Angels Falling

by Harriet Carlton

  Imorean narrowed his eyes and the smile slithered from his face. He could have sworn he heard the voice whimper.

  “Michael sent him off on a mission he wasn’t ready for. He’s gone. What a waste, huh? Everyone’s dead. No one is coming to save you. There’s no hope. You have nothing left. Except me. I can give you everything you need, anything you want. I can give you life again, just as easily as I took it away. If you only ally yourself with me.”

  Imorean looked at Vortigern hard. There was hunger in his eyes. A wild kind of desperation. Then, like a current pulling at his skin, Imorean felt it. Consent. All the earlier resilience crumbled away and Imorean understood. That had been this prisoner’s final straw. Death had broken them. He watched with an odd chill in his blood as Vortigern reached out and rested a palm against the glass. Inside, movement stirred. A hand appeared again amid the waves of darkness. Horrible defeat raced through Imorean’s blood as he saw the hand reach out. Hesitation. Hope soared. Internally, he begged the person in the cell not to give in. Not to give up. There had to be something he could do to help them. This person, whoever they were, he would help them. He would not forget about them. They just had to hold on a bit longer. Then the hand pressed against Vortigern’s from the other side of the glass and he smiled.

  Imorean watched in horror, powerless to move. Vortigern snapped his fingers. The darkness in the cell shifted, rising to the top of the chamber and lingering like deep smoke. The glass rippled and crashed to the ground, dousing Imorean’s whole body as it turned to water and pooled on the floor. He swept his soaked hair back from his eyes and looked up. Cold. He felt cold. A woman. Fingers intertwined with Vortigern’s, once-curly, brown hair matted and filthy and hazel eyes drained of color and life, was the one person Imorean had wanted more than anyone else to see again. Amelia. His mother.

  Vortigern turned to him and grinned, gray eyes lurid and aware.

  Imorean screamed.

  Chapter 45

  It was the sound of his own scream that woke Imorean up. White hair clung to his forehead. His entire body was soaking, drenched in sweat. Panic threatened to engulf him. He lay in bed, panting, staring at the ceiling. His blood was too hot in his veins. Heart rate too fast. Body too alive. Panic. Confined. He had to get out of here. Then he was on his feet, the decision only half made in his mind. He pulled clothes on haphazardly, a desperation filling him. Gloves, off. Shirt, trousers, on. Boots, laced. Sword straps, buckled. He ran to his balcony and wrenched the door open. All his senses were dull, crushed down by panic. Cold air washed over him. No dawn sun glared at him today. Rain drenched the land. He paid it no mind. Weather was the last thing he was concerned about. He vaulted the railing and was in the sky. The Arctic world dropped away beneath him. Felsenmeer faded into early morning obscurity.

  Mountain peaks pierced the air around Imorean. Rivers and heathland carved the land below. The sleet-rain spattering his face brought him back to the edge of his senses. He shook his head. His mother. He had seen his mother. Vortigern had looked at him. Brown eyes blinked. Two lines of heat fled backward from his eyes. Was it possible that his mother was still alive? Was it possible? Did he dare hope for it? Or had life become a burden, a curse for his mother? Was hope for life on her behalf nothing more than selfish? Had Vortigern seen him there? Had Vortigern known? He flew onward, pushing his soaked wings down against the driving rain. But it was a dream? He shook his hair away and blinked rain out of his eyes. His dreams had been right before. He had seen Uriel’s plea for help in real time. But what if he was wrong this time? Even worse, what if he was right?

  A press of urgency knocked at his head. He wondered how he hadn’t felt it earlier. “Are you all right?”

