“Don’t talk to her,” Marco says.
Damien shoves him aside. “She’s mine. I’ll do what I want with her.” He strides across the room, leaving Henry slumped in his chair. Marco stares at the old man, everything in him screaming out, wanting justice and wondering if justice was just served.
Liv backs away as Damien approaches, her calves striking the coffee table behind her. But Damien turns, cutting between the couch and the desk. He’s heading for the door.
“Why are you here?” Marco asks.
“I came for her,” Damien says, his back to them. “But there was a Shield nearby.”
“Canaan,” Liv whispers.
“So I waited.”
“Chicken,” Marco says.
“Oh, Canaan will get his. Don’t you worry about that. But speaking of cowardice, I find it ironic that this thing”—he turns around, the halo clenched in his fist—“frightens you, Olivia.”
“It speaks to me,” she says, pressing a hand to the soft spot between her ribs. “I . . . I feel the words. Here.”
A low growl rumbles from Damien’s chest. “And what does it say to you?”
“Liv,” Marco says, “you don’t have to talk to him.”
Damien disappears from his spot by the door and reappears in front of Marco. He grabs Marco’s shirt and lifts him off the ground. He doesn’t even have time to flail. Two steps and Damien’s pressing him against the mantle, a knife pressed to his throat.
“I have no use for you,” Damien rumbles.
Marco tries to find the ground with his toes. “But you won’t kill me,” he says. “You can’t.”
“And what makes you think that?”
The air is thin, his windpipe collapsing with Damien’s weight. “He showed me.”
Damien shoves him higher, the knife scratching, drawing blood. “Who showed you?”
“God,” Marco gasps. “He showed me.”
Damien pulls the knife back, its blade aimed at Marco’s heart. “Showed you what?”
But Marco can’t breathe, much less speak.
“He showed you what?” Damien yells, spit flying.
“The future. And I’m there. I have one. So you can’t”—Marco gasps and gasps—“I know you can’t.”
Damien falters, his knife hand dropping maybe a millimeter. Marco’s vision is sketchy, spots starting to form, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Liv grab the poker off the fireplace and
swing it at Damien. It hits the demon’s abdomen, but all it seems to do is shake him from his lapse. He raises the knife as Liv swings again. She’s aiming for his knee this time, but Damien’s fast, and the makeshift weapon is kicked away before it does any damage.
Damien howls. The knife drops from his hand, disappearing before it hits the ground.
Damien releases Marco and spins around.
Helene is there, holding his knife. She’s not smiling, not really.
“It’s always the little ones,” Damien growls.
“New knife?” she asks him, turning the weapon in her hand.
“Same knife, new victim,” he answers.
“You entered Stratus?” she says, incredulous. “With the Sabres there? With Michael’s forces engaged?”
He taps his temple. “New eyes, remember.”
“It seems they’ve made you stupid.”
“I prefer
fearless
.”
“I’m sure you do.”
He swings at her, but she steps to the side and jabs at him with the knife, nicking his knuckles.
“I’m faster than you in this realm as well,” she says.
“You weren’t faster than me last time.”
“I made a mistake last time,” she says. “Today I have reinforcements. See for yourself.”
He looks doubtful but vanishes.
Liv crawls to Marco’s side. She tips his chin and presses a silk handkerchief to the slice across his neck.
And then Damien’s back. “Why bring reinforcements if they’re going to remain at a distance?”
“Because you won’t be destroyed by a blade of light. Not tonight.”
He steps closer. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re going to leave. You did what you came to do. You finished off Henry. Now go.”
“You let me kill him?”
“My hand was stayed.” There’s sadness in her tone, but no regret. “Now go.”
Marco watches as Damien slides the halo into his pocket. Liv’s halo. It’s hers now. And Damien doesn’t get to take anything else from her. He lurches forward in protest, his voice box bruised, refusing to cooperate. Liv grabs his arm and pulls him back.
“Let him,” she says. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes,” Damien growls. “Let me.” He rounds on Marco, but Helene’s fast, moving in a blur, cutting him off.
And then the room explodes in light and color. And heat. Marco blinks and blinks, but the colors won’t stop moving. He gasps, chokes, inhaling air and fire. Somehow he is yanked to his feet. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, his eyes stream tears, and Liv is pressed next to him, her screams deafening.
“Peace, peace.” It’s Helene. He can hear her, but he can’t see her. And he can’t move.
“Where are you?” he cries.
“Closer than you can imagine.”
“And Damien?”
“You’re safe. We have him surrounded.”
But the room is empty. And so, so bright.
“Where?” Marco asks.
“I’ll show you,” she says. Is her voice in his head? And then air presses against them and his feet lift off the ground. His peripheral vision catches white flashes against a red sky and he turns his head, first left and then right.
Wings. Moving up and down, lifting them off the ground.
TI’m not sure aid=" for ahey’re flying!
“You’re carrying us.” He turns to Liv, sees her golden face, her glowing eyes. “She’s carrying us,” he says.
Liv is quiet now, small black beads breaking out across her forehead. He watches as they dissolve in the heat. “There,” she says, tilting her head to the sky. “Look.”
Marco obeys and catches his first glimpse of Helene’s angelic face. So bright, so beautiful. She’s looking upward as well. Past her chin, he sees what Liv’s pointing at.
It has to be Damien, but he’s never seen anything so ugly, so vicious.
“He really is a demon,” Marco says.
“Did you doubt it?” Liv asks.
“No, but seeing makes it hard to deny.”
Helene rights them, the demon twenty, thirty feet away. And she’s right. They have him surrounded. Gigantic armed angels encircle him. They’re easily one and half times his size, but they keep their distance. Helene takes her place among them.
