Angels Falling

by Harriet Carlton

  Bethany settled on her knees, smiling at Gabriel. She pursed her lips. “Thinking about offing me?”

  Gabriel stopped and returned Bethany’s smile. His was feral. “I don’t think you have any idea how much I’d like that.”

  “Do you think she knows, Gabriel?” asked Bethany, sitting back on her ankles.

  Gabriel stiffened. Another pause. Roxy looked between them. Gabriel lowered his chin. “Knows what?”

  The smile spread across Bethany’s face, nasty this time. “Do you think Amelia knows how much danger you keep letting her son get into? How Michael manipulates him? How little you do to stop it?”

  Roxy’s jaw dropped. A horrified hush settled over the squad. Gabriel made a strange noise. The ground underfoot trembled. Roxy looked at him. His knuckles were white around his sword handle. He was really going to do it. The one angel she had always counted on not to murder someone. Ryan wrapped a hand around her wrist and tried to pull her away, but Roxy felt rooted to the spot. Bethany was the reason Imorean’s family was dead. Bethany was the reason her best friend had those deep, black scars on his white feathers. Bethany was the reason she had had to abandon her own family. And yet … she couldn’t let this happen. Not to another living creature.

  “No! Gabriel, stop!” shouted Roxy.

  Gabriel paused again and looked over his shoulder. Roxy’s knees went weak. There was a cold look in his hazel eyes, the very corners shining with emotion. His upper lip was curled in revulsion. Then Gabriel’s green and tawny wings dropped and he shuddered. He reached down and grabbed Bethany by her sword scabbard, hauling her to her feet and shoving her hard away from him. Roxy breathed an unprecedented sigh of relief and grabbed Bethany by her sword belts before she could fall again. Kadia appeared at her side seconds later.

  “Disarm her,” snapped Gabriel. “Do you think that between you, you can keep hold of her?”

  Roxy exchanged a look with Kadia and spoke for both of them. “I think so.”

  Gabriel nodded with a sort of finality and snapped his fingers. Bethany’s hands swung round to her front. A squirming, purple binding clamped her wrists together. Slowly, two tendrils of purple snaked outward. Roxy shivered as one slithered around her own wrist, pulling tight. She looked to see the second land on Kadia’s wrist.

  “Both of you keep a close eye on her,” said Gabriel. “She’ll be staying with us. We need Imorean with us again before we figure out what to do with her.”

  Roxy shook her head and looked at Gabriel. “Why do we need Imorean? To decide what to do with Bethany, I mean.”

  Gabriel took a deep breath and shook his head. “It’s thanks to her that his family is dead. After all the damage she’s done him, it’s not up to me whether she lives or dies, regardless of how much I wish it was. It’s his choice.”

  Chapter 41

  Gathering his thoughts would be so much easier if his wrist wasn’t burning. Imorean flinched as he refolded his hands under his chin. He had to have a splinter or a shard of metal buried in the skin under his watch. There was no other reason for it to hurt this much. It wasn’t a sharp pain. It was a searing kind of burn. He had lost count of how many times he had taken his watch off and held his wrist up to the meager light, searching for any kind of injury.

  Sound caught his attention. Just beyond the door. Coming closer. Fearful hopelessness spiked in his chest and Imorean knew who it was. Tezcatlipoca. A tremble spread over his skin and he lowered his hand to his trouser pocket. His sole, thin line of confidence rested in there. He raised himself to his full height as the door to his tiny chamber opened inward. Blue-skinned and orange-eyed, Tezcatlipoca stood just beyond the threshold. Imorean met the god’s eyes. He mustn’t waver. Tezcatlipoca tilted his fine head to the side, overlong fingers dangling down to his knees. Imorean ground his teeth. Pressure, like someone pushing against the back of his head. It was akin to the feeling he got when Michael was communicating with him, but this … this was alien. Foreign. Nearly painful. There was something orange about it. He hissed and swayed where he stood, but stayed on his feet.

  “You are very different,” mused Tezcatlipoca.

  Imorean blinked a few times as the band of pressure receded. He looked up at the god and adjusted his wings. “Glad you figured that out.”

  “We are ready for you,” said Tezcatlipoca.

  Another deep breath rattled Imorean’s chest. He hoped this would work. He hoped against hope. He only had one shot. Again, he brushed the side of his pocket and felt the flare’s long handle. Tucking his wings closer to his back, he stepped forward, passing Tezcatlipoca and entering the hallway. As he walked, the pathway sloping upward beneath his feet, he extended his senses. The tourists were dormant. Their energy was quiet. Beyond the stone, there was another energy. His heart skipped a beat. Purple. He sensed purple.

