by S. L. Naeole
“I don’t believe it,” I said, shaking my head in denial. “I won’t believe it. Death isn’t a person—it’s not Robert.”
Sam laughed, “You stupid girl. His name isn’t Robert. His name is N’Uriel. You’ve asked so many useless questions about us, and yet you failed to ask the one question that would have answered everything for you.”
Again, he was in front of me, the span of fifty feet crossed in less than a second, with one firm, cruel, iron hand holding my chin so I couldn’t look away from him, his other placing something in mine. “Ameila gave N’uriel his name because of who he would become when he got his call. Oh yes, she’s known since the moment of his conception—how could she not when she chose to create his life in that of a walking corpse?”
He sneered at the shock in my eyes and continued with his lurid tale, “Did he tell you what his name meant, Grace? No? N’Uriel is the fire of God. His soul crossed through the fires of hell in order to be born. He was born amid flames, emerging from that woman’s corpse as though he were Lucifer himself. What else could he be but Death? Did you never stop to ask yourself what the consequences were of such a birth? Of course not, you stupid girl. Even he assumed that the most he’d have to suffer would be to not be able to heal someone.
“Such naiveté. I blame his mother for not educating him sooner. It would have made my job much easier. Instead, I’ve had to try and wean him away from you because of her ridiculous guilt and belief that you humans are worth loving and caring about. And look where that has gotten me? He no longer trusts me. Because of you.”
My nostrils flared in anger as I remembered the consequences that came as a result of trusting and loving Sam. “You didn’t deserve his trust, and you definitely didn’t deserve his love and friendship. I watched him die because of his trust in you; you killed him with your lies. You knew-”
Suddenly, I was unable to speak, the darkness in Sam’s eyes and the words that were stuck in my throat causing my breath to catch. In a flash of comprehension, I knew that Sam had never intended for Robert to get his wings at all. He hadn’t intended for Robert to have lived. “You wanted him dead,” I whispered, my breath rough with the depth of the accusation.
He snarled at me, his teeth snapping in anger. “Yes. I almost had Death’s soul! Do you know what that would have meant for me?”
I shook my head, still clamped in his grip, knowing that he simply couldn’t see how wrong about everything he was. “No. You never came close to having Robert’s soul, Sam, because his soul, his heart, his life belongs to me. It was why he came back to me.”
He smirked again. “I’m sure that matters little to him now that he’s achieved the one thing that matters more to him than you do. Let me remind you, Grace, that there has never been an angel who chose his girlfriend over fulfilling the call. The taking of souls is far more pleasurable than dealing with a whiny, grasping female in need of attention,” he let go of my chin, and again, returned back to his original spot, instantly, as though he had never moved at all; the only evidence that he had been near me at all were the bruises that were slowly appearing on my skin.
He smiled from his perch, and called out, “But, in all your uselessness, you still manage to test his loyalties, Grace. You tempt him. He is distracted by you and it angers those of us who had to make the sacrifice that he has not yet done.”
I didn’t understand what he meant by sacrifices. What did one sacrifice when you were one of the divine? “What did you sacrifice, Sam, that makes you so jealous of what Robert and I share?”
His anger had melted the cold gold in his eyes, and it bubbled now, dangerously on the edge of spilling over. “How do you think I found my wings, Grace?” he seethed. “Do you think that the love you and Robert share is unique? That it is the only one of its kind to have ever existed? You are nothing special, Grace. You’re not even beautiful. It would have been slightly tolerable if you had at least been that.”
In a movement so quick I didn’t see it, he had flown to one of the lights in the parking lot and shattered its bulbs. I shook at the sound of the glass falling to the gravel below, and the growing darkness that I knew he planned to have slowly consume me.
“The woman who brought along my wings was Miki. She was beautiful, with a laugh that freed my mind from the thousands of others that crowded in there. I vowed to never leave her side so that we’d always be together.
