by Jerel Law
She spun back toward him. “Calm down? It’s the first day of sixth grade, and probably the most exciting day of my twelve-year-old life! We get to find out all about our new teachers and classes and lockers . . . and new books!”
“Hey,” Jonah said quietly, brushing off her enthusiasm. “Did you see Cassandra this morning?”
“You mean Cassandra, the mysteriously disappearing guardian angel?” Eliza said with a laugh. “No, but that’s not too unusual, is it?”
He hesitated, but then nodded. He was still used to seeing Henry all the time, and it was true, their new guardian angel hadn’t been as obvious about her presence. This morning was probably just another example.
Jonah walked into the school with a few busloads of other students, high-fiving a few friends he hadn’t seen all summer, all of them with the same triumphant look on their faces. Eighth grade. Finally!
He turned down a hallway to the right and found himself in the middle of lockers slamming and kids chatting excitedly. The eighth-grade hall. As he was about to find his locker, he saw Susie Dickerson and her friend Melissa walking right toward him. His heart jumped a little bit into his throat as they made eye contact.
“Have you gotten taller, Jonah?” Susie asked, smiling. Jonah felt his face growing hotter. He had grown four full inches over the summer. Eliza had grown three.
He tried to think of something clever to say. “Yeah, uh—” But as he began to move toward them, he felt someone kick his right foot. It hit the back of his left leg, and suddenly he was sprawled out on the floor.
“Welcome to eighth grade, Stone!” Zack Smellman and his two friends, Peter Snodgrass and Carl Fong, laughed hysterically. Before Jonah could pick himself up, they walked off through the crowd of kids who had now turned to see for themselves who had ended up on the ground.
Jonah fumed. He could tear them apart if he wanted to, stuff them inside a locker or worse. And after he stopped them from beating up a little kid the year before, they all knew it. It was probably a good thing that they had walked away so fast. The words his father often said pried their way into his head once again. If he wanted to have a normal school life, he couldn’t afford to reveal his true abilities. He had to keep a low profile and, above all, control his temper.
The girls stifled laughs of their own and waved at him as they hurried by. Great start to the school year, Jonah thought as he gathered his things.
Based on the first five minutes of his geometry class, he realized that school was going to be a lot harder than last year. He already had an hour and a half of homework and had been to only one class.
Next up was history, one of Jonah’s favorite subjects, with Mrs. Larson. He found a desk in the middle of the room, plopped his backpack down, and took out a notebook and pencil. Two tall kids came in and walked toward the back of the room—Peter Snodgrass and Carl Fong. Wonderful, Jonah thought. Even without Zack Smellman goading them along, Snodgrass and Fong were no picnic. Jonah ground his teeth as both of them “accidentally” knocked him with their book bags as they passed by.
But Jonah was determined not to cause a scene on his first day of school. If he could make it through most of seventh grade without pounding any faces, he could make it through his first day of eighth grade. Jonah unclenched his fists and quickly turned his attention to his new history teacher, who had started lecturing on the Civil War.
When class was over and he had another hour’s worth of homework and a new, heavy history book to carry around, Jonah took a minute to go to the boys’ restroom. He chose a stall and closed himself in.
He heard the door to the bathroom open, and then slam shut.
Click.
Did someone just lock the door?
Footsteps shuffled across the tiled floor. Jonah tried to peek through the crack in the stall to see who was in there with him.
There were eight stalls in the bathroom, and he was in the third. He didn’t hear anyone talking, but he heard the first door slam open. Like someone had kicked it in. The same thing happened with door number two.
Someone began to speak in a hushed, singsong voice. “Come on out, Jonah Stone. We know you’re in here.” A chill ran up his spine as Jonah felt his locked door get pushed. “And we know exactly who you aaaaaaaare.”
If they didn’t have Jonah’s attention before, they had it now.
But no one outside of the family knew who he was. Who he really was—that he was only three-quarters human. And neither of his siblings would share their family secret with anybody . . . would they?
