Fallen Angel

by Heather Terrell

  I was afraid to speak. Almost any sentence that came out of my mouth could be really out of place. Even crazy.

  “Dearest, is everything all right?”

  Words finally croaked out of my mouth. “I’m okay, Mom. I just woke up from a really weird dream.”

  Her eyebrows rose in alarm, but her voice sounded calm. Very, very calm. “What was the dream, dearest?”

  “Nothing. Just a dream. I’d better get ready.”

  I walked back upstairs and opened my closet to pick out an outfit. Hanging on the rack were some of the more daring clothes I’d bought since I started seeing Michael. And the red dress I’d worn to the Fall Dance. That wasn’t a dream, at least. Maybe Michael wasn’t either.

  I grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater and headed into the bathroom. Standing against the closed bathroom door for a long moment, I finally went over to the sink and turned on the hot water. As the steam rose up, I stared at myself in the foggy mirror. How could I look like the same old Ellie when so much had happened? Or had it?

  But what choice did I have but to go through the motions of normalcy? I washed my face with my favorite lemony soap. I brushed out all the knots in my hair. I put on some blush and mascara, and I got dressed. All the while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Dreading the uncertainty of school, I trudged back downstairs. “I’m ready to go, Mom.”

  She looked at me curiously. “But Michael’s picking you up today.”

  “I’m not grounded anymore?” Michael hadn’t been allowed to drive me to school since the Fall Dance. We were only allowed to see each other in supervised settings, like school or home.

  “No, dearest. Your grounding was over this weekend.” She paused and then asked, “Are you sure that you’re all right, Ellie?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” I hoped I sounded more convincing than I felt. I didn’t want her to be worrying about me; I had enough troubles. “I’ll just go wait by the front window for Michael.”

  “Do you want me to wait with you?”

  “No thanks, Mom. I need to review my homework anyway.” I needed a moment alone. And she seemed pleased that I mentioned something as normal as homework.

  Staring out at the driveway, I tried to make sense of things. The list of questions that I’d written on the train to Boston kept coming back to me. If the past couple of months had been real—instead of some bizarre dream—then I might have a few answers to those questions.

  What was I? The million-dollar question. Assuming the flying and the blood and Ezekiel and Boston had actually happened, I was pretty sure that I was a Nephilim. But aside from the powers it brought me, I wasn’t certain what that meant. What was the purpose of a Nephilim? If I believed Ezekiel, then I was the “Elect One” with some special role in the “end days,” whatever that entailed. Even my parents had said something about me being different and preparing for “war,” and Tamiel had mentioned “end days.” What was this war, and who would I be fighting against?

  I still had more questions than answers. Like what had happened to my birth parents. Like whether I could count on Michael while I tried to figure this all out.

  Just then, I heard the crunch of gravel. Michael’s car pulled into our roundabout. My anxiety—already sky-high—mounted. What would I say to him? I still wasn’t certain what was real and what was a dream.

  “Bye, Mom,” I called out, and walked to his car. The day was cool and drizzly, chilly but not cold enough for snow.

  Michael turned off the ignition and opened the door for me from the inside. I slid in and closed it tightly behind me. Then I sat silently, uncertain what words were appropriate.

  He reached over and kissed me on the cheek. “How was your night?”

  “Fine,” I answered warily. “Yours?”

  “Good. I finished that awful calculus assignment,” he said as he turned the key in the ignition.

  “That’s great.” I didn’t know what to say next. I couldn’t even remember what homework I’d been working on before I fled to Boston. So I stayed quiet.

  The car started, and music flooded the car. The song was Coldplay, “Cemeteries of London.” It was one of my favorites, as Michael knew. It reminded me of our nighttime flying and exploring. If those things really happened, that was.

  “Feels like London out today, doesn’t it?” Michael said.

  I looked over at him in surprise. Had he just said what I thought he had? We had been heading to London to see Professor Barr the day before—from Boston. Or was he just referring to the song?

  A smile spread across his face. A knowing smile.

  “So . . . ?” My mind raced. It hadn’t been a dream.

  As if reading my thoughts, Michael said, “Ignorance is the only thing that has protected you so far.”

  In that instant, I realized what had happened. In the conversation among our parents that Michael had overheard, my dad had said the same thing. Our parents wanted so badly to keep us in the dark about our identities—for our protection and to prevent the ticking of the end days clock—that they’d attempted to have our memories erased. About flying and Ezekiel and Boston and the Nephilim and the Elect One. They knew better than to try to make us forget each other; they had tried it after Guatemala, and it hadn’t fully worked.

  It had failed again here. We remembered everything.

  I started to talk excitedly. All the pieces were falling into place. But Michael shook his head and put a finger over my lips.

  So I just smiled back at Michael. I knew that this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

  Turn the page for an exclusive excerpt of

  Eternity

  The captivating sequel to Fallen Angel!

  Stepping into the hallways of Tillinghast High School was actually weirder than acknowledging that I was an otherworldly creature.

