chapter twenty-four

When I left Daniel’s study several minutes later, I found James leaning against the wall in the hallway, his phone in his hands. He slipped it into his back pocket and stepped forward to meet me in one lithe motion.

“Has she answered yet?”

Without answering, he placed his hand on the small of my back and I felt myself relax into him. This was James—warm, solid, ever unchanging.

“You all right, princess?” He tipped his head toward me as though I’d whisper a secret to him, but of course, I wouldn’t. I never had, and I wasn’t about to start.

James stopped and plucked at something in my hair. “What is this? More paint?” His voice held a laugh, and the gleam in his eye suggested if I’d give the word, he’d release his laughter so it carried us both away. For a moment I let myself think how lovely that would be. How wonderful it would be to go back to the Desi I was before. The oblivious girl with no hope, no taste of what it meant to love. To be loved.

Careless and sinful. Free and unburdened by anything resembling honor, nobility or goodness.

“Here, let me get the rest,” James said, placing his body in front of mine and walking me back against the wall.

For a second, I’d been tempted to let myself go. Let myself believe the impossible.

That I was just a normal girl.

That I knew nothing of Lucifer or Akaros.

There were no angels or demons.

No Shadows or Halos.

No right or wrong.

Only a boy and a girl. Two bodies. Two wants fulfilled.

But want no longer defined me—or, if it did, it had taken on a new meaning. I didn’t want meaningless encounters with James.

I wanted love.

I wanted Michael.

I breathed the old Desi in.

And then I let her go.

“James.”

“I love Miri,” he blurted. I forced my eyes to focus. While I’d been debating my own choices, James had made his own. He loved Miri. Whatever game we’d been playing, we both knew the stakes were too high for us to pretend anymore. There were people we loved. And that demanded things of us.

The time for indecision had passed.

James stepped back, taking stock of the change in my demeanor with a look of . . . what? Curiosity? Relief? Respect.

I smiled at that last one. James, I realized, was much like Lucy—a simple sinner who only lived in the now, the moment of satisfaction. There was no want, no greed. Only now.

“I have to go,” I said, pushing past him, but sparing him a small smile I hoped he’d take for gratitude. Because I was grateful—for the perspective James’ simplicity gave me. I could be the same as I ever was, or I could be something more.

Though he’d never comprehend it, James—and Lucy—had given me that gift.

James followed me to the kitchen, where he grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter, and I picked a random set of keys from among the vast collection hanging on the wall beside the garage door.

“Where are you going, princess? It’s after midnight.”

Palming the keys I turned to look at him.

“I’ve still got some walls to paint.” I smiled, letting the warmth reach my eyes, letting James know . . . something. Just that he was something to me, because I think I meant something to him.

But right then, there was someone else I needed to see. Someone who’d waited a thousand lifetimes for me—someone I hadn’t Remembered at all, until now.

I took a sleek silver Mercedes. I even put on my Fave Mellow soundtrack.

For just these few minutes as I drove from Daniel’s home to St. Mary’s, I wanted to pretend. I was just Desi Black. Normal girl.

I forced all the thoughts that told me otherwise out of my mind.

Instead I turned up the volume and sang out with all my heart.

I didn’t know how I knew, but things were going to change. I could see the spire at the top of St. Mary’s cathedral and in less than five minutes, I’d be there. Here—where I was inside at that very moment—would never exist again.

I parked in the student parking lot and finished the song before killing the engine. I’d speak to The Hallowed, learn what they wanted me to do.

The hopeful words of the song sounded too good to be true, but for once I’d try to consider the good I might do, instead of how I might just survive. I’d spent my whole life knowing I didn’t want to be like my father, never considering I could really be anything but.

When the song ended, I breathed a long sigh of release. I stepped from the car, closed the door and locked it. For a minute, I stared at the back of the cathedral before leaning into the stormy wind. The air smelled like rain, the distant rumble of thunder an echo of my own heartbeat. I made a beeline for the light shining over a door well on the other side of the cemetery.

When I fixed my gaze on the doorway I saw Michael standing there. His Halo flared, golden and oh-so-beautiful, and he raised his hand in greeting. Despite the sliver of fear I felt, I smiled at the sight of him, and walked a little faster.

As I walked, I Remembered.

My hand in his.

His lips against my ear while he whispers how I am his greatest treasure.

The taste of his lips on mine, like honey and oranges, sweet and tart.

The whisper of drawn steel pressed my feet into a run even while I Remembered the War and how much I’d feared for him.

Except we were no longer in Asgard. Here, another war raged, though not so different from the first.

I stopped, only halfway across the cemetery.

Michael no longer looked as he had—he’d shed his human form and embraced his spirit, a warrior of Asgard—an angel. He shone with glory in the dark night. But he wasn’t shining for me.

Slowly I dragged my gaze from him to the darkness that pressed all around me. This was no ordinary night. This darkness lived and breathed.

