“Roxy!” called Imorean, running across the stone floor to her.
“Imorean!” replied Roxy, moving to get out of bed.
Raphael appeared out of thin air, his hand already on Roxy’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare! I told you he could visit. I did not say you could go blasting around my hospital like a ping-pong ball.”
Imorean grinned and slowed to a walk. At the edge of her bed, he hesitated. This was the first time he had seen her awake since their battle with Vortigern in Iceland. Again, he saw Vortigern stab her in the stomach and twist his knife. He faltered. Roxy had been lucky. Others hadn’t been. He swallowed, slowing to a near standstill a few steps away from Roxy’s bed. Raphael beckoned him, smiling.
“Get over here and hug me, you idiot,” said Roxy, opening her arms.
Imorean did as he was told and hugged her tight, taking care to mind her IV. He could feel her fingers gripping the small feathers at the bases of his wings.
“Imorean,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”
Imorean rested his chin on her shoulder. His voice shook when he spoke. “For?”
“For causing this. It was my idea to go after Vortigern without you in Iceland. It’s my fault –”
“No,” said Imorean. “Stop right there. This wasn’t your fault. Absolutely not. You did what you thought was right.”
“Imorean, you’ve nearly been killed three times now. And it’s been my stupidity that’s been putting you in harm’s way.”
“Roxy, what happened on the mountaintop was nobody’s fault.”
Roxy leaned back and looked up at him, her eyes wide. Her hands were tight on his arms. “Is it true? Are Dustin and Mandy dead?”
Imorean glanced at Raphael, who frowned and nodded once. He didn’t want to say the words. He had said them too many times already. “It’s true …”
Roxy gasped, both hands flying to her mouth. “But they can’t be.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I got them killed. It was my idea … I did this.”
“No, Roxy,” said Raphael, sitting down on the white bedsheets. “You did your best to protect your friend from a self-destructive action. You had no way of knowing what the consequences would be.”
“What about Toddy?” asked Roxy, her voice trembling.
Imorean shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t – I couldn’t get him out. Vortigern took him. He – he was badly injured and there’s no way of knowing what happened afterward.”
“You mean, Toddy might still be alive?” asked Roxy.
Raphael sighed. “I hope to my Father that he is not. Life as one of Vortigern’s prisoners would be worse than death.”
Roxy took a short, sharp breath and exhaled with a sob. Imorean’s heart constricted. The deaths of their friends were no one’s fault. They had all attacked an opponent that they weren’t ready for. Imorean sat with Roxy, not moving from his spot beside her. He didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, no comfort he could give. He looked up as Roxy’s breathing began to even and her body began to relax.
“You really don’t blame me?”
White hair fell into Imorean’s eyes as he shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“I still can’t believe it,” sighed Roxy. Imorean took hold of her hands as she leaned back onto her pillows. “I just can’t believe it.”
He leaned forward as Roxy’s eyes closed, then looked up as Raphael rested a hand on his forearm. “She’s tired. She needs rest.”
“Do I have to leave her?” asked Imorean.
“I’m afraid so. I can give her a sedative and pull a few ‘Archangel strings’ to help soften the blow of all this.” Raphael stopped and inclined his head, as though listening for something. “Michael tells me you’re working as a squad again. You should probably go and brief them.”
Imorean frowned. He didn’t want to leave Roxy. Now that she was awake, it felt that if he left, she would slip back into sleep, never to wake up again.
“I will look after her,” said Raphael, as though reading Imorean’s thoughts. “Go on. You have a squad to reunify.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Uh, oh,” said Colton, as soon as Imorean walked in the front door of their cabin. “I know that face. What’s going on?”
Imorean flopped down onto one of their living room couches. He didn’t want to talk about the squad or the briefing, but he knew he had to. Maybe not just yet. “Raphael kicked me out of the hospital wing. Again.”
“Hasn’t he told you not to keep going back?”