  Silver moonlight beamed down, cast through the doorway of the darkened acropolis. Imorean hesitated in the shadows. He couldn’t turn back. The strength in his legs started to fail. He heard Tezcatlipoca shift behind him. Two figures closed in from either side of the temple’s wide, flat top. Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc. Imorean could sense their eagerness. He swallowed. Something in Huitzilopochtli’s hand glinted under the moonlight. Imorean cast his eyes at the sky. Where was Gabriel? Where was that distinct rush of purple he had felt earlier? A hand settled on his shoulder. Cold. Imorean shivered. It was as though Tezcatlipoca was pulling all the warmth, all the life, from his body.

  “Gone quiet, I see,” whispered Huitzilopochtli. “They almost always do in the end. You are not the first.”

  Slowly, Imorean advanced, exiting the temple top’s darkened shelter. A cloud rolled across the moon, blotting out its light for a moment. This moment was all he needed. He leaped forward. Tezcatlipoca’s hand jerked away from his shoulder. Life flowed back into him. he shoved past the gods. His hand delved into his pocket. Flare. His hand closed around it. Snap. The cap was off. And struck.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Red light so bright it was nearly white burst across one of the temple tops. Roxy’s head jerked up. A cloud cleared the moon. White. She could see white wings on the summit of the furthest temple.

  “Go,” hissed Gabriel, his voice low and urgent. He was in the air a heartbeat later.

  Roxy snapped to her feet, jerking Bethany up with her. She paid no attention to Bethany’s protests. Flaring her rainbow wings wide, Roxy tore after Gabriel. Air coasted beneath her feathers. She could hear Ryan, Kadia and Baxter on her heels.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Tlaloc screamed. “He’s brought the sun!”

  Tezcatlipoca covered his face, hissing wildly. Imorean swung the flare. It had to stay between him and the gods. Even Huitzilopochtli looked wary. Imorean took a deep breath and opened his left hand. He opened his wings up wide. Then, there it was. A weight. Leather. Cold steel. All slammed into his palm as though guided there by a magnet. Utter relief. His sword returned. Imorean swung the flare wide. A dash of pride swept through him as the gods recoiled. White wings widened. They beat down. Relief swept through his entire body as he lifted into the air. Soon, he would be able to drop the flare. Soon, he would be out of their reach. Solid ground fell away beneath him. Airborne. Teeth bared, he hurled the flare down. He smiled as the tiny flare struck Tlaloc straight in the chest. Then the world turned purple. Violent and deep. Imorean had to look away for a moment. On the stone temple top was Gabriel, flanked by Roxy, Kadia, Ryan, Baxter and Bethany.

  “Hold them!” shouted Gabriel, vanishing into the dark acropolis.

  Imorean nosedived. Tlaloc, Tezcatlipoca and Huitzilopochtli rushed the squad. His wrist seared. His watch was burning hot. He landed flat on his feet, filling the hole in his squad that Gabriel had left. Movement. Huitzilopochtli launched into view.

  Imorean grinned as the god squared off against him. He adjusted his grip on his sword. Huitzilopochtli snarled at him, a wooden instrument lined with obsidian held in his hand. Distant research reared its head. A macuahuit
l. Imorean swallowed and raised his sword tip. It was a weapon capable of having edges stronger than steel. Let angel steel be stronger. The ground beneath the temple began to shake.

  Imorean narrowed his eyes. “I’m not such an easy target when I’m not cooped up in a tiny room, am I?”

  Huitzilopochtli hissed at him. Imorean grit his teeth and went offensive. He shifted his weight and rushed in, swinging low. He had to get near Huitzilopochtli. That green headdress glinted silver beneath the moon. Miss! Imorean regrouped. Huitzilopochtli snarled, every tooth showing. Sudden hesitation landed in Imorean’s heart. Even though Huitzilopochtli had wanted to sacrifice him, had taken an entire tour group prisoner, had begun to sacrifice them … Imorean didn’t want to kill him. Killing. Murder. Even in the heat of battle, it was something he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do.

  Imorean leaped backward as Huitzilopochtli swung the macuahuitl. He felt a rush of air as the obsidian-bladed weapon caught the fibers of his shirt. More tremors came from the world beneath the temple. He flinched, hearing stone cracking and grating. He gritted his teeth and took a step toward Huitzilopochtli, pushing him backward. Huitzilopochtli narrowed his eyes and hissed, arms shaking. A tongue of bright, white flame lashed up Imorean’s sword.

