She tucks them close and falls away, her voice ringing in Jake’s head.
“Behind you.”
Jake’s stomach is in his mouth as they tumble after her. Canaan collapses his large outer wings, covering Jake’s body and erasing the world from sight. His stomach tells him they’re
cartwheeling through the sky, but he sees the underside of Canaan’s wings. Nothing more.
And then with a jolt that vibrates through his bones, Canaan’s outer wings slam open to reveal a set of snapping fangs. Jake tries to backpedal, but he’s immovable against Canaan’s chest. Fangs flash and talons reach, but before they can find purchase, Jake is lifted up and away as Canaan soars over the demon’s head.
The demon turns, but he’s not nearly fast enough. With a flash of white light, Canaan draws his sword and drags it down the demon, separating the fallen one in two.
Ash fills the air as the demon is reduced to sparking embers.
Canaan turns toward Jelly’s once again.
Hang on, Elle,
Jake thinks.
We’re almost there.
But the thought shatters like a tray of dropped ice. The roof of Jelly’s is graced with two demons, their scimitars drawn and smoking in the hot celestial air. The larger of the two has a hand clamped around the neon tubing of the jelly jar. The other hunches below on the roof, his wings hanging at his sides, black and tattered. Canaan doesn’t slow, and Jake presses against him, nearly climbing up his chest to be free of danger. Scripture leaps from his tongue.
“He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield.”
The two demons lunge at once, and Canaan swipes in a wide arc. His sword catches the wing joint of the smaller demon, and he spins, trying to regain control. The larger one loses half a leg. Sulfur spews into the atmosphere, stinging Jake’s nostrils and sending tears streaming down his cheeks.
Both demons mount a second attack. The one with the broken wing is gimpy, flying lopsided and angry, but he presses
closer as Canaan focuses on his companion. Jake’s hands ball into fists and he prays harder.
A black smear speeds into his vision.
Pearla!
But she’s so small. No weapon. Two delicate wings.
What is she doing?
She dives between the demons and Canaan. Her presence seems to confuse the Fallen, and they pull up.
They think she’s one of theirs!
The larger of the two tilts his head, ape-like, and lowers his sword. It’s just a momentary lapse, but it’s all the time Canaan needs. He shoots forward, grabbing the demon’s lowered scimitar in his left hand and shoving it upward. With his right hand, Canaan swings his own sword wide. Simultaneously, the demons are sliced through—one through the chest, the smaller one losing his head. Their forms hiss and smoke, but Canaan’s past them already, leaving Jelly’s and Main Street behind.
D
amien’s here, isn’t he?” Kaylee is huddled behind me, her breath ragged. “He did that to your dad.”
I nod. Afraid to do more than that. My fingers find the quilt on the couch, and I tug it toward me. It’s still wet with the blood from Dad’s head, but I find a clean corner and press it to his shoulder. He remains still. Deathly still.
My hands tremble.
“What do you want?” I whisper to the demon hanging over me.
I hate that my voice sounds subservient, hate that he’s reduced me to that. I hate his voice in my head and the simple answer he gives me.
“I want you. I want Jake.”
His chest is slick with fear. I’ve never noticed how thick it is on him. Is everything he does motivated by it?
I look at my dad’s face, white and clammy, hear Kaylee’s stifled cries, and I wonder what Damien sees when he looks at me. I wonder if the fear is just as thick on my skin as it is on his.
I’m afraid, but my soul is safe.
“I don’t know where Jake is,” I say. “But take me. Leave my dad and Kaylee. Leave them alone and take me.”
For a second I think he considers the option. Am I worth that much? And is this how I die? Maybe that’s why the ring disappeared from the chest. Maybe I won’t be alive to wear it.
But then his wings snap, all irritation and resolve.
“It may come to that, but not yet.”
“Not ever.”
I spin toward the kitchen, and there he stands.
Canaan, in all his celestial glory. Jake is there too, his face anxious, fear like pinpricks along his arms and neck.
“Elle?” Kaylee’s voice reminds me that she can’t see any of this. That her emotions are surfing on every move of my head, on every twitch of my face.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Canaan’s here. And Jake.”
She turns toward the kitchen, to the spot I stare at hungrily.
“I can’t . . . can’t see them.”
“I know, but I can.”