  Imorean pulled up sharp, the cold air buffeting him. The sound of Michael’s voice cut across the forefront of his mind, silencing everything else. He gritted his teeth and held his hover. For the first time, he was glad, desperately glad, to hear Michael’s voice. He swallowed, chest tight. He wasn’t all right. He wasn’t all right at all. He clenched his jaw and angled his wings down. He wanted to feel ground beneath his feet. Firmness. Something solid in a world that had just upended itself. The dive to the ground was mercifully short. He alighted halfway up a valley on an outcrop of stone. Wind and rain swept his hair backward from his forehead. Brown eyes swept the world. The outlines of mountains reared their heads on the other side of the vale. A gray river ran in the bottom, chasing its way toward the sea. This dim, rainy world was at peace. The total opposite of the turmoil that churned through his own body. Fine. He’d said he was fine. Said it to Colton weeks ago. And it hit him with a startling alacrity. He wasn’t fine. Not anymore. Not fine. Not fine. Not fine. The façade of fine he’d built crumbled and reality rushed in. Every scar on his wings stood out like a bloodstain. He wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine for a long time.

  “Imorean, answer me.”

  Again, Michael’s voice caught Imorean’s attention. Brown eyes stared ahead, seeing without comprehending. His mother. With Vortigern. And what about his siblings? What about Rachel and Isaac? Were they still alive? What if they were? Oh, God, what if they were? Imorean trembled, every muscle on a razor’s edge. Panic heated his blood again and he closed his eyes, sending terror and confusion back to Michael. Emotion spoke. He couldn’t send words. Words were far and away beyond his reach.

  “Where are you?”

  Worry. Unease. Imorean lowered himself to the ground. His legs didn’t feel strong enough to hold him up. White wings folded and he sat motionless, letting the rain soak through his clothes, through his skin, down to his bones. It was a good question. He couldn’t be far from Felsenmeer. Where, though, he didn’t know. His location didn’t matter. All that mattered was that his mother, and quite probably his siblings, were alive. Alive. Alive and suffering. Because he hadn’t tried to find them.

  “Imorean, please. I know you can hear me.”

  Imorean could feel Michael’s fear gathering strength now. A deep breath rattled in his chest. He didn’t want to reply. He didn’t want to speak. Some inner sense of duty compelled him to respond regardless.

  “Not sure. Northwest? River.”

  Confusion. “Stay where you are.”

  Imorean barely heard Michael. He covered his eyes with a hand. His mother. Alive. She had to be. It was a kind of certainty that he felt deep in his bones, right down between the joints. And it was not a good feeling. If anything, all he felt was horror. Death had been a kind of freedom. If his mother was alive, what, what did Vortigern have in store? For both of them. Imorean choked back a sound. He should be glad his mother was alive. Then he saw her again as she had been in his dream. Haggard, hopeless … broken. Something his mother had never been. Living a life that had been stolen from her. What had happened to her in the months she had been with Vortigern? He didn’t even want to consider it. And he, he hadn’t even tried to find her, Rachel, or Isaac. He had given them up for dead. He hadn’t even tried. Guilt, searing and malicious, grabbed his veins, flowing through his body like molten rock and settling somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Twin trails of heat crept from his eyes and dripped off his chin.

  Over the rain, Imorean heard a low click and launched to his feet, set to run, to fly, to fight. His nerves were on edge enough to do anything. He turned, one hand already around the grip of his sword, ready to draw. Michael and Roxy had appeared just a few yards behind him. Relief. They were here. He wasn’t alone.

  “Steady,” said Michael, raising both hands. “Calm down, Imorean.”

  Imorean sobbed a breath. Michael and Roxy. They meant safety. He unbuckled his sword, setting it on the ground. Roxy and Michael were both armed themselves. He didn’t need his own weapon.

  “What happened?” asked Michael.

  Imorean looked between them, his eyes meeting Michael’s. Michael could already feel all his grief. All his terror. All his dread. All his hope. All his overwhelming guilt. Imorean locked eyes with Roxy. She was looking at him
in worried confusion. No doubt Michael hadn’t said a word before he dragged her out here. Roxy, more than Michael, was owed an explanation.

  “She’s alive. Vortigern kept them alive,” said Imorean, the words jerky. His voice didn’t sound like his own.

  Reality surged over him like a tidal wave. Saying those words revealed their truth. Speech made them real. Solid existence quavered as the world skewed further.

  Roxy swept a hand up to cover her mouth, stifling a gasp. Then her arms were around him, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. He clenched his jaw and fought back the sting behind his eyes. Now was not the time.

  “Oh, Imorean …”

  Michael’s voice overrode Roxy’s. “How do you know?”

