Eternity (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

After our parents and their phalanx of angels dispersed, Michael and I realized that we had one spare hour before the dawn. One hour before we assumed the facade of normal teenagers for one last day. One hour before the end-days battle loomed on every corner. One hour to be alone.

“Ransom Beach,” he whispered in my ear as we left the town green.

Clasping his hand tightly in mine, we lifted off without a word. We whipped by the recognizable markers—the vast stretch of the tide, the steep coastal cliffs, the craggy stones bordering the shore. They acted as a pathway to our sacred place. The place where Michael first showed me he could fly. The place where we revealed our true selves to each other—angel and human.

We lowered ourselves down on the cliff overlooking the beach and ocean. The air smelled of brine. There was no whiff of sun-baked sand, the remnants of which we’d detected on our last visit. No mournful cry of seagulls sounded. Winter had already laid claim to this isolated, rough stretch of cove and sea.

Michael and I linked hands. Together, we walked to the very edge of the precipitous cliff face for which Ransom Beach was known. Then we dove. Like we had done forever ago.

Funny how small the cliff seemed after our nights spent in the dizzying vertical world of Rafe’s design. We touched down softly on the rocky sand, and then instinctively headed to the protective arms of the cliff’s baseline boulders where we’d spent many evenings.

There, we embraced. We just stood there and hugged.

“We’ve wasted so much time separated from each other. Separated in spirit, I mean,” I whispered.

“I know, Ellie. And I’m not sure why.”

“Me neither.”

Michael’s voice became gravelly as he said, “Then let’s not waste a single second more.”

Slowly, Michael ran his hands up and down my arms, then through my hair. Staring into my eyes, he traced his finger along my chin, cheeks, and lips. Finally, he leaned toward me and brushed his full lips against mine. The gentle motion sent shivers up my spine, and I wanted more.

I kissed him hard. Immediately, his mouth grew eager, parting my lips ever so slightly and running his tongue along mine. My breath labored as I realized what was coming. We no longer had any reason to hold back.

I touched his tongue with my own. Then I ran my tongue along his teeth, while he did the same. Our blood mingled, and a familiar warmth bathed me. It drew me closer and closer to him, in body and spirit. With my hands lost in his hair and my mouth locked on his, the warmth transformed into a blinding light. The light of a vision.

In my mind’s eye, the light softened enough that I could discern the setting. We were walking along a beach. It reminded me of Ransom Beach, except that the sand was soft and white, and waves lapped at the shore rather than crashing as they usually did. Michael and I were holding hands, and bright letters were emblazoned on our chests. Letters from another language.

Nothing like this had ever happened in real life. It looked more like my dreams. Was it some flash of the future?

Without warning, the light darkened, and the scene changed. I saw jarring images from Michael’s mind, more like the disjointed flashes I got from touching people. I watched as Michael huddled with his football coach after the recent victory. I couldn’t see Coach Samuel’s face, but I heard his voice lavishing praise on Michael and describing him as a gifted hero to everyone on the team and in the community. He described the heights to which Michael could soar, on the football field and beyond. Michael lapped up the tributes like a puppy. And like a puppy, Michael could think of little else but that attention.

After the flash of Michael and his coach faded, I felt something unusual, almost like images were being extracted from my mind. Scenes started to pour out—snippets of my first meeting with Rafe in the Tillinghast gymnasium, a picture of Rafe and me laughing while we solicited donations from the townspeople for the benefit, the moment when Rafe first revealed his angelic nature to me, and the night when Rafe appeared at my bedroom window and flew away with me.

Abruptly, the flash stopped, and Michael and I pulled apart from each other. How had those images been transported to Michael? I hadn’t been thinking about them when Michael and I shared blood. Had someone else removed them intentionally? Had Michael learned to do that from Rafe? Had he figured out how to do that on his own?

Michael and I stared into each other’s eyes. Anger passed across his face. Hurriedly, I started to offer excuses, explanations for the flashes he’d obviously seen. He opened his mouth, and suddenly I felt something on my back.

The first blow.

Chapter Thirty

Michael and I had forgotten Rafe’s very first rule: never, ever let your guard down.

I spun around to face the attacker. A fallen angel—golden curls framing his chiseled features and wearing an improbably gorgeous shearling jacket to ward off the cold night air—stood before me. He didn’t move or speak, and it dawned on me that his beauty alone would probably influence most humans. Without taking my eyes off him, I stepped back slowly to see if Michael could help.

