by Meg Collett
It might not be possible, but it was another insurmountable task to fill his time and abate his loss and pain. His dad would be proud of him for trying. So would Sophia. For now, that was enough for Clark.
“When do we leave?” Zarachiel asked.
“You’ll come with us?” Clark was shocked.
Zarachiel didn’t smile often, and when his lips twisted into a semblance of one now, the smile looked like a ghost of its former self. “So many things have changed. There are things that can’t be undone or taken back.”
The angel meant his wings, and guilt washed over Clark. He would do anything to help Zarachiel if Clark knew it would make Michaela proud. “Zarachiel, I think I could figure out how to fix your wings. I know I could if I had some more time.”
“I wouldn’t want you to,” Zarachiel said. “I want a new purpose, a new home. I’ll come with you if you’ll have me.”
“Of course,” Clark managed, feeling overcome. He knew it would make Michaela happy to see Zarachiel finding his place. The Archangel’s gaze drifted away, uncomfortable with all the attention.
“If it’s okay with you,” Iris said, “let’s wait until tomorrow morning. I want to see what tonight brings.”
They all tensed at her words. Clark knew what tonight would bring. Death or more death.
38
Michaela lost track of time as she shifted in and out of consciousness. Her back thrummed with a steady pulse, reminding her of the pain in the Aethere’s judgment pit. But more importantly, the sickness had set in, spinning the floor of the room under Michaela as she tried to sit up.
The endless white burned Michaela’s sensitive retinas. She blinked and lowered her head, fighting the urge to vomit. She couldn’t stop the trembling coursing through her body or the clattering of her teeth. A fever sent wracking chills through her body.
She crawled forward, pulling herself across the white marble. Her sweat-slicked skin slid easily over the floor. She reached the door and listened.
She didn’t hear the anxiety outside so much as she sensed it. The scent, like burnt leaves, crept under the door of her cell. She dragged herself closer to the gap, straining to hear.
“No! No, please no!”
Michaela jerked back from the door. Scuffling and dragging sounded from outside her door. Someone struggled as he went by.
“Please! I didn’t mean it! I’m loyal to the Aethere!”
Michaela covered her mouth with her hand. An angel would be punished. He was dragged down to the pit to be judged and sentenced to his wings being ripped out and his unconscious body discarded over the edge of Purgatory. Michaela wondered if this had anything to do with the seraph angel who hesitated to pour the gold dust in her back. Of course, she had no way of knowing, but she guessed it was the cause of the tension boiling outside.
Michaela listened as the angels went into the pit. She heard nothing after that. Yesterday, there’d been guards posted outside her door. There was no one now. If there was ever a time to escape it was now, but Michaela had no way of opening the door.
She tried banging on the solid material of the door and yelling again, but her voice was a weak whisper, and she could barely lift her hand. She slumped to the floor. She wasn’t going to make it.
Suddenly, her heartbeat exploded in her chest. A surge of adrenaline flooded her veins. She shivered in earnest, her body convulsing against the wall and floor. Shallow, gasping breaths rattled from her mouth. She clutched her chest and collapsed onto the floor. Her tongue pulled down her throat, choking her.
She passed out.
When she woke again some time later, she struggled to open her eyes. She was sprawled out on the floor of the cell, her limbs contorted around her. Her heart beat painfully slowly, her blood slogged through her veins. Her feet and hands felt numb and cold as her body shut down, the blood leaving her extremities to fuel her organs.
The transition was killing her. The sickness was pulling her under. She would be dead before anyone even came to get her out of the cell.
The hope of escaping left her. She couldn’t stand; she barely managed to breathe. She would never be able to fight the angels and break away to the gates. She’d failed everyone. She’d failed the souls. She’d failed the humans hiding and starving on Earth. She’d failed Gabriel.
She’d failed herself.
And that was the worst of all, because throughout it all, Michaela had clung to the hope of fixing Heaven and fixing herself. She’d doubted her ability in weaker moments and lost some faith in herself, but she’d always known she fought for the right cause—for Heaven. To fight for what was right even when faith is gone was a creed that had fueled Michaela. And in the end, she couldn’t push herself off the floor.
