by Meg Collett
The chains clanged behind her, whizzing through the air. Their impact was blackness. It swallowed Michaela whole, but not before she heard the terrified upheaval she’d caused and Abel’s wild cries for order.
34
No one approached Gabriel. No one talked to him. No one even looked at him. No one dared.
He remembered the day when he’d gone to see Lucifer and had found him in his backyard cleaning a gun. A large box in the backyard contained a lion pacing back and forth inside its confines, growling and chuffing against the wood. When Lucifer was ready, the box had been opened and the lion had surged out. With a deafening bang of Lucifer’s gun, the lion was dead barely a foot beyond its cage.
Gabriel felt like that lion. He stood outside, staring up at the sky and waiting for his opportunity to burst forth and devour. But the lion had been a doomed creature, set up to fail. Gabriel didn’t care about that. He was stuck on the devouring part. Just like the lion had most likely been.
They were almost ready. The sun would be setting any moment now. The fallen shifted restlessly in the trees. Everyone was keyed up. It’d been a long time since they’d fought in Heaven.
“Gabriel,” Raphael said from over Gabriel’s shoulder. He cleared his throat. “More fallen have arrived.”
Gabriel had sent some angels back to Hell to bring more soldiers. Just like Heaven, Hell was comprised of all types of angels, not all of whom were warriors. Gabriel had sent for any fallen who would pick up arms and fight with him.
“How many?” Gabriel asked.
“Nearly five hundred.”
Gabriel nodded tersely. He’d hoped for more. “Keep them in the back.”
“Sir—”
That snapped Gabriel out of his anger. He put his hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m your brother.”
Raphael nodded, relaxing. “What do you want to do about the bone swords? Should we bring them?”
Gabriel dropped his hand. If it were up to him, he’d tell every fallen to bring one. But it wasn’t. “Michaela said no.”
“Are you sure?”
“She’s our General.”
“Right,” Raphael agreed. “No bone swords then. I’ll spread the word.”
“Raphael,” Gabriel said as the Archangel was leaving.
“Yes?”
“I appreciate your acceptance of the fallen soldiers. It’s made this easier,” Gabriel said, meeting the angel’s eyes.
Raphael thought for a moment before saying, “I have to remind myself every day that we’re fighting for the same goal, so it makes it hard to keep thinking of them as an enemy.”
Gabriel nodded in understanding. “Tell the fallen we’re going to take the flight slow. I don’t want the transition to make them sick and unable to fight well.”
“Got it,” Raphael said. “I’ll tell them. Do you want to send some angels after Obil in case Michaela doesn’t make it out?”
Gabriel had already thought about bringing the Aethere angel up from Hell, but between Obil’s weight and useless wings, Gabriel didn’t to wear out a group of angels in case Michaela did come to the gates tonight. Bringing Obil up from Hell without giving Michaela a chance seemed like something Gabriel would do if he didn’t trust her, and he wanted to prove Clark wrong. Gabriel could love Michaela and still trust her as a fighter.
“Not yet,” Gabriel said. “We’ll only bring him up as a last resort. Okay?”
“I understand.”
Raphael left, and the silence settled around Gabriel again. His cool, calculated anger simmered beneath the surface. Looking back up at the sky, Gabriel imagined Michaela was with him again, standing beside him with a steady, unwavering presence. He felt the press of her hand in his, the heat from her body. He needed her back. She was the only thing that kept him from the darkness.
The woods surrounding the cabin rustled. Twigs snapped and weight shifted. The sound of thousands breathing was like a second breeze.
From the cabin, Iris stood with Ophaniel, each holding the other’s hand. Ophaniel was healthy after Clark’s magic, but no one wanted to risk her newly healed injuries to the pressure of the transition. Clark stood halfway down the stairs with his arms crossed over his chest, his boots tapping an unknown rhythm on the wood. His eyes never left Gabriel. Zarachiel waited at the bottom of the stairs with Uriel.