Michael was busy. Another fallen—one with short brown hair atop an angular, attractive face—hovered behind him. It was every man for himself.

Fear started to take hold. I’d grown in self-assurance since we started training, but even so, I wasn’t sure I could do this on my own. Even Rafe had his doubts about my fighting abilities; that was why he constantly admonished Michael to stay by my side. That wasn’t an option right now. Maybe that was why these particular fallen chose the divide-and-conquer approach.

I knew that I couldn’t allow fear to paralyze me. All would be lost. Purposefully, I evoked Rafe’s words about Him choosing me—almost like a mantra—and I took to the skies.

Rafe had advised me to conduct our battle in the heavens, so I soared directly upward. As I passed through the thick stratus cloud layer into the puffier cumulus layer, I did not turn back to see if the fallen pursued me. I knew he had.

In my peripheral vision, I saw that Michael followed Rafe’s advice too. Or perhaps he was simply heading in the direction he knew that I’d have to go. I watched as Michael’s natural speed allowed him to climb higher and higher, his pursuer in close chase. Michael swooped and turned and pivoted through the sky with such ability that the fallen could not keep pace. I imitated Michael’s patterns as best I could, and even though I couldn’t match Michael’s speed or his aerial maneuvers, the fallen angel tracking me lagged behind as well.

I knew that evasion could only work for so long. As did Michael. We both needed to get closer to the supernatural creatures. We needed to draw their blood. I racked my brain for an applicable strategy from Rafe’s tutorials, without success.

I didn’t even have a weapon. Rafe’s impressive lineup of armaments certainly wasn’t floating around in the sky over Ransom Beach.

Then I remembered what I had in my pocket. A game plan came to me. It would require that I put all my practice at playacting to good use. Maybe that was what Rafe meant as one of my human advantages?

Cloud by cloud, I slowed my pace, almost imperceptibly at first. I wanted the fallen to think I was still flying flat out. Feigning fatigue, I permitted the blond angel to catch up with me. I then allowed him to grasp my wrist with his cold, ethereal hand. Locked together, we hovered in the air.

Pretending to wrench my wrist free, I actually let him come within inches of my face. I believed that, in such close proximity, the creature would be tempted to use his persuasive powers. He craved my support, after all. The fallen did not disappoint.

“Ellspeth, I am Barakel. I have waited so long for you to join me. Together, we can stop the downward spiral of financial destitution that has gripped this world and that will continue to pull this world into abject poverty if we don’t halt it. Together, we can create a world in which money will no longer matter. Together, we can fashion an earth where there will be no more physical wants, no more physical needs, only the luxury to pursue your dreams.”

This time, I would not be lured in by false promises, as I’d almost been with Kael.

His long, elegant fingers caressed the palm of my hand, and I noticed that his own wrist was encased in a heavy, gold Cartier watch. Clearly, Barakel already had the financial luxury to pursue his dreams. After all, he was Barakel, the Dark Fallen in charge of the fourth seal of economic depression. He had no intention of sparing humankind a single second of destitution; instead, he meant to inflict it.

His voice then took on that lulling, singsong quality I’d heard from Ezekiel and Kael. “Come with me, Ellspeth. Imagine the world that we can create together.”

Barakel pressed his fingers deeper into my palm. Through his touch, he transmitted a most intoxicating vision. I saw the ivy-covered university town of my dreams—not unlike Cambridge—in which students of all ages, all glowing with physical health and well-being, exchanged ideas at their leisure. Then I saw that university setting being replicated in cities and towns across the globe, over and over again.

I did not want to find Barakel’s suggestions attractive. Yet I knew that I needed to allow myself a moment of surrender in order to be believable. So I allowed myself to think that perhaps I
would
like to stand at Barakel’s side. Perhaps I would like to rule over a world in which all physical needs and wants were satisfied, a world in which exalted goals were freely pursued. As Barakel paused to gauge my reaction, he stopped his hypnotic chatter.

The quiet allowed my mind to clear for a split second. I steeled myself against the potency of Barakel’s voice and the power of his images, and fashioned a mental barricade around my thoughts. Precisely as Rafe had taught me. I answered him. “You want me to join you?”