  “Another dream.” Imorean lifted his face from the crook of Roxy’s neck. Michael’s eyes were serious. More so than usual. He pulled out of Roxy’s embrace as Michael took a step toward them, one hand outstretched.

  “May I see?”

  Imorean sighed. It seemed to rock his whole body. “If you have to.”

  “Roxy as well? It would do her good to know what you are going through and would save you the agony of retelling it. I can channel the mental connection amongst the three of us for a short time.”

  Imorean looked at Roxy. “Do you think you want to?”

  “I’m not letting you fight this alone,” said Roxy, folding her arms. “No way. You’ve fought enough emotional battles on your own. Not this time. I told you before, I’m not leaving you.”

  Imorean nodded and watched as Michael pressed one hand against Roxy’s forehead. He flinched away as Michael reached out to do the same to him. He took a hitching breath and met Michael’s gaze, nearly cringing as he caught the concern in his eyes. Imorean exhaled hard, hearing and feeling the shudder in the movement. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, into Michael’s cool hand, and allowed the memories of his dream to resurface. They were clearer than normal dream memories. Chunks rather than fragments. All the important, horrible details stuck to his mind like high-resolution photographs. The dark tunnel. The clinical, white light of the cell-lined passage. The swirling darkness in his mother’s cell. Vortigern’s quiet voice. The drop of Amelia’s cell door. And finally, Amelia herself. Shrunken and wraithlike.

  Michael pulled his hand away, and Imorean stumbled, flaring his wings. He had been leaning on Michael harder than he realized. He glanced between Roxy and Michael. Michael dropped his hands back to his sides and looked pensive. Roxy was pale.

  “You two can see into each other’s heads like that all the time?” she asked.

  “No,” replied Michael.

  Imorean was glad of the change of subject. “Not all the time.”

  “You two are weird, you know that, right?” Roxy said, rubbing her arms.

  In spite of the situation, Imorean couldn’t help but shoot a shaky grin at Michael, who was already looking at him. A tiny smile hovered on his lips.

  “Don’t look at each other like that,” said Roxy. She shook her head. “You’re the only two angels who have a widescreen view into each other’s heads. To see it all laid out like this, it’s unnerving. Especially to someone like me.”

  “I guess it’s just become normal for us,” shrugged Imorean. He turned fully to Michael. He felt less unbalanced now, knowing that Michael and Roxy had both seen what he had. “What do you think?”

  Michael sighed and shook his head. “Roxy, let us hear your thoughts first.”

  Roxy jumped, as though surprised Michael had addressed her directly. “Mine?”

  Michael nodded.

  “Well …” she began, settling on the ground and fixing her eyes out across the rainy valley onto the mountains beyond. Imorean sat next to her, ignoring the damp. He was soaking anyway. A little more water wouldn’t hurt him.

  Roxy twiddled her thumbs a moment, before speaking. She didn’t look at him. “It seems like something he wanted you to see. But since it’s Vortigern and it was a dream, I don’t think you can be sure that it’s real.”

  “The place you saw,” said Michael, settling on Imorean’s other side. “Do you know where it was?”

  Imorean turned and shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

  “Houska,” sighed Michael. “It was Houska.”

  “You’re sending another team to Houska, aren’t you?” asked Imorean.

  “You already know this,” replied Michael. His voice was guarded and Imorean knew that Michael already knew what he was going to ask.

  “My mom is there,” said Imorean. “Please, Michael. Let me go with them.”

  “There is no solid proof that your mother, or anyone, is there. Vortigern showed you a dream. We cannot take that as reality.”

  Imorean locked his jaw and swallowed hard. “When I was with him at Teufelsschloss and he showed me his memories of the night he killed my grandparents … Michael, I never saw him kill her, Rachel or Isaac.”

  Green eyes shifted sideways for a moment, then fully away. A muscle in Michael’s jaw twitched and a flash of emotion crossed his face. Imorean swallowed as a green rush of worry pressed flush against his head. Then the emotion went dead, like Michael had pulled down a barrier over his sentiments.

  “Michael, let me try. Please.”

