A deafening cheer went up from the remaining Irin warriors, and Oberon’s low, virulent laughter punctuated the sound—but Raphael could hardly hear it now. The world was fading fast, like a sidewalk chalk drawing washed away by rain.
It was strange, he thought. All his life he’d fought, clinging to his own hope of finding fairness, justice, and happiness in an utterly unfair world, but all he’d ever found were the little scraps of goodness that he and his friends had somehow created themselves. Still, in his final moments, he’d believed with all his heart that by doing the right thing, by protecting his friends, somehow, some way, everything would work out okay.
It was not bitterness he felt as he slumped to his hands and knees on the muddy earth: it was bewilderment. Even now he expected his happy ending, and yet it did not come. He was dying.
The wind rose in a big, howling gust as Oberon raised both hands over his head in triumph. Glancing up from his place in the dirt, Raphael saw that the other fallen angel watched as Oberon passed by him on his way to collect the ring from Aimee’s lifeless hand.
But the wind continued to rise, until it was so powerful that it was pushing Oberon backward, away from the ring. He struggled to proceed, but the wind became a roar, and Raphael saw a blinding white light streak down from above to blast the earth directly in front of Oberon, like a falling meteorite.
When the dust settled, there was a figure standing in the crater. It was a tall man with long, black, hair and a pale green robe that blew and flapped in the wind.
Raphael lay in the mud now, and he felt the last of the life draining out of him. His eyes were about to close for the last time when the man in the crater turned to him and gave him a mischievous wink. The narrow eyes, the harsh, gaunt face, the pointy beard were all familiar. It was the Magician.
At his appearance, all the other warriors—the Obies, the U.S. troops, and the Dark Territory monstrosities—had stopped fighting and most were standing frozen in place, as if they were statues in a sculpture garden. They looked at him in awe, and a few of the soldiers dropped to their knees and made the sign of the cross.
He gestured to Raphael, and in his mind, Raphael heard the word rise. He was stunned to find that despite his wounds he was able to stand, and behind him his friends—the Army of Light—rose, too. Chin came to the edge of the crater and humbly bowed before the Magician, the Man of Four, the Dark Teacher.
Oberon, however, did not seem impressed. His gun turned back into a flaming sword and, still airborne, he moved slowly forward, preparing to cross the crater. With a look of amusement on his craggy face, the Magician looked up at him.
“I don’t know who the hell you are, and I don’t care,” Oberon growled. “Out of my way.”
“Indeed?” said the Magician. “Tell me, Oberon, what do you care about?” The familiar, mocking tone Raphael knew so well almost made him laugh.
“Last chance,” Oberon said, raising the sword.
“My last chance—or yours?” the Magician mocked.
Oberon raised his sword and slashed the Magician across the chest with it. Raphael winced, waiting to see the Magician fall, but instead, a gaping, smoldering wound opened across Oberon’s chest. He howled in pain, staring at the Magician with incredulous fury. Then, he reared back and stabbed the Magician in the heart with his flaming blade. Still the weapon did not harm the Magician. Instead, when Oberon pulled his blade free, it was his own chest that bore a livid oozing wound that looked as if it went directly through his black heart. He slumped, dark blood bubbling from his mouth. The sword fell from his hands, and his eyes rose questioningly to the Magician’s. His wings slowly ceased their flapping, and his body began to transform, his skin changing from the slick, scaly black of a snake’s flesh to the flat gray of granite. As Raphael watched, he thudded to the ground, a lifeless gargoyle. Oberon had turned to stone. He was dead.
The Magician turned his gaze on Oberon’s Irin companion. “Be gone, Azaziel. You’re finished here,” he said. The tall dark angel in the black crown took wing. With one last defiant, rageful shriek, he wheeled and flew away, heading for the Middleburg tunnels.