Damien flies in a circle now, snarls vibrating from his lips.
“You can’t touch me tonight,” he says. By the look on the faces of the angels gathered, Marco’s not the only one hearing Damien’s voice in his head. He watches as Damien draws a sword from the sheath at his waist, something like dry ice spilling from the blade. He shakes it at the angels positioned around him. “The little one told me. You’ve not been granted my destruction.”
His lips spread wide, and a celebratory kind of cry escapes. The angels remain where they are, their massive wings holding their circle in place. He flies higher, but the angels rise with
him, keeping Damien at their center. A raging cry rips from his chest and he lashes out, flying toward an angel on Marco’s right. He swings his weapon, the white angel drawing his. Sparks fly, smoke hissing as the swords collide. Damien swings again and again, trying to wound, trying to maim, but the angel only blocks his blows.
Damien moves to the next angel, striking, striking, absorbing the vibrations of the Warrior’s sword, but doing no damage.
“Why aren’t they fighting?” Liv says.
“Because they don’t have to.” Helene’s voice is steady, certain.
“But they’re stronger than he is.” Liv’s words tremble. “They could destroy him.”
“Watch.”
When Damien gets to Helene, she draws her sword, but the angels on either side of her close in, drawing theirs, blocking Damien’s access to her. To Liv and him.
“Is that all I& betterowpD; had to do to get your attention? Approach the humans?”
Marco watches between the heaving wings of the angels before him.
“I said, is that all I had to do?”
But they remain silent, something that seems to enrage Damien. He shakes, spit and fog spewing from his mouth. He’s close now, a slick, black tar slipping and sliding over his warped, muscled body. The thick talons of one hand wrap around his sword, the halo clenched in his other fist.
And then next to Marco, Liv speaks. “Are you scared, Damien?”
Her question takes Marco off guard. But it’s not just the question itself, it’s the tone. Damien seems surprised that
she’s addressed him as well. But he answers, swinging his sword wide.
“Of these? Never.”
“Of the halo,” she says.
Damien smirks, holds it out. “Am I scared of this? This trinket that gave one healing powers, another sight, and your boyfriend here nightmares? No, doll. I am not scared of something that can only give what I already have.”
“I think you are,” she says, holding his gaze. “I would be.”
He leans as close as the angelic guardians will allow. “You’re human.”
Her hand finds her chest. “I can hear it, Damien, and it’s talking to you.”
He scoffs. “It’s not—” But he stops midsentence.
“You can’t feel regret, can you?” she asks. “You can’t feel what you’ve done to me, to any of us. I feel every mistake I’ve ever made. But not you. You feel nothing but rage.”
“Stop talking,” Damien says, but his eyes jump from the halo to Liv and back again, and Marco’s not convinced he’s speaking to her.
Liv’s eyes are glued to the halo, as though she can see the words it whispers. “He offered you forgiveness, but you walked away from it. And He still shows you mercy.” She pauses, confusion in the swirling colors of her face. “Without hope of forgiveness, remorse is the worst kind of torture. It’s a kindness that you can’t fKIL">And then
T
he flight from Olivia’s place is short. So much shorter than I anticipated. When Canaan starts his descent, I haven’t had near enough time to sort out everything we just learned. So many new puzzle pieces and not nearly enough time to put them together. I turn to Jake now, but his eyes are on the building below.
“Where are we, Canaan?” I ask.
“Good Samaritan Hospital,” he says, his voice quiet in my head.
My heart bounces in my chest. “Regina?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, Brielle. She didn’t make it.”
I’m aware of a lot of things after that—Jake taking my hand, whispering prayers in my ears; the raindrops sparkling like psychedelic art as they fall to the ground; Canaan’s wings slowing as we dip through the roof of the hospital—but I think I stop feeling altogether. There’s just too much to think. Too much to understand. Too many questions that will never have answers. I’m a sponge that’s reached capacity, and I sink into the absolute numbness of the moment.
And then Canaan sets us down in an empty elevator and releases us from his wings. He pushes the number three, and the elevator jolts into motion.
“Have you . . . ,” I start. “Did you try . . .”
“I tried,” Canaan says. “But my hand was stayed.”
“What about Jake? Can Jake . . .”
“That’s why we’re here,” Canaan says, his voice gentle.
The elevator doors open onto a hallway that may have once been beige but is now black and morbid. Fear crawls like a thousand fingers down the walls and across the ceiling. It drips to the floor and oozes toward us. Still, we step out. We walk toward it. Canaan goes before us, Jake’s hand in mine. The fear parts for Canaan, and we stay close. He rounds one corner and then another before turning back to us.
“Her room’s just ahead. Across from the nurses’ station. I’ll be right here.”
Ahrough the air
“Thank you for coming,” she says.
Jake places his hand on my back, and I remember why we’re here.
“Mrs. Glascoe, may I see Regina?” I ask. “Would that be okay?”
She mops at her face with a tattered Kleenex. “Of course,” she says. “Of course.”
The family parts for us, a lot like the fear did for Canaan. I keep close to Jake, close to his warmth. I don’t seem to have any of my own left.
And there she is.
Regina.
The sheet’s been tucked around her small body, but her face is clear, her eyes shut, her hands crossed gently on her stomach. There are still bandages on her head, her jet-black hair spilling over them, over the crisp, white pillow.
We step to her side and I pray. As hard as I can.
There’s a chair next to her hospital bed, and Jake sits. He’s trying to get closer, trying to figure out how to lay a hand on her without it being weird. Sitting on his knee, I take his hand. After a moment, I lean forward and lay our knotted fingers on Regina’s open palm.