  “What are you?” hissed Huitzilopochtli, bright fear dancing in his eyes.

  Imorean felt a grin cross his face and a rush of unexpected pride. “The only Archangel-human hybrid in the world.”

  “Special thing,” snarled the god. “If I cannot have your heart as a sacrifice, I will settle for your blood on the floor.”

  “I don’t plan on giving you that either,” replied Imorean, locking eyes with Huitzilopochtli again and shoving him backward hard.

  His wings flared outward and Imorean leaped upward into the air. He pulled into a hover. He needed that headdress. That was the reason they had been sent here. He swooped in low, hand seizing the feathered decoration and dragging it from Huitzilopochtli’s head. Sharp, searing pain. Imorean cried out and crashed back down to the ground. The headdress fell just beyond his grasp. A few white feathers fluttered to the ground beside it. Primaries. Tipped in blood. Imorean looked in horror at his right wing. The last foot of it had been cleaved away. Huitzilopochtli advanced, leering, his macuahuitl dripping. Imorean grabbed his sword, scrambling to his feet. His wing throbbed, pain racing up the nerve endings. White feathers were coated in blood now. So much for not getting injured. Huitzilopochtli inhaled deeply. Something in Imorean’s chest trembled. The world was shaking now. Quaking.

  Imorean looked up as clamor erupted behind Huitzilopochtli. Roxy and Kadia were locked to either side of Bethany, facing off with Tlaloc. Ryan and Baxter tag-teamed Tezcatlipoca.

  Huitzilopochtli continued his slow advance. Imorean’s heart thundered and he tightened his grip on his sword. The god inhaled again, as though drinking in the smell of blood. Imorean locked eyes with Bethany just beyond Huitzilopochtli. In the midst of the fight, she froze. Imorean blinked at her. Why did she suddenly look so, so afraid?

  Movement. Instinct more than anything made Imorean raise his sword. A macuahuitl slammed into it. Imorean heard his sword shriek as the obsidian-bladed weapon slashed the flat surface. His fingers slipped on the handle. He cried out, diverting Huitzilopochtli’s attack just as he lost his grip on his sword.

  “Sword!” shouted one of his squad members. He couldn’t figure out who. All their voices seemed to have blurred together. They were in trouble. Something had happened behind him. Get his weapon back. He dove forward and down, skidding to a halt between Huitzilopochtli and the squad. He snatched his sword back up and pulled himself to one knee. It was all he had time for. Huitzilopochtli swung downward. Imorean locked himself in position. The macahuitl’s obsidian sides flashed under the silver moon. He readied himself for the impact.

  Imorean ground his teeth as his sword shuddered in his hands. His arms trembled. The ground below the temple thundered. His eyes, narrowed to slits, darted up. The macuahuitl was pushing his sword tip over. Slow. Deliberate. Imorean trembled and shut his eyes tight, his blood running through his veins like wildfire. He focused every fiber of his being toward holding Huitzilopochtli’s attack off. He was still trembling. His block was breaking. Then Huitzilopochtli screamed. A cry like a dying eagle’s set every nerve in Imorean’s body alight. The macahuitl’s attack dropped, the weapon clattering to the floor and slithering down the stone steps. Imorean looked up. Huitzilopochtli’s arms were flung out to the side, his face upturned. A sword was plunged up to the hilt through his chest. A strange quiet settled on the temple. Imorean gaped in shock and followed the sword up. It was not Roxy, Ryan, Baxter or Kadia holding the other end of the weapon. It was Bethany. Her blue eyes were locked onto Huitzilopochtli, cold. Imorean stood as Bethany withdrew the sword. Huitzilopochtli crashed to the temple floor, a few of his muscles twitching. His eyes were still rolling in his head. Imorean stared between Bethany and the dying god.

  “None of you were going to do it,” she snarled, tossing the sword back to Kadia.

  Imorean opened his mouth to reply to her, but a raging cry of fury overrode him.

  Tlaloc. The god charged out of the darkness. Baxter shouted. Roxy, on the far side of Bethany, looked up and turned just seconds too late. Tlaloc reared over her like a ravening wolf. Her head was seized in one of Tlaloc’s hands. Imorean moved. He was running now. Ryan raced in from Tlaloc’s other side. But time had slowed. Imorean knew Ryan would never reach Roxy or Tlaloc in time. He shouted in horror as Tlaloc’s snaggletooth mouth opened. Every fang glinted under the moonlight, needle sharp, ready to sink into flesh. Roxy’s throat, exposed. Imorean heard his own heartbeat. His senses retreated, folding inward.

