by Diane Capri
When he arrived, a long queue of girls were pouring out from the gates of Northbrae. A sea of pigtails, navy skirts, books tied like parcels, but no sign of Clara or Sophia. He pushed through the crowd of mothers and nannies awaiting their children.
“Clara? CLARA!”
A huge bruiser of a man grabbed Nikolai by the lapels of his coat, and lifted him off the ground. “What’re you doing, shoutin’ in me ear like that?”
“Unhand me, now!”
“You’ll say you’re sorry first, now, won’t you?”
“I’ll knock you down first.” Nikolai gripped his hand but could not pull it off. He craned his neck and shouted again. “Clara!”
“Quit yer shoutin’!”
“Release me or throw a punch, you filthy mongrel!”
At this, the bruiser set him down, coiled his fist, and launched it at Nikolai’s face.
Nikolai braced for the pain—but didn’t feel the impact. Instead, the bruiser gripped his hand as if he’d just smashed it into a brick wall and howled in pain while Nikolai got to his feet and brushed himself off.
“Best run, mate.”
Which is precisely what Bruiser did. Eyes wide with fear, he ran down the street, glancing back twice as he fled. Nikolai glanced down at his hands and flexed his fingers, grateful his abilities were returning. He’d need them to find Clara.
Because she wasn’t there. The last child came out, met her mother, and left.
“Have you seen Clara?” Nick asked her teacher.
“She left a few minutes ago with her mother. It was so good to see—”
“Do you know which way they went?”
She pointed in the direction of Victoria Station.
“Are you two—”
“Thank you.” To his relief, he found himself hovering imperceptibly above the city streets. Down below he spotted Sophia walking briskly, pulling Clara by the hand. Past Eccleston Square, across to Wilton Street, and into the railway terminus. Did she actually believe she could simply take his daughter from him, that he couldn’t track them down and stop her?
He descended upon them.
Sophia seemed to sense his proximity and rushed into the throngs coming, going, and passing through the terminus. Nikolai took human form, more out of instinct than anything else, and plunged into the crowd himself. The need to stop her became visceral.
Down by the tracks, the massive steam-sighs of trains waiting to leave filled the air. The whine of metal against metal rang out along with the announcements of arrivals and departures.
He and Sophia were perhaps ten yards apart and surrounded by strangers when their eyes met, Sophia’s wide with anxiety. For a brief moment, he saw the lovely young woman he’d fallen in love with—but only for a moment. A sinister aspect fell like a veil over her face. She turned and ran with Clara in tow towards the stairs and elevated walkway above platform 12, the white lights only he could see flashing around her as she pushed through the crowd.
Nikolai heard the whistle of the train from the Brighton line approaching the station, assumed his angelic form, and was instantly behind Sophia and Clara, who were now running up the stairs to the platform.
“Sophia!”
She either couldn’t hear him in his extra-physical state or she was ignoring him. The train would be there in less than a minute.
The white lights faded, and for a moment Sophia released Clara’s hand. She stared at her mother, who looked stunned as she put her hand to her forehead.
An interval of clarity? Nikolai had never dealt with humans possessed by demons. But if he could reach out to her now, in human form, she might talk to him. He might even be able to save her from the demonic influence.
Feeling his feet hit the ground, he ran over.
“Sophia!”
“Daddy!” Clara called out, clearly relieved to see him.
Sophia looked up, her hair all over her face like a madwoman’s. But her eyes were pleading for help.
The dark vapor, which seemed to be present around every bad turn of his existence, moved over his head and ahead of him as Nick approached his wife and daughter .
“Sophia, are you—”
She threw her hands up.
“Don’t!”
He stopped a few yards away.
“What’s the matter?”
“I just...can’t...”
He took a cautious step towards them.
“KEEP AWAY!”
The shouting frightened Clara, who wriggled away from her mother. Sophia grabbed her arm and pulled her back—a protective rather than a threatening move, but Clara yelped.
“Daddy, what’s happening?”
The approaching train let out a loud whistle.
“It’s going to be all right.” He took another step closer to Sophia. “I’m here, love. Just tell me what you need.”
Sophia shook her head from side to side.
“No no no...It’s too late.”
“For what?” Another step.
Sophia’s features bunched up and she began to cry.
“I’m sorry, so sorry...I can’t...”
Just as the train pulled in, the white demonic lights enveloped her. Sophia’s expression changed utterly, overcome by malignance. She straightened up and turned to the edge of the platform.
Nikolai ran to grab her, but he was still a few feet away.
“Sophia, no!” he shouted as she leapt onto the tracks, still clutching Clara’s hand.
CHAPTER FIFTY
THERE WASN’T ENOUGH TIME FOR HIM to adjust his time flow in order to stop Sophia from falling under the wheels of the oncoming train, or to prevent the impact against the back of Clara’s skull.
Screams of horror went up all around the platform.
Clara was in his arms. The impact had thrown her there.
Dozens of people came running, but he cast a construct around the two of them so they wouldn’t be disturbed. He laid Clara down gently on the platform and knelt before her unconscious body. But for the blood on his hand and widening in a pool at the back of her head, she might have been asleep.