The Dark Teacher was changing, too. His head rose as he grew even taller and the green color faded from the robe, leaving it a sparkling white. When he turned to look at Raphael and the rest of the Army of Light, his face was as clear and bright the sunshine on a new spring morning, and his hair was long and silvery white—although he looked as if he were no more than twenty years old. A pair of great, golden, feathery wings spread from his back. He was splendid, dazzling, and so bright Raphael could hardly look at him.
“You’re—an angel,” Raphael stammered, then felt like an idiot for stating the obvious. The angel smiled.
“Rise, Army of Light,” he said. “You have stood your test and carried your weight. Rise and be joyous.”
Raphael obeyed. He felt a tingling in his chest as he did, and he pulled away his shredded shirt, amazed to see his deadly wound healing before his eyes. In two seconds, it was gone—there wasn’t even a scar—and he felt rested and renewed, better than he had in days.
“Raphael . . . Zhai,” the angel said. “Brothers in spirit. Come to me.”
Raphael glanced at Zhai, and together they went to stand before the celestial being.
“I’ll be leaving you soon,” the angel said. “But before I go, I’ll answer your questions.”
Raphael opened his mouth, but the angel raised a hand, silencing him. “No need to speak,” he said. “I know your questions before you ask them. I am Halaliel, Archangel, enforcer of the Law of Cause, also known as the Law of Sin, also known as the Wheel of Karma.”
Raphael stared at him in awe.
“I want to thank you for allowing me to be your teacher,” Halaliel said and bowed to them. “It has been a privilege to serve you.”
Raphael laughed. “You’re thanking us?” he said.
Halaliel’s smile was genuine. “Absolutely. I try to teach everyone I encounter, but so few are willing to learn my hard lessons. But you—all of you—have done well.”
Raphael glanced over his shoulder. The Toppers and Flatliners, still standing together, stared in amazement at what they were seeing. They had done well, he realized. He just wished Emory could have been there to see it. They had made some mistakes, but they had learned, and that was the important thing. He was certain that, if nothing else, the gang battle in Middleburg was over forever.
“There have been many Armies of Light since the Four Wheels and the Four Staircases were first created, and you are among the worthiest. I believe you will do well.”
“Excuse me, Halaliel sir, but do well at what?” Zhai asked politely.
The angel’s smile grew even more radiant. “At protecting the ring, the Wheel, and the staircase. Aimee . . . the ring, please.”
Aimee went to him and placed the glowing Shen ring into his outstretched hand. He gently lifted it up and let it go, as if releasing a bird into flight. It rose upward, before finally disappearing into the arch of the church’s bell tower and instantly, the spiral staircase leading up into the heavens was illuminated once more, along with the beam that shone into the railroad tunnel in the side of the mountain.
“Now, the fourth and only remaining staircase to the celestial realm is restored, and souls that have earned their way will once again be able to ascend to the heaven. It will be up to you, Raphael, Zhai, and the Army of Light, to make sure that the ring remains safe and intact.”
Raphael exchanged a glance with Zhai.
“We’re honored, sir,” Zhai replied.
“We’ll do our best,” Raphael said.
“The All requires no more of you than that. Do your best and the world will rejoice. But my time here grows short, my friends. There are other worlds, other times, other realms that require my attention—”
&nb
sp; “Wait!” a voice rang out, interrupting him, and a tall military-looking man came striding toward them. He stopped in front of Halaliel, facing him squarely. “What am I supposed to tell them in D.C.? I came here to investigate an energy spike. Angels, monsters, demons? Come on—how am I going to make a report that doesn’t sound completely insane?”
“Are you still worried about your promotion, Agent Hackett?” Halaliel asked. “What if you were to tell them that energy spike was created by some teenage prankster who hacked into a government computer mainframe, and you resolved the problem? What if you were to tell them that in doing so, you found that Middleburg is the perfect place to develop wind and solar power? A government energy project would create a lot of jobs for the good people of Middleburg, would it not?” Halaliel asked.
“You’re telling me to lie to my superiors?”
