succumbed to the ever constant pull of the night, finally losing its grip on the horizon, and the colors of the sky changed from the beautiful pinks and oranges of dusk to the mauves and purples of twilight, when the lights of the parking lot automatically popped on, illuminating me with the false brightness that made everything seem sickly and dead, I stood up. He wasn’t coming.

  The disappointment washed over me, drenching my skin with embarrassment, pinking my cheeks with anger, and overflowed onto my face in the form of tears that I had promised myself an hour ago I wouldn’t shed. I couldn’t afford to be upset by this. It wasn’t like he was getting off of a shift at the Dairy Queen, I had to remind myself.

  This was something that he had been born to do, born to fulfill. It was his destiny, long before he had ever met me, and would be long after I had died. I couldn’t make demands of him, or have expectations that he’d be able to do everything that he said he would when there was something far more important than me he had to concern himself with now.

  Sighing, I bent down and reached for my book bag. When I couldn’t feel it, I looked under the bench—behind it—but it wasn’t there.

  The clichés in novels and movies about the hair on the back of your neck standing up when something isn’t right really should be taken more seriously because I suddenly realized that I wasn’t alone when that same, creepy feeling appeared on mine.

  I heard the rush of air behind me
and my heart started racing. “Rob-” I turned, searching for his familiar eyes, and stopped.

  They weren’t silver.

  It wasn’t Robert.

  “Sam.” I said, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

  He smiled at me…sly, sinister. I shivered, but not because of the sudden chill in the air. “I came here to tell you that Rob isn’t coming.”

  “I figured that much out already, Sam,” I said, annoyed by the way he was looking at me. “I was just about to start heading home. When you talk to him, tell him—no, don’t worry about it.” I changed my mind about giving him a message to give to Robert. I knew it would probably never reach him anyway.

  I looked down at Sam’s hands. He had my book bag in one, the feather that Robert had left me in the other. Its glossy black color contrasted dramatically against the pristine white of Sam’s clothing. Night and day. Good vs. Evil. But Robert wasn’t evil—what was missing?

  I glance at Sam’s face and it was as though he had made the same comparison because he smiled in such a manner that I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise up again. My hand automatically went up to pat them down, as if they were sticking straight up, a warning flag to anyone who passed by. But no human would have noticed the reaction. It was too minute to be anything but a feeling one brushed off as silliness.

  “I’ve got to get going now, Sam. Could I have my things back?” I told him, not wanting to stay around any longer than necessary. I held my hand out expectantly, an impatient sigh coming out as I did so. Impatient was better than annoyed.

  His gold eyes had started to grow warmer, the hard, cold metal in them turning into liquid. “Why in such a rush, Grace?” he asked, his voice dripping with artificial sweetness, saccharine in its falseness.

  Not wanting to show the sudden fear that had taken a hold of me, I pointed to my book bag, as if the answer to his question were quite obvious. “I have to walk home, Sam, and it’s not like I live right down the street.”

  I could feel my heartbeat picking up, the nervousness and fear that were starting to overwhelm my thoughts was affecting its rhythm. I walked towards Sam, my hand outstretched, shaking. “Could you give me back my book bag, Sam?” Instead of the book bag, he handed me the feather.

  It was then that I noticed that the light from the parking lot was casting my shadow across the grass. It stretched before me, reaching out its dark fingers towards the bench and the trees.

  It was alone.

  “You—you have no shadow,” I breathed. The words, unbelievable, yet the absence of his confirmed it.

  He nodded, surprised at my reaction, but knowing what path my mind was leading me on.

  “You’re…one of the dark ones,” I whispered again, more a revelation than an accusation. My mind raced back to when Robert told me that the dark angels bore no shadow because they were all darkness and couldn’t shape the light the way the others could. I searched the grass once more for any tell-tale sign of a shadow, anything that would calm the screaming accusations in my head—I found none.

  He bowed then, his left knee bending, right leg pulled behind him. He had one arm draped across his abdomen, while the other was raised up at his side. It was a very elegant, gentlemanly bow, but I forgot all of that when he started talking. “One of the many angels of death, at your service,” he said, his smile dark, his voice mocking.

  I took a step back, shock sending shivers throughout my body. My blood felt a degree colder. It felt like it was thickening beneath my skin. How could Robert have been friends with him? He had called them wicked and evil. How could he call someone who was evil a brother?

  I looked at him, at his beautiful face, and I wondered how many people had been fooled by such treacherous beauty? Robert had been just one of many, no doubt. Sam’s mistakes had cost Robert his heart, and if he were willing to do that to someone who called him a brother, I was suddenly very suspicious of what he was planning for me. “You can’t touch me.” I told him, my voice cracking in its fear. “Lark and Robert told me that there are laws that you have to follow, rules you cannot break.”

  “I don’t have to touch you, Grace…to kill you. Didn’t Robert tell you that we’re not subject to the same rules as the rest of them are?” He smiled, the diabolical gleam in his eye causing me to catch my breath as I nearly choked on his words.