Simiel and Raphael emerged from the woods once again. “They’re ready,” Raphael said.
Gabriel didn’t know what he would find in Heaven. The thought nagged him and plagued him with doubt, but this was the only part of the plan Michaela needed him to fulfill. And he would hold up his end.
Gabriel let out the readying call. The fallen answered before he’d even finished, and the Archangels gathered around him. Gabriel crouched and powered into the sky. He didn’t know if he was ready. He certainly wasn’t ready for Michaela to die, but he would fly to her anyway.
He had to remind himself to slow down multiple times. He needed everyone to be able to fight one hundred percent. No one could be sick.
Like Michaela. She was probably sick and beaten right now, with Abel spreading his lies and punishing Michaela for making him look like a fool.
“Slow down, Gabriel,” Raphael shouted over the wind. The Archangel had drawn up beside him, and Gabriel hadn’t even noticed.
He forced himself to calm down and slow his speed. They were already miles above where the battle had ended earlier. Raphael was tense beside him, his jaw clenched closed. Disregarding the rules of war was a bold move, and Raphael liked his order, his rules. But this was the only way Gabriel could get his army to Heaven’s gates for Michaela.
The transition started in Gabriel’s body. His skin was electric, sizzling all the way down to his feathers. If he breathed too hard, Gabriel felt as though he might rip into a million pieces.
The atmosphere gave way to a darker, colder space. The air was lighter, which quickened their pace. There was no sight of the holy angels, which relieved Gabriel. They wouldn’t know the fallen were coming until the last minute, which meant they would likely wait behind the closed gates, trusting they had Michaela in captivity so the gates could remain closed against the Archangels and fallen.
The time passed quickly. Gabriel, at the front of the charge, was the first to see the outline of Purgatory stretching across the sky above them. He had his sword out and ready as the army flew up and over, spreading the length of the wall. They scanned the dusty plain, but there were no angels to be seen.
Gabriel didn’t slow as he landed, his feet skimming over the ground and brewing a dust storm. He came to an abrupt stop before the gates, horrified by what he saw. The Archangels settled beside him, sending up puffs of dirt. Their shock matched his own.
Torn and bloodied wings were tacked to the gates of Heaven. Their dirty feathers fluttered in the breeze. A stench of decay and rot filled the air. Everyone was frozen before the sight. Gabriel was the first to move.
He turned to the fallen behind him, who breathed heavily and waited. Their presence reassured him and calmed him. “Take these wings down,” Gabriel commanded.
He and the other Archangels stepped away as the fallen drew forward. Some lifted into the air to reach higher wings, while others simply tugged the desecrations from the gates, leaving behind smears of dried blood. The fallen held the wings in their hands and looked at Gabriel.
“Put them to the side,” Gabriel said. Maybe Clark would be able to repair the wings someday.
Gabriel went back to the gates, peering between the bars. The Archangels stood around him, shocked to silence. Their faces hung slack with horror, their eyes welling with tears as their gazes flickered between the pile of wings and the sight inside Heaven’s gates.
The courtyard was empty. No doubt an alarm had been raised about the army’s approach, but whoever had issued it was safely inside now. Gabriel raised his eyes beyond the courtyard. Heaven looked like a brewing storm, windy and c
old. It was a completely different place than Gabriel had ever known.
The Archangels pressed against the gates beside him, their anger building at the sight. Gabriel had been prepared for the vision of a broken Heaven. He’d seen the start of it when he’d returned with Zarachiel, but even he was taken aback by the bleak, dark clouds blotting out the once-beautiful spires.
The stink in the air wasn’t from the ripped wings but from Heaven itself. The humidity was high, coating the angels’ skin and wings with a clammy layer of moisture. The wind snapped against the massive gates, rattling the hinges.
“This is awful,” Simiel said, his voice a reverent whisper.
“I can’t believe the holy angels have let this happen.” Raphael had to look away, turning his back on the gates.