“Clara.” Her name caught in his throat like a fishhook. From under the train, a flock of demonic lights emerged like tiny bats and fluttered by, hissing as they left, mocking him.
Nearly every emotion he’d experienced in this human expedition raged within his heart. Anguish at the loss of his beautiful bride years ago when she’d left and now when demons had stolen her soul, helpless fury that this had caused what must surely be a fatal injury to their beloved daughter.
Clara’s tiny gasps grew further and further apart.
She was dying.
With his hand touching his daughter’s face, he knew what he must do. It would violate the most solemn of angel laws. He might incur the most terrible of consequences. Didn’t matter, it was his daughter.
He raised his right hand until the fingers pulsed with glowing energy. One touch was all it would take.
Just one touch—
Someone grasped his wrist, gently but with sufficient force to stop him from touching Clara. But no one could enter his construct except—
Of course. Kneeling beside him was a beautiful woman with flaxen hair that shone with light, its glory reflected by her flowing white gown.
“Tamara?”
She took both of his hands into hers, then stood, drawing him to his feet with her. Though she had existed before the foundations of the world were laid, humans would have put her at about nineteen.
“Tamara, please.” He looked down to his dying daughter. Tamara still held his hands. “She’s just a child.”
A tear rolled down Tamara’s face.
“You cannot heal her, dear Nikolai.”
“I can—I will! I’ve healed mortals before, even resurrected some.”
“You must not. Not without authorization.”
“Then authorize it, Tamara.” His voice broke. “I’m begging you!”
“I’m sorry. Such authorizati
on comes only from the highest authority. And it has not been granted.”
“You’ve already asked?”
She lowered her eyes.
Nikolai tried to drop down and touch Clara but couldn’t free himself from Tamara’s grip.
“Please!” he cried. “Before it’s too late!”
Clara released her final breath.
“It has been too late for some time now,” Tamara said, wiping tears with her free hand. “It is for the best, Nikolai. You must have faith.”
“She was innocent. None of this was her fault.”
“It most certainly was not. But there are consequences for violating the most sacred angel precepts. Your physical union with a human produced a Nephilim.”
“Nephilim don’t exist, they’re just a myth.”
“Truth is not contingent upon your belief, Nikolai.”
“She couldn’t possibly harm anyone!”
“My child, you don’t know what your daughter might have become had she lived to become a fully mature Nephilim.” Tamara released his hand and touched his face gently. “She may have been spared unspeakable horrors.”
“So this was planned?”
“Foreseen and planned are not the same,” she said. “Clara’s death was caused by the demonic influence your human mate invited. Ultimately, she succumbed to it.”
“You stood there and did nothing—and forced me to do nothing.”
“It could have been far worse for Clara, had she lived out her Nephilim life.”
But she hadn’t.
“Which path will she take now?” Nikolai could only hope that a child as innocent as Clara would not be judged in eternity for something she couldn’t help—his sins or her own nature.
“It’s not for us to know such matters.”
“Just to blindly obey,” he said.
“It’s a matter of faith. Faith that the precepts are good and just, whether or not our finite minds can comprehend.”
Faith that the angel laws made sense. Which they didn’t.
“I haven’t any more faith,” he said.
“You’ve changed, Nikolai.” Concern etched her features. “What’s happened to you?”
“Well, I...” She was right, of course. He had indeed forgotten how differently angels perceive time and existence, and was now interpreting and judging through mortal eyes. He did not want to talk about it, yet at the same time he longed for the guidance and clarity only she could provide.
“I fell in love.”
“I see.”
“Don’t judge me. Haven’t you ever felt this way before?”
“My feelings are irrelevant.”
Before Nikolai could respond, the expression on her face turned grave. Without warning, utter darkness fell over Victoria Station. A moment later, a mighty blast of light turned the entire place white. A blast that sounded like a trumpet caused Tamara to turn around and face the light. She stood rigid and shielded her eyes. He came to her side.
“What’s happening?”
“Be quiet,” she hissed. “Whatever happens, don’t you say a word.”
A mighty warrior in mail and armor appeared in the light, a broadsword sheathed at his side. He came into full view and stood before Tamara, who knelt and bowed her head. Nikolai, realizing who it was, did the same.
In a deep baritone that seemed to resonate beyond the confines of the train station, the warrior spoke.
“Arise, Tamara.”
She stood, pulling Nikolai up by the elbow as well. The warrior must have been more than two heads taller than he was.
“To what do I owe the honor of your presence, my supreme commander?” Tamara said.
The hairs on Nikolai’s neck stood on end. He had never before seen the archangel Michael, who glared down at him then turned to Tamara.
“It has come to the high command’s attention that we have a traitor in our ranks.”
“True, he has violated some of the angel laws,” she said.
Michael glowered at Nikolai. “Some?”
“Well, yes. Nearly all, to be precise. But he’s a fledgling. His heart is young but good. He did it for love.”
Now the archangel was glaring at her.