“Am I?” Halaliel sounded, Raph thought, like the Magician again. The angel gave a slight shrug. “Or perhaps you could make your report all about angels. Would you like me to spell my name for you?”
“That won’t be necessary. I guess I could tell them—you know—what you said.”
This Hackett guy must be pretty shrewd, Raphael thought. It looked like he was buying into it.
“Perhaps you will get your promotion after all,” Halaliel told him, and Hackett walked off, seemingly in a daze.
“Now,” Halaliel said. “Does anyone have any more questions for me before I go?” He glanced at Aimee as he spoke, and Raphael was surprised when she stepped forward.
“I do,” she said. “Sir.” She sounded a little nervous but she went on. “It’s about Orias. He’s imprisoned in the Dark Territory. According to some really stupid rules, as a Nephilim he’s doomed. He says he has no soul and he’s supposed to live a completely miserable, long, long life. Azaziel says he’s as repulsive to those above as he is to those below and he’s damned forever. But that doesn’t make any sense.”
Halaliel arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Indeed? And you are aware of what a Nephilim is?” he asked.
Aimee nodded. “Yeah—half human and half fallen angel.”
“And you’re aware that as a Nephilim he has no claim to heaven or to eternal salvation?”
“But that’s not fair!” she protested. “His human half has a soul. What about that?”
“I’m sorry,” Halaliel said. “Those are the rules. I didn’t make them.”
“So you’re telling me that no matter what he does—no matter how good he is . . . or becomes . . . he can’t ever get into heaven?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” he said.
She didn’t say anything for a long moment, as if she was considering this. “Well, then,” she said at last. “I won’t go either.”
“Aimee!” Maggie put in. “Do you know what you’re saying? You can’t mean that!”
“But I do,” Aimee insisted. “What kind of heaven can it be if it’s so unfair? He has a human half and that human half must have a soul—and yet he is not allowed to repent and try to make up for his mistakes. It’s just not fair.”
“But, Aimee,” Kate began.
“No,” said Aimee. “If there’s no way—ever—that Orias can get to heaven one day, then I won’t go either.”
Halaliel gazed enigmatically at her. “You would give up your chance for the sake of another?”
“Yes,” she said. “I would.”
There was a heavy silence as both crews—the Flatliners and the Toppers—stared at her. Raphael thought she was the bravest person he’d ever met.
Halaliel smiled and winked at Raphael again. “I hope you appreciate what you have in this truly remarkable girl,” he said, taking a scroll from the pocket of his white robe. He held it out to Aimee.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A celestial pardon,” he told her. “Present it to Azaziel, and he will release Orias.”
“Really?” she said as she took the scroll.
“Really,” he assured her. “Azaziel won’t like it, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He’ll have no choice but to let Orias go.”
“But . . . how?” Aimee asked. “I don’t get it.”
Halaliel laughed and the sound was like wind chimes. “You have found the loophole, my child. I couldn’t tell you about it—you had to get there on your own. As it is written in The Good Book, ‘Greater love has no man—or, in this case, girl—than to give up his life for another.’ You can multiply that by at least ten when it comes to the soul.”
“Wait,” said Raphael. “She has to go into Dark Territory to deliver it?”
“Have no fear. No harm will come to her,” Halaliel promised. “Her spirit is filled with the light of pure love.”
Raphael felt a pang of jealousy, but he managed to contain it.
She gave Raphael an apologetic glance. “I’ll do it,” she said. “I care about him, Raphael. I don’t love him like I love you, but he was really good to me. I can’t let Azaziel have him.”
“I get it,” Raphael said, even though he didn’t like it much. But he knew that whatever had been going on between her and Orias, it was over now. Besides—what Aimee felt for Orias was not romantic love, he reminded himself. That made her wanting to help him a selfless act of humanity. It made Raphael feel humble.