  “Stop!” he shouted. Was he really to watch another one of teammates die? Roxy. Roxy who he had known since childhood. Who had stuck beside him through everything. He couldn’t let that happen! He couldn’t! This would not become another attack like the one in Iceland! Imorean’s heart thundered in his chest. He was sprinting now. Nature did not allow for this kind of speed. His watch burned at his wrist. His damaged, bleeding wings snapped up and out.

  Everything shattered. Roxy had slowed. Tlaloc had slowed. The entire world ground to a crawl. Everything crashed white. All Imorean could see was Tlaloc, his blue-skinned body rippling. His terrible fangs screaming through the air. And Roxy, her face white and her mouth open in a scream Imorean couldn’t hear.

  Imorean’s skin seared. His world erupted into full whiteness. He was reaching for Roxy, going nowhere. His mouth was open. He was shouting, but his cries were deaf in his own ears. His hands were alight, burning as though they were on fire. His wings were flared up, every feather reaching away from his core. His blood was scalding his veins. Surely, he would burst into flame.

  Darkness.

  Nothing. No sound. No taste. No smell. Only cold. Imorean opened his eyes. He was still at the temple. But alone. The world quieted. He raised his head and sat up. The temple outline was fainter, more insubstantial. He was there, without being there. He blinked, confused. This wasn’t the astral plane. He gathered himself and clambered to his feet. His weak knee shook as he put weight on it. Why was he here? What had happened?

  ‘Imorean…’

  Imorean turned. That voice. Female. It had haunted his sweetest dreams and worst nightmares since the winter. His heart constricted. He took an uneasy step toward the blackened temple acropolis.

  ‘Hello?’ he called, reaching for his sword. It wasn’t there. Everything around him seemed insubstantial as water. He stopped and bent over, hands on his knees. His mouth had turned slick with nausea. He felt ready to vomit.

  ‘Imorean, where are you?’

  Imorean looked up, his heartstrings played like a violin. Should he go to the voice? Did he linger here? The voice was no mystery. Female. Older. Familiar … too familiar. His source of comfort, his source of guilt. His ultimate source of fear. His mother.

  ‘Mom?’ called
Imorean.

  ‘Imorean! Where are you?’

  Imorean heard the fear in her voice now. He snapped up and leaped into a run. She was just inside the temple. She had to be! She was so close! She was so alive! Imorean sprinted, reaching out in desperation. The temple came no closer. If anything, the distance seemed to widen the harder he ran. Stones fell away beneath his feet, tumbling down into darkness. The temple was growing. The acropolis ascended, higher and higher. Up into the shadows. He spread his wings and leaped upward. His mother was there! She had to be! He had heard her voice himself.

  ‘Imorean!’

  Hysteria. Imorean shouted and beat his wings harder. But he couldn’t reach her. He fell. A hand snapped shut around his ankle. It trapped him, dragging him down.

  ‘Let go!’ Imorean shouted, kicking at his attacker. ‘Let go of me! Let go!’

  “Imorean, let go!”

  Hands were on him. Imorean flailed. The hands shook him. He blinked. The world was white, blisteringly white. Roaring. But the white was moving. What? He narrowed his eyes. That didn’t seem right. White was a color. It couldn’t move on its own. Breath. His chest rose and fell. He swallowed. Then screamed. His body burned, searing, hotter than anything he had ever known.

  “Imorean! Look at me!”

  He looked up. Relief swallowed him as he saw something other than white. A figure. Vision focused. Someone dark haired. Michael. Obviously. It had to be. Imorean smiled. Even the sound of distant roaring didn’t scare him now. He blinked. Michael rested a hand on his face. Cool and rough. Imorean blinked again. A new color overtook him. The world focused further. Purple. Tawny and green. Hazel. Not Michael. Gabriel. He stared up as Gabriel leaned over him. Then he was pulled to his feet. Gabriel maneuvered him. Imorean choked as his eyes landed on the temple. The whole upper floor blazed, alight with white fire. It burned with no fuel, but licked over the stones, gathering strength and size. He gaped and looked at Gabriel. That shade of white. It was identical to the white fire he had used as a signal beacon in North Carolina. It was devouring the temple.