“But there aren’t many options for immortals when it comes to turning a human into one. Did N’Uriel tell you how it’s done? No? Ahh…he’s wiser than I thought. We have to ask the seraphim for permission to do it safely, or we use what gifts we possess in freakish experiments behind their backs. But, if we create something that the human world cannot tolerate, we’re bound by a universal law to destroy what we create, even if it means destroying our own children.
“Miki was denied immortality by the seraphim—those self-righteous, sanctimonious… I’m losing track here—your kind are always so good at bringing out the worst in us. Where was I? Ah, yes—I did not want Miki to die. So I began searching.” He flew to another light. More shattering and the sound of glass raining down on gravel prickled my skin, as though it were the beginning of a countdown to something dark and tragic.
“I had heard that some immortals had succeeded in changing humans into other things, to keep them around, whether for amusement or for other purposes, but I didn’t have the power in me to be successful; I turned Miki into a mindless monster that didn’t recognize me, or our love. I had to destroy her and whatever humanity I had been given from this human form was destroyed right along with her. It was from that loss, that act of destroying what I loved the most that brought my wings,” he sneered at me, his glow dark now.
He flew to the second to the last lamp, destroying those bulbs with a loud cry, and moved to the remaining set of glowing lights, looking down on me with glee as he floated overhead.
“I know you think that N’Uriel will choose you, that he’ll realize that being one of us isn’t what he thought he wanted—what he waited all these centuries for—but you are wrong. No one can resist the call, not even those in love. Why else do you think you’re here alone…with me?”
And the last set of lights went out.
RETRIBUTION
I stared out into the darkness—the immeasurable fear pounding a fierce staccato rhythm in my heart—wondering where he had disappeared to. With all of the lights smashed out, I was swallowed by blackness; there were no stars, no moon to help my eyes see in the dark, wintry sky above me.
I could hear his laughter, though; the mocking tone in it, the savage disgust he held for me. He was near, and I was ready, my sneakers dug into the gravel beneath them, bracing myself, planting roots to prevent me from running should the feeling overtake me.
“Did you really believe that N’Uriel would give up his dreams for you? That he thought your life was worth more than the rest of us? Did you really hope that he was planning on deserting his obligation to all of humanity for you, a mere girl who is nothing but disgusting and weak? What is it they call you at school? Grace the Freak?” Sam taunted from the darkness.
“Did he truly tell you about all of the others, Grace? Of the countless other girls there have been? There were centuries of them—a millennia of girls who kept him occupied, busy while waiting for the call. Girls who gave him everything. Did you think that after all of them, that him not wanting to be with you in that way meant you’re special? Was that what you told yourself in order to make yourself feel better when he wanted to cuddle?” he laughed cruelly.
“Did you think that you’d mean something because you were the one who brought around his change? You mean no more to him than all of those who came before you, those who have died for him, died because of him. You’re nothing to him, Grace.”
I shook my head, knowing he could see me, wanting him to see that I was defiant, while the tears in my eyes fogged up my eyesight. I brushed them away with one hand; I needed my vi
sion to be clear, needed to be able to see his face, even if the evil and hate there would also reveal that there was some truth in his words. I needed to see my fate—whether I lived or died—because my time for running and hiding on my bed were long gone. I would face all of it head on.
I was stronger than he thought. I was stronger than I had ever imagined myself to be. Love and hope had helped me to realize that.
And then he was there. He stepped from behind a tree, his snow white wings folded behind him, his face pale, his glow a deep, satisfied blue. His hands were open at his sides and his eyes were a hard, icy gold. He bared his sharp, angry teeth at me, and then stepped forward. His wings spread wide, as he prepared himself. I saw the fingers in his hands twitch.
Behind my back, my fingers twitched, too. In my grip I held onto the only reminder I had of Robert, of what it meant to be loved: the lone, black feather that Sam had returned to me filled my hands. It comforted me, knowing that at least a part of him were with me. And yet, at the same time, my hurt curled inward, knowing that should I die, he might be the very one who came to collect my soul.