Jake presses against Canaan’s inner wings, his eyes as hot as ever, and I can’t help thinking of the first time I saw him. Of the chill that held me captive the day I caught him staring at me through Miss Macy’s window.
“Keith’s hurt, Canaan,” Jake says.
Canaan draws his sword. Behind me, Damien rises to his full height, the talons on his feet digging into the arms of Dad’s chair. He draws his own sword. And then something I really should have anticipated: he grabs the back of my shirt and lifts me into the chair before him. His massive arm circles my waist, and I feel the fear creep from his arms to my stomach. It burrows inside, turning my gut into a lake of frozen ice.
“Elle . . .” Kaylee’s sobbing now, shaking and staring at me. “Elle.”
From behind Canaan, a ball of frenetic black energy appears. Another demon? But no, her eyes shine bright and pure. It’s an angel! A very small, very dark angel. Silky wings propel her forward, and she lands on Damien’s chest. Her wings flap hard and fast, and I’m reminded of the time I came face-to-face with a confused bat while rock climbing.
She seems to have the same effect on Damien. He releases my waist, his hands flying high to fight the onslaught. The flat edge of his sword connects with her abdomen, and he swats her away. But it’s too late; I’ve tumbled to the floor now. I land on Dad’s shins and quickly push away, crawling as fast as humanly possible. I grab Kaylee’s hand and drag her with me behind Canaan’s legs, where we huddle beneath his outer wings.
Canaan’s mind speaks to Damien’s. “Your sight has been restored.”
“By the Prince himself.” Damien lifts his chin, puffs out his broad chest, but Canaan’s face shows only sorrow.
“The Prince’s hands no longer possess a healing that can last, old friend. I do hope you know that.”
Damien’s face contorts, and he lunges. And then I feel the hot wind of the Celestial blowing against my back. In one swift motion, Canaan pushes off from the ground and swats at Damien with his sword. Damien blocks the blow, but it takes the strength of both his hands to hold his blade steady. He shoves back, but Canaan seems to be the stronger of the two. Canaan realizes this too and opens his inner wings, releasing Jake. He tumbles to the ground next to me, sending Kaylee into a fit of startled shrieks.
But her voice is quickly drowned out by the sound tearing from Damien’s lips. Like a hawk going in for the kill, he cries out, his eyes on me. I want to hide, but I can’t look away. Canaan smacks him in the face with the hilt of his sword, and Damien’s cry turns brutal. His wings pull him backward, putting distance between the two of them. He lifts his scimitar high and then . . .
And then they disappear from sight.
My chest rises and falls, my eyes open and shut, again and again. But they’re gone. The Celestial is gone. I’m both relieved and terrified.
Jake moves away, toward Dad. He removes the quilt that hangs like a veil over Dad’s face. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause to consider the consequences, he just presses both hands to the wound. I crawl on my hands and knees until I’m next to him. Dad looks . . . well, he looks awful. His hair is matted to his head, a dirty mess of sweat and blood. I push a clumpy strand out of his eyes.
“Are they gone?” Kaylee asks.
“For now.” I grab her hand and pull her toward me.
“Is he . . .” But Kaylee’s voice catches and she can’t even finish the thought.
“He’ll be okay,” Jake says. “He’s just lost some blood is all.”
I have complete confidence in Jake’s healing ability. What I don’t have is an assurance that Dad won’t murder Jake the minute he wakes.
“I told him, Jake. I told him about Canaan.”
Jake looks at me, his face inscrutable. “How did he take it?”
“I don’t really know. Damien’s talon interrupted things.”
“It’s better that he knows,” Kaylee says. “Way better. His head was super messed up about this whole thing. About your mom.
Thinking Canaan had something to do with her disappearance. You had to tell him, Elle.”
Jake bumps Kaylee with his shoulder. “Looks like this one knows too.”
“No choice,” I say, smiling at her. “She was here when Damien showed up. And Helene.”
Helene! This is the first free moment I’ve had to consider her.
Kaylee seems to be thinking the same thing. “Do we know what happened to her?”
I shake my head.
“Don’t worry about Helene,” Jake says. “She’s immortal. If she’s hurt, she’ll heal.”
His hands are occupied, but I take his face in mine and I kiss him. Hard. It’s awkward, with his hands still on Dad’s shoulder, but he’s warm and he’s close, and I kiss him again.