  I watched as girls chatted about their lip gloss, and guys shared apps on their iPhones. I noticed friends giggling about other friends’ outfits, and teammates thumping each other on the backs for games well-played. I walked past kids furiously copying their friends’ homework assignments, and others fumbling with the towers of books in their lockers.

  I couldn’t stop from staring at my classmates in amazement, like they were exotic creatures in the zoo. They had no idea that some kind of Armageddon was heading their way and that I was selected to play some special role at the end. Maybe even stop it.

  I felt the simultaneous urge to sob and giggle. Because the whole notion of Ellspeth Faneuil as savior to the world was both overwhelming and ridiculous.

  The only thing keeping me sane while I walked down the hallway was Michael. The link of his fingers in mine was like a tether to our new reality. I believed I could navigate through our conflicting worlds—the frivolous Tillinghast High School and the looming otherworldly battle—with him beside me.

  But once I said good-bye to Michael before heading into English class, I lost my anchor. I felt like I’d been cast unmoored into an unreal sea.

  English class brought me near to the brink. The minute I entered the classroom, Miss Taunton launched into me. Like a hawk circling a wounded animal, she bombarded me with questions about our latest assigned novel, which I could barely remember amid the more vivid recollections of my days in Boston and my encounter with Ezekiel. I wanted to scream at her that none of this mattered.

  The second that Miss Taunton laid off me, my best friend, Ruth, texted me. “Wait for me in the hall after class.” Normally, I’d welcome a quick chat with my oldest and best friend in the world, especially if it involved commiseration over Miss Taunton’s unfair, but not unusual, treatment of me. But I didn’t know if I could handle a one-on-one conversation with Ruth just yet. I had no idea what she remembered. The last time we were together—just before I boarded the train to Boston—she had confessed to seeing me fly. Had my parents tried to erase Ruth’s memory, too, with more success? If so, could I pull off the act of regular Ellie? I pled ill
ness and intermittently coughed throughout class to support my ruse.

  At the ringing of the bell, I raced out of class. My head was spinning. I needed a moment to catch my breath, to reassemble myself.

  Instead, I ran smack into Piper. My next-door neighbor and one of the most popular girls in school had been ignoring me for weeks since I decided to take the blame for that wicked Facebook prank. Unbelievably, she had decided that this was the moment to break the silence.

  “I know what you did, Ellie. I just don’t get why you did it. Why would you take the blame for something you didn’t do? Why would you sit through weeks of detention and walk down the hallways knowing that all the kids in school hate you? Without ever pointing the finger at me or Missy. I bet you think you’re some kind of a saint,” she said with a flip of her perfect blond hair.

  I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to tell her the truth. That her snide little guess wasn’t totally off the mark. I was a half-angel, and I simply couldn’t have sat by and let others suffer at her hand. That she better rethink her future actions and ask forgiveness for those past, because there wasn’t much time left for malevolent games.

  The conversation nearly delivered me to the edge. Who was I meant to be? How was I supposed to behave, knowing what I knew?

  Before I said anything I’d regret, Michael appeared at my side.

  He had been waiting for me after class, farther down the hall. When he saw Piper accost me and witnessed my obvious discomfort at the exchange, he raced to my rescue.

  “Are you all right, Ellie? You look really pale,” he asked, once we were alone. I must have looked really bad, because alarm registered on his face.

  “I’m not sure if I can do this, Michael. I know we need to pretend, but I’m having a hard time already. Knowing what we know,” I whispered.

  Michael put his arm around my shoulder and walked me down the hallway. He brought us into a darkened alcove. More than anything, I wanted to stay in that warm, shadowy recess, wrapped in his arms. It was the only place I felt safe. It was the only place that made sense.

  Michael placed his finger under my chin, and tipped my face to his. “Ellie, I know you can.” He slipped a letter into my hands. He nodded that I should read it immediately, so I smoothed out the paper and started.

  My Ellie —

  Do you remember the first time we went flying over our field? You were so nervous of everything. You were afraid to fall from such heights; you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of me; you were fearful of doing something so clearly otherworldly. But you were determined and strong. And I watched in awe as you furrowed your beautiful brow, willed your fears away, and took to the air.

  You were breathtaking up there. The wind at your back, your black hair whipping all around you—you owned the skies. From the very beginning.

  And the very next day, you walked down the hallways of Tillinghast High School like nothing had happened. Like you were just a regular girl—prettier and smarter than all the rest, of course, but still just a regular, human girl.

  You can do that again, Ellie. You can walk the tightrope between the two worlds with courage and determination. You’ve done it before.

  I love you,

  Michael

  I smiled as I read the letter. Somehow he had anticipated my feelings, and understood—perfectly—how to restore my confidence. How to bring me back to myself. Michael truly was my soul mate.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Just remember who you are. Remember that you walked this walk before, and you can do it again.”

  I nodded and closed my eyes for a second. Conjuring those days from earlier in the fall, my self-assurance returned. Slowly and shakily. I really had no other option. I had to successfully playact at being a regular high school junior, concerned about homework and her new boyfriend. Michael had to convincingly make-believe that he was an average senior guy, focused on football and college prospects and me. Too much depended on our role-playing.