“For lesser crimes, angels have been condemned and cast out. There shall be no exceptions.”
“He does not belong with the dark legions, sire,” Tamara dared to say. “He is indeed of the light.”
Michael stepped up to Nikolai, towering over him, eyes so bright and fierce he had to avert his.
“Look upon me, lad.”
With no choice but to obey, he met the mighty archangel’s gaze. For an eternity Michael scrutinized him, peered into his very being. Then he turned back to Tamara, shaking his head.
“By his transgressions alone, it is apparent that this one knows naught of service, sacrifice. One could argue that all he does, he does for himself, and that he cares for none but himself.”
“Please, sire,” she said. “Afford him clemency. I will avouch him.”
The archangel’s left eyebrow raised slightly.
“Do you know what you ask?”
“I do, my lord.” She stood ramrod straight.
“From this point on you may not intervene or rescue him from his own choices. They alone shall determine his future.”
Tamara nodded.
“You are now responsible. If he fails, that failure falls upon you.”
“Understood, sire.”
One last glare. Tamara didn’t flinch.
Michael drew his broadsword ablaze with golden fire. He stepped over and pointed it straight at Nick’s heart.
“You have been granted what few angels ever have. But because it is Tamara the True, the Faithful, who testifies to your character”—he touched Nick’s chest with the burning point of his sword—“you are provisionally pardoned.”
At first it felt like the sword had been driven into his heart. Fire ran through his body, and though it burned, it was a cleansing pain.
“Sire.”
Michael returned the sword to its sheath and turned again to Tamara.
“’Tis a noble if foolhardy thing that you do, faithful one. Nikolai shall be reassigned rather than condemned. He shall be placed in a probationary state during which time his character will be tried. You shall neither interfere nor intervene.”
“Understood,” Tamara said, her head lowered.
“Pray your faith is not misplaced.”
And with that, the archangel’s form radiated light so brilliant that Nikolai and Tamara could no longer actually make him out. In the next moment he was gone.
Tamara’s complexion looked as white as her gown
“I must take my leave now,” she said. “And Nikolai?” She turned and for the first time ever gave him a stern look. “Do not fail me—or yourself.”
He turned to look upon Clara’s little body and struggled not to weep. No point in giving way to his grief now. He’d just been given a second chance, was indeed lucky to still be in the ranks of the angels after everything he’d done. Yet a part of him was troubled at the idea of rejoining these beings who either issued or followed orders blindly.
“Tamara...” He turned around, but she was gone.
Kneeling by his daughter’s lifeless body, he could sense that her spirit had already been taken. As he took her hand and kissed it, images of the beautiful times he and Sophia had enjoyed with Clara before everything changed flooded his mind, creating very human sensations that tore against his true nature.
He could stand it no longer.
“Goodbye,” he said. He kissed Clara on the forehead, then looked wistfully towards the train under which Sophia had ended her life—whether by demonic influence or a desperate need to escape it, he didn’t know.
The entire construct dissolved and he was back in the present with Hope.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
HOPE WRAPPED HER ARMS AROUND NICK, her eyes shimmering. To think of carrying all that pain for over a hun
dred years!
“I’m so sorry,” she said. To have witnessed his past almost firsthand was nearly as overwhelming as learning that he was an angel. Her own pain felt oddly distant, replaced by concern for his wounded heart.
“I don’t even know why I—”
“Shhhh.” She put her finger on his lips. But his entire body tensed up. Holding his head in his hands, he began straining.
“Nick, what’s the matter?”
“I don’t…know!”
But from the eyes squeezed shut, the gritting teeth, she could tell he was in great physical pain. She had no idea what to do, so she just held him, lightly rubbing his back, patting it with her fingertips. “How can I help?”
He shook his head tightly, the pain agonizingly evident. After a while, his tension seemed to diminish. His breathing became more even. Finally, he took a deep breath, and spoke.
“Sorry.”
“What just happened?” Hope said.
“Not sure. Sensory overload, perhaps. I might’ve spent too much time in this human form.” He looked up, his expression surprisingly vulnerable. Cautiously, she touched his face. This time, he didn’t flinch.
“I couldn’t save her.” Sorrow mixed with despair, his gaze fell to the floor.
“But you saved me,” she said.
“A hundred years have passed, and I still haven’t come to terms with what happened, Hope.” Nick’s voice broke. “It just makes no sense. No sense at all.”
Now he was trembling, but not as he did when he was suffering from that strange physical bout. This was much more profound.
How do you comfort an angel? All she could do was hold him, whisper sweet hushing sounds into his ear, and shed sympathetic tears.
And then, the words just came.
Straight from her heart.
“He is there, Nick. Like He said to me, He’s there in my past, healing the pain—I don’t know, retroactively? But I’m sure He’s there in your past too.”
Nick looked up, his eyes moist, but fighting to maintain a strong façade. “I don’t know…”
She leaned close, bowed her head to touch his, and did the only thing she knew how to do, when all else was lost. “Dear Lord, would you please mend Nick’s broken heart?” And again, she held him.