  I took another step back, even as he took one towards me. “Why—what are you doing here, Sam?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I was bored.”

  The way he said it—his unaffected tone—was too perfect. He was lying. “I thought angels couldn’t lie,” I said, the accusation clear in my voice, as I continued to back away from him.

  He laughed, but the annoyance was plain to see in his face, hear in his tone. He didn’t like the fact that I already knew so much about his kind, his world.

  “Silly girl. One of the things I can do, and do with ease, is lie. It’s quite a gift of mine, actually,” he said, an evil smile causing his lips to curl up, revealing the slickness of his teeth, as though his mouth was watering for something.

  “And don’t worry your silly little head about that whole wing-bringer nonsense. No one is going to punish me for removing you from this life, Grace. Your little soul isn’t as valuable as you think.” I watched as the tip of his tongue peeked out from behind his teeth to touch the sharp point of an incisor, the corner of his mouth curling up as he did so.

  “Your silly little romance has been amusing to watch, though, if that’s any consolation to you. So unlike all the other girls of this earth, you are, and yet so similar. So quick to fall into what you think is love. So quick to fall out of it. You don’t know what love is, how it can burn inside of you for an eternity, how it changes you physically, into something you can never reverse.” His words hinted of loss and pain, but I wasn’t brave enough to ask what he was talking about.

  Instead, I took a different route, placing my hands on my hips in defiance. “I don’t know what loving someone for an eternity feels like, Sam, but I know that if it were possible for me to do so, I would love Robert for at least that long. And contrary to your statement, I am completely aware of how love can change someone physically, because his love for me has changed me physically. It’s just not obvious to someone who’s lived for centuries in his own perfect little world. It’s ironic that with your incredible gifts, you’re unable to see that.” My voice was sad. I hadn’t meant it to be, but the sadness was there just the same.

  He leered at my little speech, completely unaffected. “You say that as if he’s actually changed you in some way. You think that the way you feel something somehow eclipses the way that we feel? That it can alter your very makeup the way it can for us?” he sneered, his lips pulling up over an angry snarl.

  “You are pathetic. You haven’t changed physically, you stupid girl. Your hormones are just working overtime. He hasn’t even lain with you yet; I can see that quite clearly!” His eyes roamed up and down my body, his laughter echoing around us, it was so loud. I almost felt violated by the way his eyes lingered on certain parts of me, and angered at how he could just continue talking the way he did. Each word felt like a nail being pounded into my heart and my dignity.

  He saw the pain in my face, and took advantage of it. “Has he even tried? Has he made any attempts to seduce you, Grace? Does he not find you suitable to bed?”

  I didn’t want to answer, but I couldn’t deny to myself that he had not, had never tried.

  “Ahhh…and you probably think it’s because you’re human, right, you silly girl?” He smirked again.

  This time I did answer. “I know that he’s been with others. He has told me everything. And I don’t think that’s any of your business!” I tried to keep from sounding hurt by his statements, but I couldn’t help but sense the slight truth in the insinuation that Robert didn’t find me desirable in that way.

  I closed my eyes to calm myself. I didn’t need to be feeling all of these other emotions when I
needed to focus on Sam and what exactly he wanted with me.

  And then he was in my face, so close, I could feel the warmth from his chest, smell the odd sweet smokiness of his breath. “How you must disappoint him. All of the secrets he told you, and you didn’t even listen to any of it. He told you that he couldn’t take things from you, didn’t he, And yet how quick you were to believe that he took his little note from you. How little faith you had in him.”

  My mouth opened in a small gasp, the obvious lapse in my judgment clear to him, but I had been oblivious to it, and it shamed me. I had accused Robert of not paying attention and yet I had failed in the same regard. My failure only angered me further as Sam continued, enjoying the shift in my emotions immensely.

  “Of course, he also said that he’d keep you safe, too. He made himself a liar when he told you about me,” he whispered before leaping back to his original position.

  “He didn’t keep you safe from me, Grace, even though he knew what I was. He shouldn’t have brought you to the wedding—shouldn’t have allowed you to see so much, especially knowing that the possibility was so great that he would need to keep you safe from himself.”

  I was confused. Despite the abhorrence I felt listening to him, I had to ask, “What do you mean, keep me safe from himself?”

  The anticipation of telling me some long unknown truth changed his presence wholly. He became relaxed, where before he was poised, on the verge, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

  Whatever he was about to tell me was something he had wanted me to know for some time.

  “I’m not just a minion of death, Grace. I am Samael. I am a dark angel of death. But your N’Uriel, ahh…he is something special—unique even. His position is much more desirable than mine among my fellow dark ones. Why do you think I was sent to mentor him, Grace? Why do you think I was chosen to teach him, to lead him to this path? He has the power to decide; he is a judge, a throne, a punisher, a savior. I may be an angel of death, but your N’Uriel…he is Death.” The smile was wide on his face as he took in my shock.