  Feeling fairly confident, off to calculus I went. As I listened to Mr. Modic rattle off theorems, I stopped fixating on the surreal nature of my situation and started to map out next steps. By the time class ended, and I joined Michael in the hallway, I wasn’t surprised that his next letter had the same focus. I had already drafted a similar note in my head.

  My Ellie—

  Now that your resolve has returned, did you spend all of calculus thinking about what we should do next? I know you well. I bet you didn’t take a single note, but instead stared out the window, dreaming up a strategy.

  I did the same thing.

  What should we do next? The trip to Boston definitely gave us a better sense of our natures as Nephilim, and the encounter with Ezekiel linked our births to the emergence of some kind of apocalypse. Crazy as that sounds. But we need much more information in order to act next. We need to know exactly what the Nephilim are and were—creation, history, powers, even mortality— and we need to know how the Nephilim fit into this whole end-of-the-world scenario that Ezekiel revealed to us.

  But how are we going to get that knowledge—about ourselves and the end days—while playing dumb and suppressing our powers? Wouldn’t any research we undertook—either in a library or on the ground—serve as a red flag to our parents or anyone else who might be seeking us? We need to act, but what do we do?

  My brilliant, brilliant Ellie. Did you drum up any amazing ideas in calculus? We need a plan. Now.

  I love you,

  Michael

  Between the last few periods of the day, we exchanged a flurry of letters. We each had our theories on how best to get the information we required, and they weren’t the same.

  Finally, by the end of the school day, we concocted a plan we could both agree upon. It was risky. But really, it was our only choice.

  * * *

  When the last bell rang, I walked Michael over to the football field for his practice, just as I would any other day. We had decided to keep as close as possible to our usual activities and schedule. Just in case.

  Before he headed into the locker room, I leaned in to kiss him, as I always did. But today, instead of the usual “see you later,” I heard him whisper, “good luck.”

  I needed it.

  I walked over to the parking lot to meet Ruth for an after-school coffee, having texted her that my cough had subsided and I felt up to our regular meeting. It sickened me to lie to her; we’d always told each other everything.

  Amid all the cars and all the kids preparing to bolt from school, I didn’t spot her at first. But then I caught a glint of her red hair against the backdrop of the gray day. I hustled over to her used, green VW Bug, not sure what reaction I’d get. Did she remember seeing me fly or didn’t she? How was I supposed to behave?

  “You look really ready for a latte,” Ruth pronounced, sounding very normal.

  “I am really ready for one,” I said, attempting to match her light tone.

  As we got into her car, I thought how pretty she looked under those wire-rimmed glasses. I smiled a little thinking about how shocked our classmates had been when Ruth unleashed her inner runway model at the fall dance. Only to tuck that beauty away again for school on Monday. Loyal, whip-smart, but incredibly reserved, Ruth loathed any unnecessary attention. She saved up her animation and lovely smiles for a select few, and most of Tillinghast High School didn’t make that cut. I just hoped that the frank conversation I planned for our coffee break wouldn’t wipe the pretty grin right off her face.

  I tried to mask my nervousness as we rode to the Daily Grind, and to bolster my courage by remembering the words of Michael’s first letter that day. We chatted away, mostly about a benign argument she had had with her new boyfriend, Jamie, about his chronic lateness. The conversation continued as we ordered our coffees and settled into two brown club chairs that sat side by side. As I feigned interest, I lifted my latte to my mouth for a sip. Suddenly, I noticed that my hand was shaking. I put the cup down
on the table; I didn’t want Ruth to see and wonder why. Not quite yet, anyway.

  Once she finished, I waited until the Daily Grind buzzed with noise. Then I scanned the room to make sure no one was paying us the slightest attention. Leaning over the arm of my chair, I slipped a piece of paper into her lap.

  I prayed that the information divulged within wouldn’t shatter her world. More fervently, I prayed that, after she read the contents of the letter, she wouldn’t decide Michael and I were crazy and alert my parents to the disclosure—in an effort to “help” us with our delusions, of course. That would undermine everything that Michael and I were trying to accomplish.

  Either way, it was a gamble Michael and I had to take. We had no other options.

  Ruth stared down at the letter sitting in her lap, and said, “What’s this?”

  “Just read it, Ruth. Please.”

  Laughing, she said, “So we’re passing notes now? What are we, in the third grade?”

  I bit my lip and motioned for her to read the letter that Michael and I had so painstakingly crafted. Hesitantly, she picked it up and unfolded it. I held my breath as she did. In the letter, we told her everything we knew. We begged her to help us better understand who we were and what the end days were. We couldn’t undertake the research ourselves; if anyone was looking for us or watching us, they would realize that we knew.

  Even though Ruth had been my best friend for nearly ten years, I really didn’t know how she would respond to our plea for help researching the nature of the Nephilim and the looming apocalypse. How could I possibly predict her reaction to the claim that I was an angel of some sort? That our world teetered on the edge of annihilation?