“Yes, Ellspeth. You belong with me . . .” He stretched out the fingers of his other hand. “Come.”

I floated toward him ever so slowly, almost in a trancelike state. As I drew nearer, I lengthened my arm across the remaining distance, as if reaching for Barakel. Finger by finger I stretched in his direction. All except my thumb, which held the keys from my pocket pressed against my palm. My secret weapon.

Patiently, Barakel awaited me. I had no confidence that I could pull this off, but I had no alternative. Brute strength would never work for me, as Rafe himself admitted.

Self-doubt caused my hand to quiver. I got scared that Barakel would notice, and that would reveal my ruse. I didn’t think the hands of those truly in his sway would shake. I bet that they simply listened and followed his commands.

Mustering up my courage, I steadied my hand and feigned total submission. “Barakel, I am ready.”

As soon as I brushed my fingers along his arm, ready to use my key, I heard a scream.

Chapter Thirty-one

I panicked, thinking that it came from Michael. Yet as I listened more closely, I realized that it had an unnatural quality that wasn’t quite human. I prayed that the scream came from the other fallen. And that Michael was the cause.

I pretended that I hadn’t heard it. I returned to my game of clasping Barakel’s hand, and playacting capitulation. But my split-second hesitation—my straining to hear if the voice belonged to Michael—had given me away.

“How dare you!” Barakel seethed.

He lunged for me. The sudden assault left me totally unprepared. Rafe had assured me that the fallen wouldn’t attack, that they’d try to woo me instead, and I’d banked on that. I dove away to avoid him, but the maneuver threw me off balance. I started to tumble downward, spinning out of control, and plunging headlong toward the ground.

Familiar landmarks of Ransom Beach—the enormous boulders, the steep cliff from which Michael dove—got closer and closer, and I became more and more terrified. I desperately tried to remember how Rafe had helped me right myself that night I nearly crashed headfirst into the ground. Mimicking his motions as best I could, I managed to sweep my feet underneath me and turn myself right side up mere seconds before I hit, although not before the key plunged into the sea, and my plan along with it.

What was I going to do? I desperately wanted to retreat—to hear the crunch of the rough sand of Ransom Beach under my feet and gather my thoughts—but I couldn’t let another fallen angel escape. I thought about the hunger and disease that loomed because I didn’t kill Kael. And I had a pretty good idea about the economic depression of epic proportions that would happen if Barakel got away.

I steeled myself for a battle with no game plan and no certainty of victory. Racing through the heavens, I searched for Barakel. His fair hair glinted in the low light of the quarter moon and led me to him. I flew close enough to see the whiteness of his skin and the steely gaze of his hazel eyes. He was furious about my deception, and Rafe had forewarned us about angry angels.

Barakel hurled himself at me. He was strong, and it took all my might to stand my ground against him. Even though I couldn’t imagine how he planned to sway me through force, I guessed he had some backup plan to secure my allegiance. I prayed that a weapon would present itself on Barakel’s person, as well as an opportunity to draw blood, before he succeeded.

Suddenly, a fearsome cry sounded in the sky. It was very different from the bloodcurdling shriek of moments before. It was triumphant. And warlike.

It was Michael.

“Stay back, Ellie,” he called to me.

Michael swooped in. He plucked Barakel out of the sky with a furious abandon. The two locked onto each other so tightly that I couldn’t see where one began and the other ended.

I wanted to help, but was ever conscious of my limitations, of the liability I would be to Michael if I became too involved in their fight. Despite Michael’s admonitions to keep my distance, I stayed close.

In horror, I watched as Barakel extricated himself from Michael’s grasp and pitched him across the sky. Barakel shot me a victorious look, and started off in my direction. I would not be intimidated. The second Barakel reached me, I clutched at his arm, desperate to hold him until Michael could reach us. Hooking my fingers around Barakel’s heavy gold Cartier watch, I held on for dear life.

Michael reached my side. With a deft stroke, he flicked out the knife from his switchblade and ran it along Barakel’s exposed arm, the one I’d locked onto. Blood beaded on Barakel’s perfectly formed wrist. Michael reached out and caught some droplets before they fell away. Then, in one expert motion, Michael licked the blood from his finger and cut Barakel’s throat.

The fallen soundlessly plummeted to the earth.