by Jerel Law
Why are these people at a basketball game?
Quickly, though, his attention was drawn back to the court. There was a boy guarding him, and other kids running around on the court, calling to him. His teammates were yelling frantically, urging him to move the ball down the court.
He looked at the player crouched in front of him, a boy who looked about his age. He could have been any kid at Jonah’s school . . . except that his eyes flashed yellow. He quickly glanced at the other four kids on the opposing team. They were moving around the court, but in each of them, he saw those same yellow eyes.
Out of instinct, he glanced up at the game clock, and just as he did, he heard the voice. It was barely a whisper, and yet it somehow carried over the screams coming from the stands.
“Help . . .”
Jonah looked to his right and left, still dribbling the basketball, but saw no one nearby who could have whispered to him.
And then he realized why his teammates were yelling at him. The score read 59–58, visitors ahead. They were losing, and the clock had just crossed the ten-second mark.
:09
:08
Jonah began to move toward the basket. He needed to score. His team was down. The other team was made up of fallen angels, for some strange reason. But he couldn’t shake the whisper for help out of his head.
“Help me . . .”
There it was again. The voice sounded both powerful and frail. He was distracted. More time ticked off the clock.
:07
:06
:05
He was overwhelmed by the scene. But somehow, in the middle of it, he knew that he had to try to make the basket. He knew that if he did, he just might reach the voice crying for help.
Jonah moved to the left, maneuvering around a reaching defender. He split between two more, and with a nifty through-the-legs dribble, he was open, just inside the three-point line.
:04
:03
He was about to shoot, but a hulking kid stepped up, blocking his path to the basket. He dribbled to the left but was cut off. Back to the right, but another defender had walled him in.
:02
:01
He flung it. A desperation heave over the top of the big kid’s outstretched fingers. The buzzer sounded as the ball floated through the air. The arc looked good. For a second, Jonah thought he had made it.
Air ball. It missed everything.
The other team snarled and jeered at him, celebrating their victory. The crowd seemed to grow louder, their screams that much more intense. Jonah felt as though he had let them down.
Then a weird thing happened. For the briefest second, a word flickered on the scoreboard, in pink neon.
TEMPLE
Then it faded away, as quickly as it had come.
“Jonah. Jonah . . .” Above the noise of the crowd, he heard his name being called out. Was it the voice again? He looked around, trying to see who was calling him.
“Jonah!”
The sound of Kareem’s voice caused his eyelids to jerk open. He was breathing heavily, sweat pouring off his forehead.
“Jonah,” Kareem said to him, staring at him strangely, “we have all finished praying for now. Hai Ling was just . . . sharing with the rest of us, how she was having a . . . er . . . difficult time concentrating on her prayer.”
Hai Ling launched into a breathless tirade that would have made a Hollywood diva proud, on how boring and useless that whole exercise was. Kareem thumbed his chin and listened patiently, but he continued to cut his eyes back toward Jonah.
Jonah ran his fingers through his hair, telling himself that he was back in the room with the others now. Finally, his heart seemed to slow down and he was able to catch his breath. It wasn’t real.
“Anyone else want to share what they experienced?” Kareem eyed Jonah again, but he remained quiet. The faces . . . the eyes . . . and what was with the neon word? All of it haunted his thoughts.
“No one?” Kareem said. “Okay, then let’s continue on . . .”
With that, he began with an overview of what they would be discussing in his class. They were, of course, meeting in this smaller room because he was human, and this was a more out-of-the-way place for them to meet without getting caught.
He began talking about the early church, and the things they used to do to develop their ability to listen to God. Not only prayer, but silence and solitude, reading the Scriptures, encouraging one another, and fasting—these were all what Kareem called the spiritual arts.
“There are many of these spiritual practices men and women have used to draw near to Elohim throughout the centuries,” he said. “It is a great privilege for us to learn these skills together. Trust me when I say that you have no idea yet what these can do for you, and how they might help you in battle.”
Frederick rolled his eyes again when the pastor wasn’t looking, but this time Kareem must have sensed it. “You have something to add, Frederick?” he said as he spun toward the boy.
“Well . . .” His sudden movement had momentarily thrown Frederick off, but he quickly composed himself. “I just don’t see how all of this is going to help us. I mean, shouldn’t we be practicing our archery more, or defense? Or, like, karate or using swords or something?”
Hai Ling was nodding along in agreement, which only stoked the fires for the arrogant boy.
Kareem said nothing for a minute, scratching his goatee, appearing to seriously consider Frederick’s comments.
“I hear you, Frederick. There is courage in your voice—perhaps along with a little bit of overconfidence—but courage nonetheless.”
This brought even more of a scowl to Frederick’s face.
“One way or another,” Kareem said to all of the students, “you will each discover that prayer is not only a vital weapon in your arsenal—it is an absolutely necessary part of life itself.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to check the time.
“It appears as though our class time is over,” he said. “You may join Mrs. Aldridge now in the main reading room. Until tomorrow night.”