But I wasn’t ready to die today—not without a fight at least; and strangely, I did not fear it, either. Both roads would lead me to Robert.
I held the feather in my hand, tilting the plume up towards my elbow, the quill end in my palm, hidden behind my arm. I silently thanked Robert for figuring out and showing me how to close off my mind so that my thoughts could remain my own as I felt the sharp tip press into my calloused skin. I readied myself, taking deep, calming breaths. I silently thanked Stacy for drilling enough calming exercises into me during classes, otherwise I was quite certain that I’d be hyperventilating right now. I nodded my head towards the angel of death, ready.
He came at me slowly, his cat to my mouse, his wings spreading wider with each step like an eagle ready to swoop down on its prey. He wouldn’t do this as quickly as possible, though. He wanted to see me suffer for what I had done—to pay for the great crime of daring to love an angel, and for the audacity of having that angel love me back.
I knew he wasn’t going to fight fair—if ever a fight between a human girl and a vengeful angel could be so—when I noticed that I was suddenly cold; he had begun to slowly draw the warmth from me, from my blood. My veins felt like my blood had turned into slush.
“W-why d-do you need to u-u-use y-your ab-bi-lities, S-S-Sam?” I stammered, feeling the chill rattle me from teeth to toes. “A-are y-you afr-raid that w-w-without them, y-you’ll lose to a-a h-human girl?” Angel or not, human or not, he was still a male, with male pride and male ego.
Immediately, I felt the chill recede. He smiled cruelly, nodding, his head at an angle keeping his gaze on me, conceding to my questions. “You’re right. I don’t need anything to kill you, Grace, other than my bare hands.” As if to emphasize the point, he flexed his hands, squeezing them into a fist and then releasing them. “I haven’t had the pleasure of doing so in centuries…since that glorious period of the Crusades when soul after soul came to lay at my feet. But then again, those deaths were all young boys or old men, too ready and willing to die, the fools. I don’t think I enjoyed their deaths half as much as I will yours.”
His wings were fully extended now, and I watched, confused, as he pulled them forward around himself, as though he were shielding himself from me with them. For whatever reason, my body curled inward, my arms around my head, as though it knew separately before I did what was coming.
With a rush of sound and air, he flung his massive wings open; the force of the motion sent me flying backwards.
I hit the hard gravel of the parking lot on my back, the impact causing all of the air to shoot out of me, the gravel slicing through my shirt, burrowing into my skin. I could hear him laughing again as I stared up at the cloudy night sky, trying to catch my breath and gather my wits which seemed to have scattered to the trees. If only there had been one star in the sky to focus on…
“I’m going to do this so slowly, Grace,” he spoke softly, almost lovingly. I could hear the crunching of gravel as he slowly walked towards me. “I will have you begging for me to be quick. You’ll even be willing to trade your very soul for the pain to be over. I will enjoy the taste of your tears as you beg for me to finish, but I won’t. I’m going to take my time and make you suffer.”
He appeared over me and knelt down; his large wings surrounded us like arms, keeping us in…keeping me in. He had his head cocked to one side, his long, dark-golden hair hanging over his shoulder, touching my face. It smelled of smoke and ashes…and blood.
He brought his hand to touch my cheek, almost as gently and lovingly as Robert would. He caressed it, his thumb softly stroking the crest, as though appreciating the texture, the warmth—and then with surprising cruelty and speed, he slapped me, the brutality of it splitting my lip, and causing me to bite into the inside of my cheek, the taste of blood burning a strong memory into my mind.
I let it collect in my mouth, that vile, metallic flavor filling my senses. It pooled against my tongue, while the blood from my lip dribbled down the side of my now throbbing face. My nostrils flared as I tried to breathe without choking.
He continued talking, satisfied that I hadn’t yet cried out. “You are more tolerant than I thought. How tolerant will you be when you learn what I will do to you, I wonder.” He looked at me as though I were some odd curiosity.