“Seriously, Imorean,” said Ryan, entering from the stairwell. “Didn’t he tell you just yesterday that she needed to be alone to rest. Alone without you and me loitering.”
“Yeah, he did,” replied Imorean, stretching a wing. “But he caught me after the meeting and told me Roxy was feeling stronger.”
“She’s awake?”
Imorean couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm in Ryan’s voice. Roxy and Ryan had been quietly dating since last semester. Of course, Ryan must be relieved that Roxy was awake again.
“Yeah,” nodded Imorean. “You should be able to go see her tomorrow.”
Ryan sat down on the other couch, grinning. “That’s amazing. I knew she’d come around soon.”
“Where’s Baxter?” asked Imorean, looking around.
“Taking a nap,” said Ryan. “He snores like a hibernating bear, so if he’s napping, no one else is.”
“Tell me about it,” laughed Colton. “I had him as my roommate for a whole semester. It’s a wonder I got any sleep at all.”
“Ryan, would you mind waking the sleeping beauty?” asked Imorean.
“Sure. But what for?”
“What’s going on?” asked a groggy voice from the stairs. Yawning and still rubbing the sleep from his eyes was Baxter.
“Oh, you’re awake,” said Colton, turning.
Imorean tossed his head. “Come sit down. I have something to tell you.”
Barefoot and still in his pajamas, Baxter crossed the living room, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs. “I slept way too long.”
“You’ll never get any rest tonight,” said Colton. “Take some melatonin before bed.”
“Okay, Dad,” replied Baxter, grinning good-naturedly at Colton.
“Guys,” said Imorean. He managed a small smile as they all turned to him, just as they had when they were still a functional squad. “I talked with Michael today about how we’re supposed to function now that we’ve effectively been cut in half. He’s already offered me a new squad or the position of leader of a platoon.”
Ryan scoffed, folding his arms.
Imorean looked him up and down, then continued. “I refused both of them. I don’t want a new squad and I definitely don’t want a platoon. I want to work with all of you. You’re my friends.”
“So, we’re all back together?” asked Ryan.
“Yeah. If that works for you guys?”
Colton smiled, the expression rounding his face. “Why wouldn’t it?”
Ryan and Baxter grinned at each other.
“Works for us,” said Baxter. “I knew you’d take my advice.”
“It did make a difference,” said Imorean with a smile. A strange sense of relief washed over him. They were coming back together. Maybe, just maybe, they would be able to overcome the seemingly impossible task ahead.
Chapter 6
It was bright. Too bright. Harsh, white lights beamed down from overhead. A row of cells, glass-fronted and bare. Though clinical and savage the lights were, this place was held by a darkness that seemed to permeate from the outside in. Oppressive and destructive, it was felt by all those under the glow of the lights. In one cell, a figure stirred. A young man. Nearly naked – wearing only underwear. A pair of once bright, brown eyes lifted to the glaring lights overhead. They rarely turned off. He blinked and a lock of auburn hair fell into his face. He breathed, drawing his wings closer around him. They wer
e owl wings. Large and gray, silent in the air. They gave him the warmth he desperately needed. He was cold. He had been cold for weeks. There was no true warmth in this stone prison. With a sigh, he leaned over and settled his head against the adjacent wall. He swallowed hard, and his thoughts wandered. The pain in his chest had diminished. The wound, the source of the pain which should have killed him, was healing. A demon sword had struck him straight in the torso, but, in some twist of fate, demon medics had saved his life. Though to save his life only to cast him into a living hell was not a favor. He blinked again and turned, looking up and into one corner of his cell. There it was. He had nearly learned to forget about his silent companion. A bulge of black glass hung from the ceiling. A camera. Every moment since he had arrived in this prison had been recorded. A reminder of who – what – he was. Prisoner.
He blinked. His eyelids were heavy. So heavy. He needed sleep. Maybe they would turn out the lights for a few hours. Brown eyes flickered shut and relief swept over him. Just five minutes would be a welcome reprieve. As he turned away from the hateful lights overhead and the evil camera stare, he repeated the mantra that had grounded him. The only thing that kept him tethered in reality.