“You must remember, though, that there are conditions,” Halaliel said to Aimee. “Once his half-soul is made whole, he will no longer be Nephilim, but human. Mortal. He will live out his life—a normal life span—and then he will die. And he must repent his bad choices, but repentance is not enough. He must find a way to make restitution. You must make sure he reads the scroll carefully and signs it . . . and then it’s done.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I will.”
“Can I go with her?” Raphael asked. “To deliver the scroll?”
“You certainly can,” said Halaliel, and he turned his attention to the entire group. “Farewell now, Army of Light,” he said. As he spoke, a golden halo appeared behind his head. In seconds it was so bright that Raphael had to look down. Even the black dirt at his feet soon became illuminated, like an overexposed picture, and he shut his eyes.
A moment later, when the glow behind his eyelids dimmed and Raph looked around again, the Magician, the Dark Teacher, the Man of Four—the angel Halaliel—was gone.
Raphael was amazed. Even though the sun had been setting a moment ago, it hung high in the sky now, as if time had reversed to the moment before the battle had begun.
The Dark Territory hordes had completely disappeared. Every wound anyone had suffered was healed. The Obies and the U.S. soldiers looked at one another warily, but all the weapons, even the flaming sword Raphael had carried, had disappeared. Without their guns or other weapons, the two factions realized that the fight was over and began walking away. When Li started to follow the Black Snakes, Zhai caught up to her and took her hand.
“Wait—Li, where are you going?”
The look she gave him was full of contempt. “Leave me alone, weakling. They are my people now. I’m taking our father’s fortune, which my mother made sure would all come to me one day—and I’m leaving this stupid town. There are better things out there than Middleburg, and I’m going to find them—and enjoy them all.”
“Come on, Li—you’re my sister. We can figure this out together.”
“Are you deaf as well as stupid?” she demanded. “I have no more use for you, Zhai. I’m out of here.”
And she followed her comrades off the battlefield, running into the woods with them as the U.S. troops gathered into a small knot on the church steps, arguing about what to do next.
“Check it out!” Benji said, pointing. A house just outside the churchyard that had been blown up had been miraculously restored. Even the treetops that had been snapped by
Maggie’s Shen blast were back to normal, waving serenely in the breeze, and down the street they could see the marquee of the Starlite Cinema advertising the latest action flick, just like always. Middleburg seemed none the worse in spite of the brief war—with one exception. The only place that wasn’t restored was a big Victorian house a half a block away from the church. It was Oberon’s house, Raphael realized, and now it was completely demolished.
The rest of the town was fine.
“We did it,” Raphael whispered, although he still barely comprehended exactly what they had done or how they had done it.
“We did it!” Zhai repeated, and everyone took up shouts of exultation, pressing together in a wild frenzy of hugs, high-fives, and howls of joy.
* * *
Maggie was grinning as she surrendered to her classmates’ massive group hug, but the smile left her face for a moment when she saw Aimee and Raphael kissing. She averted her eyes, sighed, and walked a few steps away from the crowd. She was happy for them—she really was—but it might take a little while to get used to seeing them together again.
Her head was still throbbing from the fight and she had a feeling she was going to end up with a wicked shiner. Black, puffy eyes were so not in this season. Feeling a little dizzy, she wandered over to lean against one of the tombstones when something above and to her left caught her attention and she squinted up into the sunlight. It was hard to make out in the glare, but she could see—very faintly—the staircase made of light, ascending heavenward from the top of the church steeple. And moving up the long, long staircase was an endless series of disembodied auras: pink ones, blue ones, orange ones, reddish ones, deep greens, pale greens, and almost-whites, all spiraling upward. She remembered the dark, shadowy shapes she’d seen lingering around from time to time since she’d gotten her ability to “see things right,” as The Good Book said. Now, she understood that they were spirits, trapped on the earth because the Four Staircases had been closed. Because of what they’d done here today, this one had reopened, and they were able to move on to a better place. And she could move on, too.
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