He brushed my cheek again, this time with his knuckles, clicking his tongue, as if the bruise that was most likely forming before his eyes had somehow been my fault. He turned my face, looking at one side then the other, comparing them it seemed, and then smiled a beautifully vicious smile. I could feel my eye starting to swell, and I knew that soon it would shut, cutting off that side of my vision, handicapping me even more than I already was.
“I think I will break your bones, one by one,” he said calmly, his voice soothing, as though he were describing how to paint trees. “I will slice you here-“ he brushed a finger against the bottom of my ear and traced a path across my cheek towards the corner of my mouth “-to here, so that your screams will remind forever anyone who dares to take from me what is mine what will be coming for them.” He watched me—looked into my eyes, trying to read the thoughts that I had kept hidden away, see if I felt the pain, enjoying it as much as he enjoyed the inflicting of it.
His finger was still against the corner of my mouth when he started to press into my skin, his claw-like nail cutting through. I flinched at the sting as I anticipated the action he had just promised, prepared to keep my screams from rushing out, but he pulled back. I glared at him defiantly. I let my mental guard down just long enough to let one word through before he could flood my mind with his own. Coward!
He stared at me in shock, and then his face grew amused. For an immeasurable moment, he looked so beautiful, it was easy to forget that he was going to kill me and would do so with great satisfaction. He was once again the beautiful angel from the wedding, a golden god, the epitome of angelic beauty. The cruel irony wasn’t lost on me, and I started to laugh.
When he started laughing in response, I seized the opportunity. With as much force as I could, I spit the blood and saliva I had collected into his face, turning the golden god into the monster, finally revealing him for what he truly was.
Momentarily caught off guard by this benign attack, he eased his wings back, licking his lips and savoring the taste of my defiance. That little movement gave me just enough room to raise my hand, my only weapon, my only hope against an immortal angel of death—the hard end of lone feather—was gripped and ready. With all the strength I had, with all the will I had in me to live and the desperation to see Robert again alive, I rammed the quill into Sam’s left eye. Surprise and shock filled me as it sunk in.
The screech that erupted from him tore through me, his pain became mine, worse than mine, unbearable as all of the nerve endings in me reacted to his cry. Reflexively, I pulled the quill out, my hand falling to the grou
nd to brace myself for the pain that racked my body.
Sam gripped his eye with both hands while a golden liquid poured from between his fingers and dripped hotly onto my face. His pain and his anger were vibrating throughout his body, and his wings were spread wide, as though reaching for help from some unknown source. I bit through my pain, forcing it it down with a deep gasp, and quickly brought my arm up again, ramming the end of the quill into his other eye, blinding him completely.
His scream, the scream of an angel in pain, caused blood to rush out of my ears and my nose. The scream seemed to grow louder, more frantic. It echoed all around me, bouncing off of me before returning, and I grabbed my head, trying to keep it all out but only succeeding in trapping it inside of me—like a bumblebee in a jar—bumping around harder and harder in its quest to break free, but there was no freedom from this sound.
I rolled on the ground in agony. I tried kicking my feet against the gravel in a feeble attempt to crawl away while he wailed with his hands over his now blinded eyes; the two of us, pitiful creatures wallowing in our own pain. I shook and convulsed with the unbearable way it felt as though my entire body was imploding, tiny explosions beneath my skin like a million stab wounds biting into my flesh. I could see the blood pooling beneath my fingernails through the red mist that covered my eyes. I began vomiting the blood that had collected in my stomach, and struggled to breathe when my blood began to slowly drown me as it filled up my lungs.
I could feel the gravel cutting through my hands and my knees as I fought to get as far away from the sound as possible. I knew that the loss of sight wouldn’t be enough to stop him, but I hoped it was enough to slow him down long enough for me to get away and die peacefully. I moved an inch—a small victory—and moved another.