As I embraced it, I saw the night heaved with steel as well.

I felt the cold—the unearthly cold that only meant one thing. Demons.

I should have known sooner. I should have known right away. But now I saw they were everywhere, behind, beside, even in front of me. They pressed on all sides, materializing from the shadows of tombstones and doorways.

Their silence spoke louder than any battle cry.

These were no ordinary Shadows. No ordinary demons. Not even an ordinary kind of evil.

These were Akaros’ pets—a breed of man that achieved a particularly nasty evil in their lifetimes and only grew stronger when joined with Akaros in Hell. They were his Spartans, even more dangerous now than they ever were in their blood-thirsty mortal lives.

The demon to my right raised his blade and moonlight glinted on the steely edge of his eyes. When they met mine, his lips curved into a hungry smile.

My mind wanted to scream in fear—how had I not known they were here? How could I have missed it?

Instead I tried to remember that Akaros may be the father of the Spartans, but he had also tutored me. And while I’d never beaten him, I’d always fought hard. And I’d do no less now.

Michael roared in defiance and the sound unfroze the blood in my veins. I moved. For a second I flashed to an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when she had a bunch of vamps coming at her—I laughed out loud, startling the Spartan in front of me as well as myself. What was it they said about life imitating art? Buffy had nothing on me. I raised my eyes to the sky and made Michael’s scream my own. And I lunged into action.

A soldier came at me, only the glint of his blade warning me of its descent. I stepped forward and raised my left arm to block the blow while I swiveled until my back was against my attacker’s chest. As I turned, I grasped his wrist, pulling his arm around the front of my body. I threw him over my shoulder and when he landed with a thud, I reached for his sword.

And caught a fist to my stomach.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I know better than to watch the weapon, when I should be watching the man.

I fell hard onto my back. I coughed and choked—it was impossible to breathe. How could I be down already? My eyes stung, but giving up was not an option.

A hard kick to my side sent me sprawling a few feet across the lawn. I rolled down a slight slope which I used to my advantage. It bought me a few seconds to get my head in the game.

On my hands and knees I braced myself for another kick coming my way.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the man. Before his sandaled foot made contact with my stomach. I reached out and grabbed his ankle with both hands, twisting it hard to the left. The soldier screamed in defiance as his whole body lifted into the air. He fell to the ground, his ankle broken, but it didn’t faze him. He stood, balancing his weight effortlessly on one foot. That’s the problem with these Spartans, they might be wearing fancy little skirts and breastplates, but they were no pansies.

Another man was only seconds behind him and when he saw what I’d done to his companion, he sneered. He pulled the belt from around his waist. While he approached I stood and assumed a guarding stance. He’d wrapped the belt around his fist several times—so he intended to deliver some heavy blows. I watched how he walked, where he put his weight, and by the time he reached me, I knew exactly how to take him down.

That guy was all about brute force. But I was fast, agile; he’d never hit me. And I was so much stronger than him.

Again and again he swung at me, while I ducked and rolled out of the way. I faked a twisted ankle and bent over to fuss with it while he came barreling down on me once more. His face took on a look of triumph—I knew he could practically taste the victory, feel my bone breaking beneath his fists. He threw everything he had into that single punch, but I jabbed up, hitting him squarely in the sternum. His feet left the ground and he landed in a somersault on the ground three feet behind me. The wind had been knocked out of him, but it wasn’t enough to stop him, not with the endurance and strength of Hell fuelling him.

Before he could get up I spun and threw myself into the air, rotating three quarters around until I landed on the guy, one knee on his chest, and a fist planted squarely on his temple. He lost consciousness immediately.

I lunged to my feet and took note of the guy with the broken ankle. It had barely slowed him down. He adjusted his breastplate, lowered his chin and swung his short blade once, twice, three times. I could hear the whoosh as it cut through the air.

But he kept looking from me to the man on the ground and he didn’t seem as confident as he had before.

I jumped into the air, landing a spinning hook kick on his head and knocking him out. Just as my feet hit the ground, I heard a wild, animal-like scream, echoed by an intense crack of lightning and the tumultuous boom of thunder. I turned, anticipating my next attacker, but Akaros’ endless training kicked in and I returned to the unconscious man in a heap behind me.

With my foot I pushed him over and grabbed the short blade from his hand then dashed toward the crypt, toward the sound of the fierce cry echoing through the air—Michael’s cry.

Running for him, I sped past a trio of towering stone angels before I stumbled into a clearing, pulling up short as the scene came into view.

A Spartan, his blade raised high, leapt into the air, poised to strike as Michael stood, breathing hard, his fists balled in front of him, his chin down.

Move, I wanted to scream. Move! And maybe I did scream it.

Or maybe the words remained as frozen as my body.

In the air, the Spartan began the downward arc of his blow—a killing one, for sure.

And then I saw:

Michael’s wings

golden and glorious

spread wide behind him

framing him

in an arc of golden light.