Don’t overreact, Jonah. This has to be some kind of misunderstanding. No need to freak out.
“Who . . . who are you? What do you want? I’m kind of . . . ah . . . busy here.”
There was no pause. The door slammed against him, ripped off its hinges. A long arm reached in and grabbed Jonah, pulling him out of the stall and throwing him against the cold floor.
Standing above him, with dull eyes but smug smiles, were Peter Snodgrass and Carl Fong.
Jonah was about to get on his feet and show these two what the son of a nephilim could do when suddenly over Fong’s shoulder a black-winged creature appeared, its fingers curled around the boy’s arm, its face close to his ear. At the same time, another one materialized over Snodgrass.
He could see them. Had he entered the hidden realm? No. Angels could be seen in the physical world, but only if they chose to be. Another chill ran down Jonah’s spine. These creatures were announcing their presence to him. They wanted to be seen.
“Go on,” one of them hissed into Snodgrass’s ear. “It’s time to get revenge for what happened last year.”
“Yes, yes!” the other cooed. “Show this kid what happens when losers try to be heroes!”
Jonah wasn’t sure if the boys could see or hear the creatures or if they could tell that it was the creatures who were encouraging them to fight, but it didn’t matter right now. Their fists began to rise, and he knew that if he didn’t make a move soon, the only way he’d be getting off this bathroom floor was with a mop.
Jonah jumped to his feet and grabbed Fong by the shoulders, throwing him across the room with his angelic strength. Then he ducked as Snodgrass swung his fist toward Jonah’s face, driving his foot into the boy’s middle and sending him in the same direction as his friend. They both slammed against the wall and fell splayed across the tiled floor.
The creatures shrieked and jumped off the boys’ shoulders. Their horrible faces were wrenched and contorted, sharp teeth protruding from their open mouths, crusty black wings flapping wildly on their backs. And those awful eyes.
They moved toward him as he felt his back press up against the cold wall. He glanced toward the locked door but was pretty sure he was too far away to make a run for it. He would have to fight both of them to get out of here. Jonah said a silent prayer to Elohim and slipped into the hidden realm to fight. If someone did somehow get past the locked door, it would be better if he didn’t have to explain why he was apparently having an imaginary battle next to two unconscious students.
“Okay,” he said, swallowing hard. “I guess it’s just you guys and me. I’m warning you, though—you’re gonna get disintegrated all over this dirty boys’ bathroom floor.”
Jonah reached his right hand across his left hip and pulled. In his hand appeared a long, silvery-white blade. An angelblade. Given to him by the archangel Michael himself.
The two fallen ones reached back and pulled fiery arrows off their backs in unison, leveling them at Jonah’s chest. But suddenly, something pulled their attention away from him. Their eyes were drawn past Jonah toward the window, and their smiles faded instantly.
As Jonah held up his sword, he saw in its reflection what had drawn their attention. A face had appeared at the window, and it looked angry. Suddenly, the window smashed, glass scattered across the floor, and the creature whose face Jonah had seen flew into the room. More of them pushed themselves through the now-gaping hole. One after the other
, they leaped to the floor and stood behind Jonah.
Jonah spun around, expecting to see more enemies. Instead, he saw a dozen warrior-class angels standing in the bathroom, blades and bows drawn, glaring menacingly at the Fallen. Jonah felt himself standing taller now and turned to face the two fallen angels again.
The Fallen took a step back, but instead of retreating, they let their weapons fly. The flame-tipped arrows bounced off the angels’ shields and crashed into the walls in different directions, extinguishing, then disappearing into nothing.
The angels quickly unsheathed their blades and advanced on the fallen ones. An explosion of heat and light surrounded them as they made fast work of their enemies. One of the angels slammed a fallen one against the sink. A pipe burst, and water began to spew everywhere. Within seconds, the floor was covered with both water and black dust, the only evidence that fallen angels had been there. Jonah was showered by the spray and watched breathlessly as chunks of the dust floated around the floor.