“Oh, come on! Demons
and
make-out sessions? Unless you’re getting
me
one of these,” Kaylee says, gesturing to Jake, “save it for later.”
“Fair enough,” Jake says, blushing.
“Speak for yourself,” I say, and press my lips to his once more.
“Barf,” Kay says.
“Yeah, barf.” It’s Dad.
We jerk apart, but it’s too late. His eyes are open, his mouth set in a frown.
“Sorry, Dad. I just . . .”
But he’s moving his shoulder now. Jake’s hands fall away, and Dad rotates his arm. He winces, pressing his fingers to the spot Damien’s talon punctured.
“I’m not sure if it’s done, sir,” Jake says.
“Feels a heck of a lot better than it did before.” He looks at
Jake. I know that look. It’s the same one he gets when he’s trying to decide if he’s going to eat his dinner steak rare, or bloody and mooing. “What did you do?”
Jake swallows. Audibly. “My hands can . . . God uses my hands to heal. Sometimes.”
And just like that, Dad lets out a sob. Loud and awkward. He sniffs and jams his fist into his eyes, one at a time.
“Thought you said Canaan was the angel.”
Jake is quick to speak. “I’m not an angel, sir.”
“No?” Dad barks. “Then what are you?”
I slide my hand into Jake’s. It’s wet with Dad’s blood, but it’s warm. I squeeze, hoping to convey something encouraging.
“I’m human, sir. Like you. I just have a gift.”
“And Hannah, my wife, is that what happened to her? Did she have a gift? Is that why they took her?”
With celestial eyes I see the waters of misery break over my dad. Murky and cold, they run from his scalp down his chest, puddling into the carpet around him. I didn’t know my lungs could stretch so tight. Didn’t know they could survive the weight of so much emotion. Of so much sadness.
“I wish I knew,” Jake says. “I wish I had answers for you.”
Dad blows out a puff of air, grumbling, cursing under his breath.
“Dad, I told you. Canaan and Jake don’t know anything about Mom.”
Dad rolls his shoulder again, his expression the fuming side of doubtful. I’m readying myself for an angry outburst, for a barrage of questions, when the room fills with music. Louder than I’ve ever heard it. It’s everywhere. It’s between us and under us. It dances around us. I see the tendrils of incense swirling about,
see it wrap Kaylee and Dad tight, see them both gasp and blink and turn their heads left and right.
“Okay,” Kaylee says. “I hear
that
.”
“They both do,” Jake says, mesmerized. “They both hear it.”
And then from outside, Canaan calls.
“Jake! Brielle!” His voice is strained, desperate, and Jake pulls me to my feet.
Dad tries to stand, but he’s still weak.
“Don’t even think about it, Dad. You’re hurt.”
Dad’s face is purple with the strain of trying to stand, but he’s still stubborn. “You telling me what to do, baby?”
“Yes, I am.” I shove him down, taking no satisfaction in watching him wince. “Kay, stay with him, please. Keep him here.”
The last thing in the world I need is Dad getting attacked again.
She nods and Dad protests, but Jake’s pulling me with him, and I turn my focus away. We run hand in hand out the front door and into the field and then we’re standing next to Canaan, the three of us staring into the apple orchard behind the house.
“What
is
that?”
“Is that . . . ?”
“Do you . . . ?”
“How . . . ?”
Jake and I start to formulate questions, but our lips won’t finish them. The orchard is on fire, but it’s not burning. The trees, the mangled overgrown shrubs, the weeds protruding everywhere—it’s all a bright red. Not the frightening bloodred of violence, not that terrifying crimson shade, but dazzling, luminous.
The music continues to swell, piping louder and louder.
Violins and pianos. And voices, so many voices. Flutes and the deep swell of a bass. And I
see
the music. See it with celestial eyes, just as I saw it in the house. Curling ribbons of worship in color after color, wrapping the orchard and then rising above it higher and higher until it disappears into the army of death above.
The blood racing through my veins turns hot with desire. I want to touch it, to be part of whatever is making the orchard flame. I want to be inside those trees, inside that life.
I release Jake’s hand and I run, flying through the grass, dropping down onto the orchard floor. I shove aside branches, needing to find the source. My hair catches on a limb, but I press forward, ignoring the pain tearing at my scalp. The fragrance of worship surrounds me: flowers and fruit, salty sunlight and the smell of Gram’s front yard. It’s all so familiar, so achingly familiar.