“I am an angel-human hybrid. I am from Bayboro, North Carolina. My name is Toddy Davis and my friends will find me.”
Even as he whispered these words, Toddy’s blood chilled. At the end of the hallway, beyond his cell’s range of sight, a door swung open.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A tremble washed over Imorean’s body as he lay in bed. He ached, he was tired and he was unnerved. The night terrors had come again. Just as awful and real as they had been the night before. Perhaps even worse, accompanied by flashes of green – a color he had always found comfort in. Imorean sat up as he imagined the woman’s hair, tickling his face as she leaned over him. He shook his head, desperate to shed himself from the waking nightmares. Brown eyes looked out the window and took in The Terrace beyond the glass. The roofs of the cabins were turned silver by the moon above. Even the sheer mountains surrounding the fjord were thrown into sharp relief. Imorean closed his eyes hard, rubbing them as he stood up. He wouldn’t sleep anymore. His body was too awake. Too vigilant. he checked his watch. It was ancient by now. Battered and beaten, but working. It was a miracle that the glass face had survived this long. The leather strap, once pale tan, was now deep brown. A dark stain on one strap was nearly invisible in the dim night, but Imorean knew it was there. The stain itself darkened a patch of leather further than the rest of the watch. It was blood. Michael’s blood. Absently, he rubbed at his watch, hand covering the stain. He still remembered trying to apply pressure to Michael’s wound. The image of blood welling up between his fingers and covering his hand was one Imorean knew he would never get out of his head.
With a yawn, he got dressed. He wouldn’t sleep again. He knew that much. Truth be told, he didn’t really want to sleep. He didn’t want the snatching hands of his dreams to come again. He paused by his bedroom door and, in the darkness, grabbed something. The metal hilt was cold to the touch, but the leather-wrapped handle was warmer. His sword. In all the world, it was the only thing powerful enough to kill a demon. Under the low light, Imorean considered it. It was a long, two-handed broadsword. At the very top of the blade, just beneath the handle, his name scored the surface, engraved into the white metal. It was a weapon of unparalleled perfection and deadliness. He drew a deep breath. This was his first time even touching it since he had returned from Iceland. Out of habit more than conscious thought, he swung the sword up over his head and settled it across his back. Two straps held it in place. One cut diagonal across Imorean’s chest, reaching from his shoulder to the opposite hip. The second strap rested over his belt, holding the sword in place. This was his weapon and he had done damage to Vortigern with it. It was a mark of his place as an angel. Lethal and beautiful, it was his.
Keeping his steps light, Imorean left his bedroom. In the kitchen, the light above the sink was still on. He smiled. Colton always left that light on. A family habit? Family. That word sobered him, the smile fading from his face. He exited the cabin, the door closing with its familiar squeak. On the boardwalk, he sighed. Cool air brought him to his senses. Stretching, white wings flared. He needed to fly. Flying always helped him sort his thoughts. With a downward push, he took to the air.
Night air was more difficult to fly in, but in a way, Imorean preferred it. It made him work a bit harder and held his attention for longer. He flew low, level with the cabin roofs as he moved toward the fjord inlet. Tilting his wings, he shifted downward into a shallow dive. He moved along the waterways of The Terrace like a shadow. Almost silent. A ghostly fog eddied above the surface of the water. For the first time in days, he smiled and relaxed. The reach and pull motion of his own wings calmed him. With each downward beat, a few primaries skimmed the mirror surface.
At the junction between The Terrace and The Main, Imorean pulled up into a hover. Which way should he go? The fork in the road. The Main lay away to his right. To his left, he knew, was more fjord. Banking sharply, he turned away from The Main. He left behind a few small ripples on the water’s surface. There was little sound. All was muffled by fog. A whisper of wind across the water and the air rushing over his own wings were the only noises to disturb the still night. Imorean sank further toward the water, stretching his body long and low. For a moment, he closed his eyes. Nothing would disturb the peace of his nighttime flight. This moment was his own. He opened his eyes and looked down, expecting to see his own dimly echoed reflection. The face looking back at him from beneath the water was not his own. Brown eyes terrified, auburn hair wild beneath the mirror surface, mouth stretched open wide in a silent, bubbling scream, was Toddy.