The tears came then, helpless and weak. She didn’t stop them as they dripped down her cheek and splashed onto the floor below her face. Her breath condensed across the marble as she slowly breathed in and out. Her eyes were level with the shallow space under the door. Her dull heartbeat bumped against the cold floor.
Michaela wondered what it would feel like to die. She had to assume her body wouldn’t disintegrate into feathers since Iris had seen her falling from Heaven, dead. Maybe it was because her wings were gone. Either way, she didn’t think it would make a difference in the actual death part.
The holy angels would probably find her limp, dead body in this cell. They’d probably drag her through the courtyard, past the dead Tree of Knowledge, and out to Purgatory. She wondered if Gabriel would be there, imprisoned and in chains, to watch as they threw her body over the edge. She’d fall back to Earth as she’d done not so long ago. Her body would hit the frozen ground and lay there until Abel discovered the seals buried deep in the ground with Isaac St. James.
Then it would be over. Then it would be the End.
With effort, Michaela reached her hand to the shallow gap beneath the door. The top of her fingers scraped the thick surface at the bottom of the door, but she forced them under. She could feel the cool air outside skimming across her fingertips.
Her heart stuttered and failed. The organ clenched painfully. With a tremendous effort, it beat again, the motion sick and frail. Michaela’s breath hitched. Her tears spilled inside her mouth.
She wished she could have been outside. She wished she could have seen something more in her final moments than the endless white of her cell. It would have been wonderful to pass away in Gabriel’s arms. But maybe that was selfish. She couldn’t imagine how hard this would be for him.
That made her cry harder. Gabriel. They’d struggled so much. She’d wasted so much precious time thinking she couldn’t love him anymore. She’d been so stupid. They’d had so little time to show each other how deeply their love ran. It wasn’t enough time. Michaela needed a whole existence with Gabriel.
Her breath sputtered again. Flecks of gold blood spurted from her mouth, staining the floor. Her body turned rigid. The ache released in her back, the muscles and bones letting go of their angry pain.
Are you ready? She asked herself. Have you done enough?
No. No. No.
The snake hissed furiously around her spine, like it was pissed she was dying. It spiraled up to her neck, flicking its tongue at the base of her skull. It’s just you and me, bitch, Michaela thought.
A shadow stopped outside the gap below her door. Someone grunted. A thump hit the door, followed by a body tumbling to the ground. Pale flesh of a round face and a single purple Aethere eye stared back at her through the gap.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her heart finishing its last few beats. A whoosh of air blasted her body. Light lit her closed eyelids red. But she was sinking too far into the darkness. She was ending.
“Oh, no you don’t, you stupid idiot.”
Her body flopped over onto its back. A sharp, deep sting sent pain and shock radiating from her chest, making her eyes fly open. She saw a huge needle sticking through the space above her heart. Camille pushed its contents into Michaela�
�s body.
Adrenaline from Iris’s medical stash.
Michaela gasped as her heart thundered back to life. “Camille.”
“Yeah, yeah, save it. You’ve got gates to open, and I don’t want you to croak before I get you there.”
Camille peeled Michaela off the floor and swung her over her shoulder with a grunt. Dizzily, the cell spun before her as Camille rushed her out. The Aethere angel lay unconscious on the floor beside her door.
“Did you hurt him?” Michaela asked, her voice a weak rasp.
“Depends on your definition of ‘hurt.’ Only certain angels had access to open your door. Took me a few tries to find the right one.”
Michaela’s shook her head at the thought of multiple slumped bodies scattered around Heaven. Camille was ruthless, but she was helping her, which was confusing enough that Michaela had to ask. “Why are you helping me?”
Camille hurried up the stairs, jostling Michaela against her back. “I realized something today while news of your torture spread through Heaven.”
“What’s that?”