“How can they think this is right? Heaven is bleeding.”
Uriel snorted. “They probably blame Michaela for this, too.”
Gabriel looked at her, his eyebrow cocked. She just shrugged before she turned away from the gate. Of all the people to stand up for Michaela, Uriel was the last person Gabriel had expected. He’d thought she was too far gone, but somehow Michaela had pulled her back.
A holy angel descended on the other side of the gate. He was a seraph angel with red tinted wings and slicing silver eyes. “You disobeyed the rules, and now you’re trespassing,” the angel said.
Gabriel couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what Michaela had said when Lucifer had trespassed weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime since that day. Gabriel almost laughed at the realization that everything was going to end where it all had started.
“We’re not here to fight,” Gabriel called across the courtyard. “But we are here to take back Heaven. If you send out Abel and the remaining Aethere choir now, no one has to get hurt.”
The angel looked furious. “You think I believe that you’re not here to fight when you’ve brought an entire army of fallen angels with you?”
Gabriel acted like he was surprised the fallen were back there. “Call them my Plan B,” he said.
The seraph smirked, the expression cruel. “You’ll need more than them to save your precious traitor. She’s with the Aethere now, receiving her judgment. Unless they’ve already beaten her senseless.”
Gabriel’s grip tightened around the gate’s bars. The holy angels had changed, their compassion tarnished by Abel’s shadow, but Gabriel didn’t give a damn about that. He was just pissed.
“For your sake, you better hope she’s fine. Or we’ll go straight to Plan B.”
“You’re too late, Gabriel. Last I heard, she’s not going to be fine anytime soon.”
35
Michaela woke in a narrow room with a single door. The walls were more of the endless white, the brightness hurting her eyes and increasing the pounding in the back of her head. The light originated from the walls themselves, and the cool marble floors were frigid against Michaela’s skin. Even the air smelled cold and sterile.
The pain in Michaela’s back was a steady throb, burning her skin even as she shivered in the cold. Her stomach twisted, her vision slanting. She knew her body was trying to transition and adapt to Heaven, but without her wings the transition couldn’t happen. Her body was stuck in the middle, and the imbalance was excruciating.
Michaela didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious. She had no way to track the passage of time in this room since there were no windows on the walls or the door. If she was going to escape tonight, she needed to do it soon.
If she still could….
The thought was like a virus; it’d taken root in her mind and wouldn’t let her go. Michaela couldn’t afford to start doubting herself. She had to get to those gates.
When she moved, her back pulled and tugged, ripping the cloth of her shirt over the drying blood of her exposed wounds. The pain came in waves that brought a surge of blurring blackness around the edges of her vision. Since she was alone, she let the whimpers escape. Unconsciousness threatened, but Michaela shook it off, focusing her attention on the door.
There was no handle, no way to test if it was locked. Michaela managed to stand, wavering like the flooring dipped away from her. She swayed and collapsed into the door, which Michaela realized wasn’t budging. She pounded against it, banging her fist against the slick metal.
“Hey!” she yelled. She kept yelling until her voice was raw. Her fists ached from slamming them into the door. The guards breathed quietly just outside her door, shifting their weight back and forth as if they were bored. She called and called to them, but they didn’t budge. Eventually, she realized no one was going to answer her and she wasn’t getting out. She sank to the floor, curling in around herself.
She wasn’t getting out tonight, and maybe she’d been a fool to believe she could do it. She wondered if Gabriel was outside, waiting by the gates. A wave of guilt washed over her, because she knew he would have made it. He wouldn’t have let her down.
Michaela pictured herself in Gabriel’s arms, his broad, muscular chest tight against her body. It was a small, comforting thought, but it worked. Even far away from her, she found strength in his love. It was enough to get her through the night, and she fell asleep.
* * *
They came the next morning. The door banged open, the sound ratcheting around inside Michaela’s aching head. She groaned and struggled to open her eyes.