Imorean screamed aloud and snapped to the side. He rolled out of his track on the water and put on a burst of speed, climbing into the night sky. He was above the fog. Stars glittered overhead. He circled. The night remained still and quiet. In his chest, his heart thundered. Gritting his teeth and swallowing his fear, he dove. He was moving faster now. He had to. There was no telling if what he had seen was real or not. It could have been a trick of the light, but if what he had seen was real … where was Toddy now, and who had brought him here?
Wings snared up tight above Imorean’s back. Brown eyes scanned the night water. But their search yielded nothing. There was no disturbance. Not even a ripple. He swept back and forth along the same stretch of surface, but he didn’t see Toddy again. Unsettled, he turned for home. His eyes must have tricked him. He must be too tired and the light wasn’t the best. Yes, that must be it.
Imorean dropped onto the landing pad at The Terrace. Overhead, the first few stars were beginning to fade, heralding the oncoming dawn. There was a creak on the boardwalk. He spun, still feeling edgy.
“You are up early.”
Imorean jumped as Michael stepped out of the shadows. “Michael, don’t do that.”
“Did I scare you?”
“No, I jumped like a little girl because it’s fun. What are you doing lurking out here?” asked Imorean, rubbing gooseflesh away from his arms.
“I have been at The Main for several hours. I just got back. What are you doing?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I went flying.”
“On your own? At night?”
“Oh, that’s what it’s called when it goes dark like this?”
“Imorean,” said Michael in a warning tone.
Imorean walked up the steps to the main boardwalk and leaned on the railing. “Sorry. I’m just … wound up, I guess.”
“About?” asked Michael, resting his elbows on the railing as well.
“A lot,” sighed Imorean. “I haven’t been sleeping right for a while. Flying helps. Gets me to focus. Calms me down, I guess.”
He looked away as Michael fixed him in his green stare. At the back of his mind, Imorean felt a small push. Michael was trying to read his thoughts and emotions. Trying to get inside his head.
“Remember your place, Imorean. I tolerate your behavior because I know how much grief you have suffered in such a short time, but my patience is wearing thin. Why are you so nervous tonight? You are ... prickly, for lack of a better word.”
Imorean paused, remembering just how prone Michael was to anger and how quickly it could be revealed. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“I saw Toddy.” He felt stupid as Michael fell silent.
When Michael spoke, his words were calculated and emotionless. “Meaning?”
“I mean I saw him. He was under the water as I flew. I looked down to see my reflection and boom. Toddy.”
Imorean swallowed as Michael took a deep breath. Overhead, the sky started to give way to pastel dawn, fading away from the inky black.
“Exactly what you saw is hard to determine. I will send out a small patrol in the morning to sweep the waterways. They will be able to find out if there have been demons or humans nearby. If Toddy is alive, we will try to bring him home, Imorean, but I seriously doubt that Vortigern has allowed him to live.”
“What if Toddy is still alive?”
“Then we will find him.” A pause. “This is not the first night you have been nervous and unwound.”
Imorean glanced over. He couldn’t figure out if Michael had meant his statement as a question or not. “No.”
“May I ask why?”
“I’ve been having nightmares again, Michael,” said Imorean. He felt childish just saying the words. Here he was, running to Michael with a nightmare he’d had. He cringed. His first semester at Gracepointe, he had done the same thing. Eighteen years old, afraid of his dreams. It was pathetic. It wasn’t something that should be happening.
“They will pass, Imorean. Fear is part of what we cope with. Our lives as angels are not devoid of strife.”
“It’s nothing. I get them a lot.”
“If it bothers you, it is not nothing.”
Angels Falling Page 4