Camille paused at the top of the steps, holding her breath as she scanned the courtyard for holy angels. “Abel is a dick.” Camille clenched her jaw as if she hated to admit the next part. “And I finally understood what Clark tried to tell me about you.”
“What’s that?”
Camille was gorgeous, perhaps even more so when she looked pissed off. “That everyone thinks you’re this awful fallen, yet you’re the only one fighting for Heaven when a whole legion of holy angels cower behind Abel.”
Michaela laughed weakly. Camille had surprised her. From below she heard the pit of the door open. Angels rushed out and pounded down the hall. “We better hurry,” she warned.
“You’re weak, so you’ll probably need to touch the gates to open them. As soon as I get you there, do it. The holy angels will be all over us as soon as I start across the courtyard.”
Michaela nodded. The holy angels in the Antechambers clamored up the spiraling steps toward them. Their shouts reached her at the top of the stairs. Camille sprang upward, her wings blasting around Michaela’s body. The whip of their feathery softness stung her face as Camille flew them as fast as possible through the air to the gates.
She was right, Michaela needed to touch them to open them, but in her newfound clarity, Michaela thought back to her revelation in the pit as Abel tortured her. This war was between them and only them.
39
Gabriel spotted them first.
“Michaela!” he screamed, tightening his grip on the gates and pressing himself against the metal. He reached his arm through, his fingers aching to touch her. Holy angels flooded up from the stairs as Camille flew furiously toward the gates. More holy angels descended from the skies above the courtyard.
Michaela was thrown over Camille’s shoulder, her body pressed between Camille’s beating, slashing wings. Camille grabbed Michaela’s hips and swung her forward. Gabriel yanked his arm back. “Slow down!” he yelled.
But Camille didn’t listen. She and Michaela collided with the bars at full speed. The gates rattled and bowed, but they didn’t open. Michaela groaned, smashed in between Camille’s body and the gates.
Gabriel leapt forward again, threading his arms through the bars and around Michaela. “Are you okay?” he asked, frantic.
Michaela was pale and drawn, with one horrible gash that ran down the side of her face and onto her neck. Her faraway eyes were shrouded in broken golden blood vessels. She trembled, her breathing quick and shallow. He smelled the sickness coming from her pores, but he also smelled death and chemicals.
“What did you give her?” he shouted at Camille. His hands ran over Michaela’s body, and she grimaced when he felt her back. “What did they do to you?”
He went crazy. He couldn’t help it when he smelled her blood and felt the gaping hole in her back. He shouted and tried to pull Michaela through the bars. He couldn’t find a way to hold her right. She slumped and almost fell to the ground. Camille had to catch her and hold her up.
“We don’t have time for this!” Camille hissed. She yanked Michaela’s arm away and pressed it to the bars. “Open the gates, Michaela!”
Michaela’s head lolled around, her eyes fluttering open and closed. Camille shook her violently. “Be careful,” Gabriel growled, but Camille ignored him.
“Michaela! Do it!”
But Michaela didn’t. She slipped her arm through the bars to Gabriel. She ran her fingers over his face and weakly pulled him to her.
He obliged, thinking she wanted to tell him something. He was surprised when her lips met his. It was a brief, soft kiss. Michaela pulled away, sagging in Camille’s arms.
“Open the gates!” Camille screamed.
“I’m sorry,” Michaela whispered. Only Gabriel heard. He didn’t understand at first.
“Michaela?” he questioned, his arms reaching for her again. His face was lost in confusion. “Let me in.”
Michaela’s hand brushed over his hip. Then he realized. Horrified, he watched her pull his bone knife through the bars and tuck it into her jeans.
“No!” Gabriel screamed. He flung himself against the bars, his hands clawing for Michaela, but she tumbled backward onto the floor. Camille stepped away, turning her back to fight the approaching holy angels. They descended like a swarm, surrounding Camille and Michaela.
