Wars & Wings (Enlighten Series Book 3)

by Kristin D. Van Risseghem

  But now, I have a new mission.

  Getting him to stay longer and talk about himself. Only I can do this. Build his trust and use it to get out of here.

  SUNDAY, JUNE 24, ZOE’S eighteenth birthday.

  The next time Aiden enters my room, I’m ready. The other day is totally forgotten. He happened to see me at my lowest but never again.

  I’m stronger than that. He will not break me. Yes, I had a momentary lapse, but hey, I’m allowed to every now and then.

  A crying woman is a downfall for most guys. If the waterworks didn’t affect him, I’d have to think of something else.

  Not everything I told him was a lie, though. I do miss people, and I worry about my friends and the world. He had to see me at my most vulnerable. He had to think that he had finally broke me.

  I didn’t have to wait too long. It must have been only a couple of hours since I was already doing my cool down.

  His sudden appearance doesn’t startle me anymore. I’ve come to relish the soft tingling feeling that courses through me right before he arrives.

  “Are you wishing for anything specific as a birthday gift?” Aiden asks when he appears. “Besides getting out of here.”

  “No, not really. I’m healthy and made it to my eighteenth birthday. Yes, I wish I could see my parents and friends, but at least I’m alive.”

  “No Seraph Sword on your list?”

  “Nope.” I shake my head.

  “You know you’ll either have to find one, or it’ll come when you get your wings.”

  “I didn’t know that. If I don’t get one, how do I find one?”

  “You’ll know. Why is California on your bucket list?” He leans again the wall, arms crossed.

  “I’ve never been.” I shrug. “It’s wine country.”

  “You’re too young to drink.”

  “I know, but after I turn twenty-one, I want to experience it.” I stop stretching and end my workout. “Plus, there’s San Francisco and the trolley cars, San Diego Zoo, Disneyland, and Hollywood. There’s so much to see and learn about historical events and places.”

  A silence weighs heavily in the room.

  “California is what you got out of our last conversation?” I ask. “That’s what you want to lead with now?”

  “Yeah, about that ... I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that I’m not what you think I should be. I can’t.”

  It’s as close to an apology as I think I’m going to get from him for making me fake cry. “I’m not going to say that it’s fine because it’s not. Yesterday was a fluke, and it won’t happen again.”

  Soft instrumental music plays in the background. After my meltdown earlier, I tried Conjuring a radio and an iPod. I even tried a record player, but nothing happened. On a whim, I thought of music playing through a speaker and it did. The idea came to me while in the makeshift bathroom. The longer I stared at the lack of pipes, the more my mind wandered to other possibilities.

  “Your father isn’t really your father, is he?” I ask. “He must not be very nice to you if he forces you to do things for him that you don’t want to do.”

  “Who says I don’t want to do them?”

  “Do you? Do you enjoy doing all the tasks and being his lapdog?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Really? Because that’s how I’m see it. If it’s not that way, how is it exactly?”

  “I don’t see him all the time.”

  “Yeah, I remember you telling me that when we first met.”

  “What I mean is, that he’s around, but not available to me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s complicated. Think of it as a colossal conglomerate and he’s the CEO, CFO, and the board members. He doesn’t always have time for his employees.”

  “That’s how you think of him? An employer? Well, there’s part of the problem. He’s your father. He loves you and wants to see you do good.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” His hands clench. “He’s selfish and only wants one thing in the world.”

  “And that is?” I prompt.

  “More power.”

  “He couldn’t have always been that way. What about when you were a kid?”

  I think back to my own childhood and the two loving parents I have. We had many wonderful times together at our cabin up north, they came to every recital I had, and we ate dinner as a family every night. He didn’t have any of that from what I could tell.

  “A very long time ago, he was giving and considerate until something happened and he changed,” Aiden says. “I’ve only ever known how he is now.”

  “Maybe be does love you in a warped way.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You don’t need him. You should find people who will love you and accept you for who you are.”

  “It’s easier said than done.”

  “Doesn’t have to be. It’s all up to you and what you choose to do. Who you surround yourself with. Who you want to become.”

  “No.” Aiden shakes his head and leaves the room.

  I sit on my bed and contemplate everything that Aiden has ever told me. It’s all been a lie up until now. The person he lives with next door isn’t really his sister. Maybe she’s a friend. He made the analogy of his dad being a CEO of a business. Could it be that she’s a co-worker?

  And going along with the business idea. His father must be someone powerful and who craves even more power. He runs his so-called family like a dictatorship. Like the mob? And the word father could be interchanged for the boss, and all the workers are siblings.

  Nephilims are independent, freelance loners.

  Packs have each other but use Alphas as their leaders.

  He’s definitely not a fairy. And their terminology is a court system.

  Leaving ...

  Angels or Demons.

  But which is he?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Shay

  SUNDAY, JUNE 7, THIRTY-nine days after prom.

  I AM SUDDENLY RIPPED away from Zoe, sleep forgotten. My body lands hard on the paved ground. For a moment, everything is spinning in my mind. My friends are still there, and two newcomers are in our group.