The students got up to leave, all seemingly in a hurry, except for Jonah.
He waited until the others had walked out into the hallway and were reentering the hidden realm, disappearing in front of him like candles snuffed out.
“Reverend Kareem . . . ,” he began, but wasn’t sure what to say.
The young Pakistani pastor stood up in front of Jonah and looked at him knowingly. “Did you see something . . . interesting?” His eyes glittered as he waited for Jonah to respond.
“Well . . . yes,” Jonah said. And in one long sentence, he told his instructor everything he had seen, from the game, to the faces, to the voice. He also told him about missing the shot and the neon word.
Kareem thought for a minute, and then began to move around the room, blowing out the candles as he spoke.
“Entering into a place of prayer with Elohim can be very unpredictable,” he said as he moved around to the flames. Jonah watched as the room gradually grew darker, with each light extinguished. “What will you see when you are given up to Him? What will He choose to show you? Every journey is different. Every path is unique. But there is one thing for sure.”
Jonah leaned in as Kareem approached the final candle, holding it in front of him.
“If you want to be safe, don’t pray.”
With that, he blew the final candle out.
TWELVE
THE ANGELIC VORTEX
Jonah joined the others, who had gathered in the center of the reading room and were seated at a few tables. Jeremiah was chatting excitedly with a couple of the kids at his table. Eliza sat quietly beside her roommate Julia, patiently waiting. Her eyes met Jonah’s, and she raised her eyebrows at him. By her look, he could tell that he must still look shaken by the vision he had seen during his prayer. Maybe it was something only a sister would notice, but he ran his hand over his face and tried to force his
mind back to the present.
“All right, students,” Camilla said, standing before them with her usual smile. “Your first night of Angel School is almost complete. Each evening, precisely at fifteen minutes past nine, you will report here, entering the same way you came. I cannot stress the importance of entering the hidden realm before you leave the convent. We don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. We have the building and doorways guarded by angels and by the hand of Elohim Himself, of course. But you can never be too careful.”
Eliza glanced around at the other kids, adjusted her glasses, and then raised her hand.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Aldridge?” she said. “I was just wondering. Are we going to have grades in Angel School?”
A few of the kids shot her dirty looks. But a couple of others nodded their heads along with her. Jonah just looked at her and rolled his eyes. Leave it to Eliza to want to have grades.
“That’s a good question, dear Eliza,” said Camilla. “I know how you enjoy making good grades. But we won’t have As and Bs like you are used to in school.” Eliza raised her eyebrow when Camilla mentioned Bs. Jonah knew she’d never sniffed a B in her life. “No, grades have no use for us here. We expect you to be more motivated by a desire to use your exceptional gifts and to please Elohim in everything.”
The angel went on to review what they had learned that night and what they would be doing for their lessons over the next week. She encouraged them to sleep late in the morning, but not to miss their required tutoring classes with the nuns, which would meet at one o’clock. Some of the kids high-fived each other. Jonah had never been asked by a teacher to sleep in before.
“And don’t miss a meal either,” she said. “A quarterling will be no good in battle if he or she is not rested and well-fed.”
She raised her hand and popped herself on the head. “Ah! And I almost forgot . . . before we leave tonight, there is one more thing. From time to time, you will have an opportunity to receive updates from your parents.”
Jeremiah fist-pumped the air. A wave of chatter rushed over the room.
She continued, “You will be able to check in with your guardian angels. Even though you cannot talk face-to-face with your parents right now, you can at least find out how they are doing.”
She motioned to Samuel now. “Instructor Samuel?”
He nodded his head, stepped forward, and began giving the students instructions. Soon, they were each standing with an angel in different parts of the room, spread out from one another. Brothers and sisters were together, of course, so Jonah, Eliza, and Jeremiah stood in the corner of the room. The warrior angel Taryn stood with them.
“Of course, we know that Henry is a warrior angel now,” she said. “But he was among the angels who transported your parents to their secure location, and with Cassandra not having been recovered yet, his assignment involves checking on them frequently. We figure you’d like to know how they’re doing.”
“I’ve been thinking about them all day,” said Jeremiah. Jonah realized he felt the same, even though he didn’t want to admit it out loud. In the middle of everything that had happened that day, his parents had constantly been in the background of his mind.
Taryn nodded. “Okay, then. Ready?” Jonah wasn’t exactly sure what he should get ready for, but they each said yes and watched the fire-haired angel raise her hands and close her eyes.
Within seconds, wind began to swirl around them and their hair began to blow wildly, although Jonah noticed that it didn’t blow any of the books or papers around the library. It was like a mini-tornado, swirling around the four of them until they couldn’t see outside its walls. Strangely, though, it made no noise at all. Jeremiah stood between Jonah and Eliza, holding both of their hands tightly.
Taryn finally opened her eyes. “This is an Angelic Vortex. It is how we communicate with each other around the world.” She closed her eyes again, concentrating. Suddenly, in front of them, a large image began to appear on the Vortex. It was fuzzy at first, but grew clear and focused.