Camille’s sword slashed through the air as she dove into the fight. She took out two angels before they knocked her sword away and kicked her to the ground. Her blood splattered across the tiles of Heaven. Her limbs stretched limply across the ground. Her eyes closed. A holy angel grabbed her ankle and dragged her away. Another angel ripped Michaela from the ground and hauled her off.
“No!” Gabriel yelled, the sound tearing from his throat. He shouted and screamed. “Michaela!”
His body rattled the gates as he launched himself at them. He ripped at the bars. “Michaela!”
Desperation flooded his body. He tried to shove himself through the space between the gates. He beat his wings against the metal until the feathers were cut and falling off. His mind tore itself in half as he watched the angels ruthlessly dragging Michaela and Camille away.
Gabriel’s fingernails bent back. The gates were slick with his blood. Hands grabbed his shoulders and wings, trying to pull him away from the gates, but he fought and screamed, warring against the world.
“Michaela!” he screamed one last time before she disappeared from view.
40
They took Michaela back to the courtyard with one angel dragging her by each arm. Her head lolled forward so that she could watch the ground pass by underneath her. She was stronger than she acted, but not by much. She had a little reserve left from Camille’s adrenaline shot, and she wasn’t going to waste it fighting the angels taking her back inside Heaven.
The holy angels didn’t think to check her for weapons, and the cool steel of the knife she’d taken from Gabriel pressed against her back. Her bare skin itched against the parts of the knife laced with her bone. Its presence comforted her.
She’d realized this war was between her and Abel. It would stay that way, too. She hadn’t opened the gates because she didn’t want any more angels hurt or killed. This was her final act, her final sin.
She’d kill Abel.
The holy angels dragged her to the Tree of Knowledge. They dropped her to the ground against the slender trunk. The knife jostled against her back, but thankfully didn’t fall out. The holy angels swept around her in a wide circle.
Already more holy angels poured forth from every corner of Heaven. They filled the courtyard area and hovered in the air above. There was a living dome of angels watching her. She sensed their nerves and confusion. They ached as she ached for peace and wholeness. Some of their faces were openly hostile toward her, but some were torn. She even saw some angels who wept quietly for Michaela’s pain.
It wasn’t a crowd completely loyal to
Abel. Turmoil and dissension coursed through the holy angels. All wasn’t lost yet.
She tried to sit straight on the ground. The muscles in her arms trembled as she pushed herself up. Her nose bled. Blood bubbled in the corner of her mouth. The fresh scabs on her back opened and oozed her precious blood.
It slickened the ground beneath her until she grappled for purchase on the tile. Her blood poured into the shallow basin where the Tree of Knowledge grew, and Michaela watched as the pool slowly filled with gold.
The angels’ anxiety and fear spiked, filling the air with their terror. Michaela looked up, watching as Abel made his way toward her. His small choir of Aethere followed him. The familiar leaders of the other choirs swept around in front of the Seraphim guards, forming a new semi-circle around Michaela. Abel approached her, confident that she looked spent and weak.
“Michaela,” Abel tsked, shaking his head. His robe fluttered around him in the wind. A lashing breeze pressed its cold fingers against her face. She looked up and realized a storm brewed above their heads. No one else noticed, their horror-filled faces locked on her.
She looked back at Abel as he spoke. “You’re only hurting yourself by refusing to cooperate with us.” Abel’s control was a thin mask. He’d painted it on with this final show, but Michaela sensed his madness just beneath the surface. “And now you’ve tried to escape. In doing so, you’ve endangered all these angels and Heaven once again.” Abel swept his arms around to indicate the angels around them, but they cringed away like he might hit them. Their fear was like a shard in her heart. They deserved better than this. “So what am I to do?”
Abel paused and looked around to his fellow Aethere angels. No one met his wild, purple eyes that glowed electric in the green skies above them. He shook his head as if he were sad. “Today you will be executed.”
Some of the angels gasped. Even those who had championed Michaela’s death looked afraid. They finally noticed the storm above them. Tiny raindrops spattered against the tile floor of the courtyard. The mass of bodies shifted with anxiety. A fog descended, created by the angels’ undulating emotions.