  Sidelle has returned from Fairyland, and she brought, who I assume is her father, and a woman. The King of Summer towers over everyone. His presence is foreboding. His dark brown eyes tell another story, one of sadness and love. His companion is swathed in old power.

  She, the beautiful lady, stands regal, as if nothing could penetrate her cold exterior. Blue glamour radiates from her and seeps deep into my wings. Her features are stark. Anger hovers behind her raging blue eyes, and her stance screams danger. I can only presume that she is the Winter Queen.

  And now we are traveling with them. I catch the end of Oberon’s display of power. The blast that sunk into my soul will haunt me forever. He has fixed the earth of its sorrows.

  Nephilims are created by both earth and Heaven. We straddle both lines of existence. I wonder if he feels what I felt. It’s like hearing a mother’s wail of a lost child and the years of mourning that follows.

  The earth knows that Oberon is sending his magic to heal her. She thinks she is too far gone to be helped. But he insists and then she relents.

  The king opens a porta, and we all walk through, back to the remote deserts of Las Vegas.

  “Let’s make this quick, so we can be on our way to Texas and go north,” Oberon instructs. “Mab, please give me your hands.” She hesitates but does as he requests.

  They face each other and lock their palms together. Their powers meld. We step back and give them space, since we don’t want to be blasted with the force of the healing glamour. Both chant in a foreign language. Hers is harsh with forced breaks. His is fluid and sing-songy.

  In a matter of seconds, the cracked dessert floor folds back together. Small pools of water soak into the ground. The fierce winds cease to blow. Some of the cacti stand tall again.

  And we’re b
ack stepping through another porta. Our party doesn’t say anything. We watch in silence and let them work, so we can be done with this and head off the Marqs.

  They do the same along the southern coast, pushing back the waves smashing against the shoreline. All the sea life that lay dead on the sand are gone. The royal powers dry the heavy rains and the dark clouds lift. Rays from the sun dot the buildings with hope.

  Everything is as it was before.

  Oberon opens another porta, and we step through it. The land is lush green, trees full of new leaves block the sun’s light, and birds flutter in the sky. Evil has not marred this pristine land—yet. We stand in a field of tall grasses. Somewhere close is a stream or brook, but I’ve seen enough water to last me a while.

  “Are you sure about this place?” I ask. “It doesn’t appear that anything is wrong. The animals wouldn’t be out in the open like this if there were. They usually know the first sign of trouble coming.”

  A herd of deer watch us with curious eyes. Their ears flicker, alert for any foreign sounds.

  “They’re here,” Mab says. “I can feel them.”

  “So can I,” Oberon agrees. “Be watchful and ready for anything.”

  An eerie tranquility crawls over the field. Mist weaves between the tall stalks of grass. The birds silence their songs of freedom. Leaping for safety, the deer leave us alone with our thoughts. The wind stills.

  The temperature plummets. Frost forms along the boughs. And the mist rises, blanketing us in gray.

  Dark figures emerge from the ground. It’s like zombies rising from the dead. I guess in a way they truly are. Demons were something before they became the evil beings they are now.

  Shadows hide their flowing bodies. With their hoods drawn up, I can’t see their black holes where their eyes should be. They hover above the ground, encircling us.

  “We meet again,” a Knight shouts. A small group crouches in the distance. “We were wondering when our paths would cross.”

  “Your fate was sealed when you marched into my territory and slaughtered my subjects,” Mab screams back.

  “Oh, was that your land? We heard about that incident. Too bad I wasn’t there to witness all that death.”

  “Don’t worry. I saved my strength for you and your kind.” Mab stalks forward a few steps. “None of you will be leaving this field. And your Marq friends will never return.”

  She raises her arms high into the air as blue glamour shoots out from her palms, flying directly into the awaiting Knights.

  They scatter like gnats and charge us.

  We spread out, so we don’t accidently hit each other.

  Kieran is on my left and Sidelle to my right. Vash instantly changes into his wolf form and charges into a group of Marqs.

  Oberon fires his green magic from behind me and barely misses my head. I shoot a glare in his direction. He ignores me.

  Mab, who is positioned in front of us, throws a flurry of three-inch long ice daggers. They zip as fast as an arrow and find their marks. A few Knights fall but more advance from the tree line.

  The ground shifts. The rest of us use our wings and hover. Vash is the only one who is grounded, but he’s light on his paws and easily maneuvers on the uneven terrain.

  An orb encases Oberon, pulsing to the motion of his hands. With fire raging behind his eyes, his power is gathering. The circle grows larger and larger with each beat.

  I step out of his boundary. I have no idea what he’s about to unleash.

  Sidelle uproots trees, swinging them behind the Knights and catching a few off guard. She looks to her father and nods. Mimicking his stance, she, too, creates a sphere around her. And as her magic gathers and pulses, it matches Oberon’s.

  Kieran spins high into the sky and pours his Light onto the field. Bright light cuts through the mist.

  Marqs close the distance between us, leaving Vash to battle them.

  “Kieran,” I shout. “Clear a path for me through the Marqs, so I can get to the other side and help Vash.”

  A stream of golden Light flares and shines on the outer edge of the forest. With my Nephilim Sword extended, I forge my way through, cutting and slicing anything in my path until a Marq stops me. It smashes its arm across my chest, sending me flying backwards.