  “Imorean, you can’t be serious,” said Roxy. “Please. You’ll be killed.”

  “Roxy is probably correct,” nodded Michael. “The angels going on this mission are highly skilled. Raguel hand-picked them himself. They have seen battle together many, many times before. It would be a horrible executive decision on my behalf to allow you to go.”

  Imorean glared at Michael, forcing his own emotions along their connection.

  Michael coughed then scowled at him. “Do not try to take advantage of my empathy like that, Imorean.”

  “You do it to me all the time.”

  “I do not.”

  “How is looking into my head any different, then?”

  Roxy’s wings snapped. “Oh, for God’s sake, stop. I can’t deal with the arguing.”

  Michael made an odd noise in the back of his throat. “Beg pardon?”

  “Shut up, Michael,” snorted Roxy. Imorean made a concentrated effort not to laugh at Michael’s dismay. “Imorean, do you think that what you saw is real?”

  Imorean’s heart constricted, any humor he had felt, gone. “Yeah, I do. I’m horrified, hopeful, terrified, guilty and feeling selfish all at the same time. I never tried to find her. Roxy, never once did I think she would have been kept alive.”

  “Because that’s a horrible possibility,” replied Roxy. “Death would have been a mercy. Death would have been the end of it all. She would never have been at Vortigern’s whims ever again.”

  “I should have tried.” Imorean swallowed. “This is all my fault.”

  There was a heavy intake of breath from Michael. “You really want to get onto this task force, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “I must be mad,” said Michael in a low voice. He took another deep breath. “If it will ease your conscience, then you may earn my permission to go.”

  “Michael – !” Imorean began.

  “But. But, but, but, you must prove first to me that you are ready to go. You must have some semblance control of your powers, be able to widen your senses even if there are many other presences around and be able to focus in on one, you must be able to switch from the astral plane to reality and back again, and you must be able to teleport to and from locations without hesitation or inaccuracy. And even if you manage to do this, it does not mean, that you will have Raguel’s approval. As he is the team leader, you must gain his in order to go. I may be able to qualify you to join, but you need his final approval to join them. Understand?”

  “You’ve set an impossible task for me, Michael.”

  “Perhaps. The impossibility of it depends solely on your motivation and how hard you train. I ask again, do you understand?”

  Imorean searched Michael’s face. He really was op
ening up the opportunity for him to go to Houska. “I understand.”

  “You understand that who you find, if you do indeed find your family, may not be what you expect?”

  Imorean glanced at Roxy, who shook her head. He turned back. “I understand.”

  “You realize that they may not recognize you at all? That their minds may have been ruined and corrupted?”

  “… Yes.”

  “Now, think on this and ask yourself seriously, as we begin with this new training, do you think you are ready for that? Are you mentally strong enough to withstand the notion of your mother driven insane beyond even our repair?”

  Imorean balked. Something Raphael and his medical team couldn’t cure? And the possibility of his mother being in an incurable state? Was he really, truly strong enough to cope with that?

  Roxy’s upper lip curled. “Michael, that’s cruel!”

  “It is realistic,” replied Michael, an edge in his voice now. “I ask because the manner of insanity of which I am speaking is something I have seen before and I do not think Imorean is ready for that kind of image. Neither of you know Vortigern as I do, or the way any of the Archangels know him for that matter, but perhaps his viciousness is something that one can only learn on their own. Until now, Imorean, he has shown an unusual amount of restraint with you and I believe it is entirely because he enjoys watching you react. Torture, murder, destruction, suffering, they are games to him. You and all your complex, half-Archangel, half-human emotions are a game unlike any other he has ever played. So, think. What are you prepared to face?”

  Imorean shuffled his wings, trying to cover the chill that had just run up his spine. He could feel Roxy’s eyes on him, concerned for him and terrified for his answer to Michael. Hurling himself back into danger. Exactly what he swore to her he would try not to do. But this was his mother. This was his one chance to recover her and his siblings, to save them. Brown eyes swung back to green.

  “Do I have to give you an answer now?”

  “About your mental toughness? No, but I ask that you think about it and the extent of things you are prepared to see.”