They weren’t dead. Angels—good or bad—don’t just die. But they were gone, at least for now, and that was enough.
“Thanks,” Jonah said to the angels. He stood for a moment in the spewing stream of water, eyeing them. Their silver armor glistened brightly, their wings razor sharp, faces chiseled. It was hard not to just stare at them in awe. “How did you know I was in trouble?”
A shorter, stocky angel with blond, spiky hair replied, “No time for that now, Jonah. We need to find your brother and sister. They are in great danger.”
“Eliza and Jeremiah too?” Jonah asked.
The angel nodded.
“Abaddon wants all of you dead.”
THREE
OUTSIDE MRS. LITTLE’S ROOM
Jonah prayed again and returned to the physical realm before emerging from the boys’ bathroom, along with the water that was beginning to seep under the door. His shoes squished with every step he took. The bell had sounded, and the few lingering students scurried toward their classrooms. One girl who rushed past him saw the water and turned to stare at the soaked kid coming out of the bathroom. Jonah lowered his head and walked away as fast as he could.
The troop of angels followed closely behind, invisible to the other students. Their eyes scanned the hallway for any sign of more fallen angels.
Elohim, Jonah prayed silently as he moved down the hallway, please protect Eliza and Jeremiah. Keep them safe until we get there.
He uttered the prayer over and over as he made his way toward the second-grade hall.
The angel in command sent half of the troops toward the sixth-grade wing in search of Eliza.
Jonah and the rest continued toward Jeremiah’s classroom. If Jeremiah had to face fallen angels like the ones Jonah did, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Jonah moved as fast as he could without running, for fear of attracting too much attention. His wet shoes were already loud enough. Not to mention the dripping.
He turned the corner toward Mrs. Little’s room. The hallway was empty. He passed by rooms and saw second graders busily working at their desks. How exactly was he going to get to his brother?
The angels marched silently behind him, but as far as anyone else knew, he was in the hallway alone.
Peering through the skinny window on Jeremiah’s classroom door, he saw his brother. All of the other kids were sitting at their desks, working. But Jeremiah stood beside his, trying to balance a pencil on his nose. Two girls watching had their hands on their mouths and were giggling.
Typical, Jonah thought. Always looking for an audience.
He cleared his throat and put his hand on the doorknob. Just as he did, though, he noticed two figures at the end of the hallway. He looked up and saw two kids who looked like teenagers, a boy and a girl. They locked their yellow eyes onto Jonah’s. He glanced back at the lead angel, who nodded his head and turned his attention toward the two.
Jonah swallowed hard. He didn’t have much time.
He pushed Mrs. Little’s door open too hard and it slammed against the wall. All of the kids, as well as the teacher, jumped in unison, startled by the interruption. Mrs. Little, who had been writing math problems on the whiteboard, put her hand on her chest.
“For goodness’ sake, Jonah Stone!” she said. “You almost gave me a heart attack! What on earth are you—?”
“I need Jeremiah,” Jonah interrupted, ignoring the water dripping from his hair and clothes and onto her floor. He was hoping she would ignore it too. He glanced over his shoulder impatiently as he spoke. “It’s . . . our dog,” he said, frantically trying to make up an excuse. “He’s . . . gone into the hospital . . . er . . . the animal hospital . . . and, well, we need Jeremiah because we don’t . . . ah . . . think Fluffy is going to make it.”
Mrs. Little took her glasses off and let them hang around her neck, and looked suspiciously at Jonah and the growing puddle of water at his feet.
But Jonah wasn’t going to wait for an answer. With twenty pairs of eyes watching his every move, he walked over to Jeremiah’s desk.
Squish, squish, squish.
“Come on, Jeremiah,” he said hurriedly, looking toward the door again. “We need to go. Now.”
“But we don’t even have a—” Before Jeremiah could say the word dog, Jonah slapped his hand over his brother’s mouth and turned his shoulders toward the door.
He forced a smile. “That’s right, we need to go take care of our dog. We should have him back by lunchtime, Mrs. Little. Nothing to worry about.”
