Authors: Heather Terrell
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Religious, #Paranormal, #Body; Mind & Spirit, #Supernatural, #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Social Issues, #Love Stories, #Good and Evil, #Schools, #Young adult fiction, #Love & Romance, #love, #Values & Virtues, #High schools, #Adolescence, #Angels, #Angels & Spirit Guides
Excitement coursed through me. Over the certainty that Boston was not a dream. Over the knowledge that my memories of Michael and the flying and the blood were real. Over the realization that, in Boston, we had finally learned who—and what—we were.
But then, as quietly as he could over the music, Michael said, “Ignorance is the only thing that has protected you so far.” His words reminded me that the news wasn’t all good. There were strings.
Michael and I were
meant
to forget the truth about who we were and what we were destined to do. Because, once we fully grasped that we were indeed the long-awaited Nephilim, the end of time countdown would begin. That knowledge and the full blossoming of our powers would make us irresistible to the fallen angels, and we would become the focus of their end-days game. To prevent the starting of the end-days clock, our parents had shielded us from birth about our real identities. As we started to uncover some truths about our natures and our identities in Boston, they tried to make us forget again with the help of angelic friends who retained their otherworldly powers.
His words unleashed another memory, one that happened
after
we had returned to Tillinghast from Boston but before I’d woken up that morning. I recalled seeing my parents hand in hand, standing before a blond girl of indeterminate age. I was in the room with them, witnessing the whole exchange through some miasma, almost as though I were half asleep.
“Tamiel,” my dad said to the girl, “are you certain this will work? She will forget?”
“As certain as I can be of anything right now, Daniel,” the girl answered him. “You and Hananel must play your parts as well. You must cast a veil of normalcy over yourselves and all your dealings with her, so that Ellspeth will find it difficult to think of herself as anything other than a typical teenage girl.”
My parents had failed. I knew that I wasn’t a typical teenage girl. And Michael’s parents had failed at the same task too.
I opened my mouth, a hundred questions on the tip of my tongue, but Michael put a quieting finger over my lips. I didn’t understand. Why couldn’t we talk about this in the privacy of his car? The grave look on Michael’s face stopped any protest I considered. Instead, I was left to my own thoughts as we drove to school.
Fear overtook the initial excitement.
It was all too much. It couldn’t be true. I was just Ellie Faneuil. I was
not
some legendary biblical creature upon whom the fate of the world hinged. These thoughts kept running through my head over and over again.
I must have looked as sick and frightened and besieged as I felt, because Michael pulled the car off the road and wrapped me in his arms. He pulled me tight against his chest. I felt his heart beating fast and his chest rising, and I realized that he was as terrified as I was.
“It’s going to be okay, Ellie. I promise,” he whispered into my ear.
I wanted to ask him
how
. How everything was going to be all right, when my entire universe had been turned upside down.
But I couldn’t.
Michael pushed back my long black hair from my face, twisting a strand in his fingers. He looked into my blue eyes, as pale as his own. His expression told me that he didn’t have any answers either. Only that he loved me.
With his full lips, he kissed me. Hard and long and deep. I could feel his breath mingle with mine, and taste his tongue on my own. With this exchange came the force of our memories, the good memories, that is. Of the long hours we had spent flying the night skies in sheer delight, of the too-short evenings we had passed entwined in each others’ bodies, and of the times we had tasted each others’ blood through our kisses.
I wanted more. More of Michael. His blood. When our relationship first began, and I learned about the power of blood, the very thought of such an exchange repelled me. Until I learned that the slightest taste of blood gave us insights into each other’s minds and souls. When we made that exchange, it brought us a powerful intimacy and joy.
Michael felt my need. He probably felt his own need or desire too, but he must have realized that soon neither one of us would be able to turn away from its call. And he must have known that we could not surrender to it. Or risk everything.
“We can’t, Ellie,” Michael said as he gently pushed me away.
“Why not?” My hunger for him was so great that I didn’t care if I sounded desperate.
“It isn’t that I don’t want to.”
“Then what, Michael?”
Michael didn’t answer. Instead, he waited for my breathing to slow, and then he slid a piece of paper onto my lap.
I reached for it. I unfolded the paper, and I recognized Michael’s scrawling script. Why was he writing to me? Why couldn’t he tell me what he needed to say? I wanted to talk to him, not read some scribbled note.
My Ellie—
Michael knew I loved it when he called me that. It softened me enough for any message, good or bad. Undoubtedly, this was his intention.
We now know who we are. The Nephilim. Half human, half angel, destined to play some important role at the end. Whatever that is.
Please remember what I overheard our parents say. Ignorance is the only thing that has protected us so far. Ignorance about who we are has protected us—protected everyone, really—from the start of the end-days clock. And, if Ezekiel is to be believed, that ignorance is the only thing that has protected our parents from being very mortal pawns in a deadly game. Our parents have tried to re-create that ignorance artificially, by using other fallen angels to exercise their powers of forgetting on us.