“Henry!” said Eliza. The teenage-looking warrior angel faced them, offering them a smile and a wave.
“Hi there, everyone!” said Henry. “All of the Stone kids at once. Wonderful!”
“Henry!” Jonah said. “It’s good to see you again.”
Henry appeared to be standing on a darkened street or in an alleyway somewhere. It was impossible to know exactly where he was from the image in front of them.
“Hi, Henry!” said Jeremiah. “This is awesome!”
Henry grinned at the boy. “I know, Jeremiah. Pretty cool, huh? Just like being inside a tornado. Well, almost.”
Eliza spoke up again. “So how are Mom and Dad doing, Henry? What can you tell us?”
“Yes, well,” he began, “they are safe and sound. We made it here to our secure location undercover, and it seems we weren’t noticed by any of the Fallen or anyone else they might have working for them. They are hidden away. Quite concerned about the three of you, of course. But they are doing very well.”
“Do they miss us?” said Jeremiah. He blinked at the image of the angel in front of him, his face growing serious.
“Yes, Jeremiah,” Henry said, his smile fading a little. “Of course they do. They hated leaving you today, and if it had been up to them, they would be with you tonight. But listen, guys, it is better this way right now. It is much easier to keep you all safe.”
Henry looked off to the right for a few seconds, as if he were listening to someone else. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Right away, Commander.”
He turned back toward Taryn and the three Stone kids. “I have to go, friends. But I’m glad we got to talk. I miss seeing your faces.”
Jonah found that he missed his friend Henry too. “Hey, Henry,” he said, leaning forward a little, clearing his throat. “I . . . we . . . feel the same way.”
“I know, dear friend,” Henry said quietly, smiling broadly again. “Just remember, you are safe there, guarded by the top battalion of angels, and they are providing high-security protection twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.” He laughed enthusiastically. “You’re safer than you were at home, trust me.”
Jonah wanted to ask Henry about his vision, to get his thoughts, his take from an angel perspective. But now wasn’t the time. He just didn’t feel like getting into it with Eliza, or running the risk of scaring Jeremiah, who was brand-new at all of this angel stuff.
“Okay, Henry,” Jonah said, willing himself not to worry anymore about what he had seen. Or thought he had seen. “I hope we can see you soon. Tell Mom and Dad we miss them.”
Henry nodded and smiled.
“Okay, kids, time to go,” said Taryn. She glanced at the angel. “Henry.”
He waved good-bye. She dropped her arms, and immediately, the Angelic Vortex was gone. Jonah looked around at the others. Some were still hidden inside their funnels, while others were standing in the reading room, waiting to be dismissed.
Quickly, the students compared stories. It seemed that everyone’s parents were safe and doing just fine. They were all worried about their children, and even though most of the kids tried to pretend they didn’t miss them back, Jonah knew that wasn’t true.
Even Frederick and Hai Ling seemed genuinely moved by their conversations. Only Rupert Clamwater had something negative to say.
“My father demanded to speak directly with me, and he says we aren’t safe here, and that the truth is that the angels are not as competent at security as MI5 or the FBI. He says that he can’t believe that we are in the middle of New York City and that he is going to file a compl—aaaaah!”
Andre, the quarterling from Russia, had grabbed the back of Rupert’s collar, stopping him in midsentence and lifting him off the ground.
“Can you please stop your mouth from moving so much?” the big Russian said, snapping his fingers together with his other hand, mimicking a mouth. “It’s hurting my ears!”
Jonah and several of the others cracked
up laughing.
“Okay, students. It’s time to return to the convent for the night.” Camilla ushered them to the doorway, back down the steps, and out of the library, the same way they’d come in.
Jonah yawned as they walked home. The group had grown quiet. He realized for the first time that night how tired he was. All he wanted to do when he got back to his room was get under the covers and melt into the mattress.
THIRTEEN
DAGON’S PLAN
Ahandful of men and women, dressed in business suits and smart outfits, stood in the conference room, each alone with his or her own thoughts. Some gazed vacantly through the massive set of windows, out across the city. The top floor of the beautiful skyscraper had been rented for them—one of the best views in town—but no one seemed to be enjoying it.
Others paced around the massive mahogany table in the middle. They straightened their ties once, twice, three times. They adjusted their perfect hair. No one spoke. Their usual bickering and blaming was gone. They only waited.
A door swung open at the end of the room, and everyone turned at once.
A few sighs of relief could be heard. An African American man dressed in dingy coveralls pushed a trash can on wheels into the room. His back was bent, and he stared at the floor as he walked in, acting as if he were unaware of the presence of the others.
“I believe you’re in the wrong room,” one man said with a cold stare, ready to usher this unfortunate man on. Or maybe torment him while they bided their time.
But the janitor simply chuckled. And then they knew.
A collective gasp, and then a woman hit the floor on her knees.
“Master,” she said, bowing low.
The others quickly followed her lead, not daring to let their eyes meet the face of the janitor.