The angels yanked her off the floor, wrenching her back and making her cry out. She clapped her mouth shut, cutting off the screams barreling up her throat. The motion set her dizziness reeling as if she tumbled down a hill. Hot saliva pooled in her mouth when she smelled the metallic tang from the blood on her back.
The Seraphim from yesterday dragged her out of her cell and down the hall. They headed back to the judgment chamber for another show. Abel could never break her, but she worried about escaping in time to let Gabriel and his fallen in through the gates. If they were still even out there.
She had to make it until she could find a chance to break away, but the thought from last night was back. Escaping from the Antechambers felt like a fantasy now. In Heaven, Michaela had always been a strong, confident fighter, but she couldn’t transition into that form. Her weak legs trembled as she tried to find her footing.
As they trudged down the hall, Michaela struggled. The floors were too slick to get a good purchase, and the Seraphim had tight grips on her arms. More flanked her as if they knew she’d try something. Michaela fought the whole way, but it did little good.
The door opened for the Seraphim, meaning Abel was likely already inside. Michaela’s suspicions were confirmed as she entered the room and saw a fresh set of angel faces lining the benches. Her eyes settled on Abel, who looked calm and in control for now.
The Seraphim dropped her in the middle of the pit and fanned out around the walls, their expressions guarded. Michaela looked at the Seraphim, recognizing some. Once again, she offered them a small, forgiving smile. They were soldiers programmed to follow orders. They didn’t know what they were fighting for, and Michaela was the only one who could convince them otherwise.
“Traitor,” Abel said, addressing her. He rarely used her name, likely refusing to remind the other angels of her previous rank. “I will give you another chance to confess to your crimes today. Should you do so, your punishment will be less grave than if you refuse to acknowledge what you’ve done.”
“You’re right,” Michaela said, her voice tired and raw. The angels leaned forward, waiting. “I’ve made some mistakes, but I haven’t committed crimes against Heaven. I’ve done nothing but work to save this place and its angels since the day you betrayed and framed me.”
She wasn’t playing the role Abel had laid out before her. She wasn’t putting on a good show. She didn’t know how he possibly thought he’d get a confession out of her. His vendetta to purify Heaven fell by the wayside. Abel only cared about bringing her down, and her response was having its desired effect.
He looked like he was s
wallowing a scream. “So be it,” he said, choking over the words. He nodded to the Seraphim.
An angel produced the same golden chain they’d used on her yesterday. Michaela braced for the impact, but the angels wrapped it around her ankles instead. From the ceiling, a hook descended to the sound of metal scraping on metal. The Seraphim grabbed the hook and looped the other end of the chain around it.
The contraption reversed, and Michaela understood. Her body dragged over the ground as the hook ascended upwards. Her legs lifted, rising in the air. Grimacing, Michaela tried to twist to the side to keep her back from sliding over the ground.
The chain jerked to a stop once Michaela hung a few inches off the ground. Her hair brushed the floor, the blood rushing into her head. She swayed, her ankles bearing the weight of her body, the blood flow to her feet quickly cut off.
The Seraphim took her hands and bound them together with a gold rope. One seraph held her arms away from her body as another looked up to Abel for confirmation. Michaela couldn’t see Abel anymore, but she knew he must have nodded, because the angel descended.
Michaela didn’t know what to expect. Her body tensed with anticipation. The Seraphim shifted behind her, fumbling with something in their hands. Inverted, Michaela saw the uneasy shift of the angels above her, waiting as she waited. Abel’s labored breathing, shallow and panting with his growing excitement, made its way to Michaela’s ears.
Something fell to floor. Michaela tried to twist around to see, but she was held in place by the rope around her wrists. The angels seated on the benches gasped. Their shock sent an icy wave of fear up Michaela’s spine.
A cold, wet blast hit Michaela like a bone-rattling shiver. Water cascaded from her lower back to her neck and down the back of her head. The water droplets pooled in her ears and rolled up her cheek. She sputtered from the shock, her stomach twisting.