Jeremiah tried to say something with Jonah’s hand on his face, but Jonah held on tightly, still smiling and nodding at the teacher, who was at a loss for words.
Jonah slung his brother out into the hallway and shut the door behind him.
“I didn’t even get my book bag, Jonah!” his brother said. “And since when do we have a dog? And why are you all wet?”
Jonah wasn’t listening. The boy and girl in the hallway had moved closer, and once they saw the brothers come out, they began to walk toward them with purpose.
The angels stood in the hallway too, bracing themselves for another fight.
“Whoa,” Jeremiah said, wide-eyed. “Angels! In our school!”
“This way, fast!” Jonah grabbed his arm and dragged him in the opposite direction, down the hall and away from the approaching kids.
“But . . .” Jeremiah tried to protest but couldn’t get away from Jonah’s superstrong grip.
Jonah was about to start running when a voice called out from around the corner that made him stop in his tracks.
“Jonah Stone!”
The voice boomed off the lockers in the hallway. A huge, hulking man stepped out in front of them, standing in the middle of their path, with his fists on his hips. He was the size of a professional football offensive lineman.
That was because this man used to be an offensive lineman. It was Mr. Anderson, the principal of Granger Community School.
He pointed a finger from one of his huge meat-slab hands at Jonah. “Son, I need to see you in my office immediately. We need to talk about why the eighth-grade boys’ bathroom is flooding out into the hallway.”
Jonah pushed his hair out of his face, rubbing sweat off his brow. He stood, still holding Jeremiah’s arm, and looked back again. The presence of the principal had caused the boy and girl to stop, at least momentarily. They stood with their arms crossed, smirking, eyes smoldering. The looks on their faces delivered a single, awful message. We’re going to kill you.
Jonah was frozen. Which way should he go? There was another fight waiting if they went toward the fallen angels disguised as teenagers. But the idea of going with the principal didn’t seem much better. They’d be safe for a while. But how was he going to explain why the bathroom was spewing water?
“Well?” Mr. Anderson said impatiently. “What are you waiting for? The police to show up?”
The angels had quietly changed their position. They now stood in a circle around Jonah and Jeremiah, facing outward.
Jonah’s eyes met the commander’s, who nodded confidently at him.
Jonah knew what he had to do.
Mr. Anderson began walking toward them.
So did the fallen angels.
Jonah bowed his head and focused all of his thoughts on Elohim.
“Jeremiah,” he whispered, “I need you to do exactly as I say. Can you handle that?”
“What?” his brother said. Jonah squeezed his arm tightly. “That hurts!”
“Listen,” Jonah said. “Say this prayer with me. And I want you to mean it, okay?”
Jeremiah was caught by the tone in his brother’s voice. “Okay.”
Jonah murmured the words quickly, and Jeremiah closed his eyes and repeated them.
Suddenly, he and Jeremiah disappeared from sight.
FOUR
A SHORT FLIGHT HOME
How . . . what . . . where . . . ?”
Mr. Anderson stood, staring at the empty space in the hallway that had been occupied a few seconds ago by Jonah and Jeremiah Stone. He blinked a few times, then noticed the unfamiliar teenage boy and girl a little farther away, who were moving toward him rapidly. “And where do you two think you’re going?”
Neither one answered. They simply disappeared just as Jonah and Jeremiah had done moments before.
Mr. Anderson stood dumbfounded, running his fingers through his hair. Then a jolt hit his body, like an electrical current, causing him to jump.
Jonah could have passed around Mr. Anderson, but he couldn’t resist giving the principal a little shock. He still had Jeremiah by the arm, and now that they were in the hidden realm, he continued to pull him along. The angels followed closely behind.
Before they turned the corner, Jonah glanced back in time to see that the two teens who had been following him had morphed into enormous fallen angels now that they were in the hidden realm. The fallen began to charge down the hallway, pulling arrows off their backs.
Three of the angels protecting Jonah and Jeremiah stopped running, turned around, and began to fire their arrows.