  Two more advance on me. I won’t be able to break their defenses. But I’m not going down without a fight. With renewed strength, I swing my sword to the demon on the right. Using my legs, I kick the other back. But my leg goes right through its body, throwing me off balance. I tumble onto my knees. Before I can spring back to my feet, a forcefield goes through me.

  Turning my head, Oberon and Sidelle have unleashed their combined power. My chest aches slightly, but that’s nothing compared to how the field looks now. All three fairies are standing in a crater the size of a couple of football fields. The ground is partially frozen, and the other part is dead brown.

  The remaining Knights are clutching their own chests and dropping one by one.

  I shake my head, clearing my daze and sprint toward Vash. His breathing is labored, and a red gash oozes blood on his shoulder. One of his ears is bent at an odd angle.

  “You okay?” I ask him.

  He nods.

  “Man, what was that? I think someone trampled my sternum.” I place a hand over my heart. “We can’t rest too long; there are still Marqs all over the field. But at least whatever the fairies did, it wiped out the Knights. You go, and I’ll take care of their bodies.”

  Vash nods and sprints back into the fray.

  I check each Knight to make sure they are good and dead by slicing my blade across their necks. Within a matter of seconds, their bodies evaporate and return to Hell.

  When no more Knights litter the ground, I also return to the battle against the Marqs.

  Light blasts from all directions in a swirl of green, gold, and blue. Vash’s brown form darts in between the Marqs and takes down as many as he can. His enormous paws swipe at their black cloaks. Black demon blood drips from his claws and lands on the grass. Vash’s coat is drenched in red and black swirls.

  The ice queen is encased in a blue sphere and continues to volley ice spears at the Marqs. Blue sparkling lights outlines their flowing capes. Old magic gnaws at them, dissolving tiny patches of them. With enough magic, her targets begin to fade.

  King Oberon uses the same tactic, but with his combined energy and that of his daughter’s, they crush their victims faster.

  Kieran still hovers above, shining his Light into clusters, and Vash takes them down, one by one.

  By the time I’m across the field, the battle is over.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Zoe

  WEDNESDAY, JUNE 24, thirty-nine days after prom.

  “HAPPY EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY, Zoe,” Aiden says as he enters the room. He smiles as if it is his birthday and not mine. If all goes well today, I will get my wings and the completion of the tattoo at the exact time I was born.

  “Nothing happy about it, Aiden,” I state. “I’m still here as your prisoner. I could think of so many places I’d rather be than here with you. Where am I anyway? You can finally tell me, you know. It’s not like I can tell anyone where I am. I haven’t been rescued since you brought me here.”

  “Ah now, Zoe, don’t be like that. I have been a gracious host to you. And today, I am feeling extra generous. After all, it is your birthday.” He raises his arms and sweeps them in an arch over by the wall opposite the door. Instantly, a window appears. I’m afraid to look out of it. I don’t want to see any more of Hell than I need to. But when I glance out of the window, it’s a picture of the ocean.

  “The same rules apply to the window as the mirror. Think of the landscape you wish to view, and it will appear.” He smiles.

  Wow. Aiden very rarely smiles. I guess he doesn’t have much to smile about. He does work for Satan, after all. That’s what I’ve deduced. If he weren’t out to kill me, I would think Aiden was an extremely good-looking guy.


  It must be close to twenty-six minutes after three in the afternoon, the exact time I was born. My body feels weird; it tingles, as if it has fallen asleep. A gut-wrenching pain shoots through my body, forcing me to the cold floor. I curl into a ball and whimper, praying to God to let the pain subside or hurry up the process in giving me my wings.

  Aiden stands in the corner and watches, not saying anything. I bet he has never witnessed anyone getting their Mark, wings, or becoming a seraph angel.

  How could he? I am the first born of earth and Heaven.

  My body trembles as sweat pours from every pore on my skin. My right arm throbs with shooting pain from my shoulder down to my wrist. I’m not sure how long I lie on the floor. My bones ache like I had the flu for weeks. After what seems like an eternity has passed, I peel open my eyes and look at my right wrist. There on the inside, iridescent purple wings surround my existing silver Triquetra symbol with a golden sword down the center.

  I stand on trembling legs. When I look down at myself, I am no longer in jeans and a T-shirt, but in a simple white shift dress with purple ribbons tied around my waist that crisscross over my back. I turn my head to look over my shoulder ... yes, I have sprouted wings.

  They are bright white with flecks and streaks of purple throughout. I have seen Kieran’s and Shay’s wings on several occasions, but mine are larger than theirs. Even folded, they extend above my head, and the points touch the floor.

  I think about them moving, and suddenly they do. I think of the word “expand,” and they obey my command and unfurl to their full length. I am totally enamored with them. They are so beautiful.

  I thought that when I received my wings, they would be heavy and cumbersome, but they aren’t. In fact, they’re light as a feather. I giggle at my own pun. I move my hands and arms out in front of me, turning them over and inspecting them. A soft white glow emits from them. I hike up the dress to view my legs, and I remember I’m not alone in the room.