So we must seem to forget. We must pretend that we are simply Ellspeth Faneuil and Michael Chase, two normal teenagers from Tillinghast. We must make believe in front of our classmates and friends, our teachers and coaches, and especially our parents. Since we can’t be certain if the exercise of our powers would lead the fallen angels to believe we have full knowledge of ourselves as Nephilim, we cannot fly or read thoughts or taste blood. We can’t take the chance that the use of our powers would trigger the end days and alert the fallen to our whereabouts.
We must even be cautious of speaking aloud the truth to each other. Because, if anyone is watching or listening or tracking us by whatever worldly means they have available to them, they will know.
So until we are ready—until we figure out what we’re meant to do and how to do it—we have to play at being wholly human. Until then, only through written words can we fly and taste and truly love. And I do truly love you.
Michael
Stepping into the hallways of Tillinghast High School was actually weirder than acknowledging that I was an otherworldly creature.
I watched as girls chatted about their lip gloss, and guys shared apps on their iPhones. I noticed friends giggling about other friends’ outfits and teammates thumping each other on the back for games well played. I walked past kids furiously copying their friends’ homework assignments and others fumbling with the towers of books in their lockers. Of course, I suffered the occasional “accidental” bump by students still angry with me for the now-infamous Facebook incident in which I took the fall for a nasty prank concocted by two of the more popular junior girls, Piper and Missy, in order to protect many of my fellow students.
I couldn’t stop from staring at my classmates in amazement, like they were exotic creatures in the zoo. They had no idea that some kind of Armageddon was heading their way and that I was selected to play a special role at the end. Maybe even stop it. They were oblivious to the fact that all their gossiping and studying and worrying were meaningless.
I felt the simultaneous urge to sob and giggle. The whole notion of Ellspeth Faneuil as savior to the world was both overwhelming and ridiculous.
The only thing keeping me sane while I walked down the hallway was Michael. The link of his fingers in mine was like a tether to our new reality. I believed I could navigate through our conflicting worlds—the frivolous Tillinghast High School and the looming otherworldly battle—with him beside me.
Once I said good-bye to Michael before heading into English class, I lost my anchor. I felt like I’d been cast adrift into an unreal sea.
English class brought me near the brink. The minute I entered the classroom, Miss Taunton launched into me. Like a hawk circling a wounded animal, she bombarded me with questions about our latest assigned novel, which I could barely remember amid the more vivid recollections of my days in Boston and my encounter with Ezekiel. I wanted to scream at her that none of this mattered, even though I didn’t dare.
The second that Miss Taunton lay off me, my best friend Ruth texted me: “Wait for me in the hall after class.” Normally, I’d welcome a quick chat with my oldest and best friend in the world, especially if it involved commiseration over Miss Taunton’s unfair but not unusual treatment of me. For reasons best known only to herself, Miss Taunton had taken a decided dislike to me. But I didn’t know if I could handle a one-on-one conversation with Ruth yet. I had no idea what she remembered. The last time we were together—minutes before I boarded the train to Boston—she had confessed to having seen me fly. Had my parents tried to erase Ruth’s memory too, with more success? If so, could I pull off the regular Ellie act? How should I handle Ruth? I pled illness and intermittently coughed throughout class to support my ruse.
At the ringing of the bell, I raced out of class. My head was spinning. I needed a reprieve from the dual universes. A moment to catch my breath, to reassemble myself.
Instead, I ran smack into Piper, my next-door neighbor. She had been ignoring me for weeks, since I decided to take the blame for that wicked Facebook prank. Unbelievably, she had decided that this was the moment to break the silence.
“I know what you did, Ellie. I don’t get
why
you did it. Why would you take the blame for something you didn’t do? Why would you sit through weeks of detention and being grounded and walk down the hallways, knowing that all the kids in school hate you, and not ever point a finger at me or Missy? I bet you think you’re some kind of a saint,” she said with a shake of her perfect hair. Yet beneath the part of popular girl that she played so well, I saw the other, secretly self-doubting Piper. And she was pleading for my understanding, even for forgiveness.
I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to tell her the truth—that her snide little guess wasn’t totally off the mark. I was half angel, and I simply couldn’t have sat by and let others suffer at her hand. That she better rethink her future actions and ask absolution for those past, because there wasn’t much time left for malevolent games.
The conversation nearly delivered me to the edge. Who was I meant to be? How was I supposed to behave?
Before I could say anything I’d regret, Michael appeared at my side and dragged me away.
“Are you all right, Ellie? You look pale,” he said, once we were alone. I must have looked shaken, because alarm registered on his face.
“I’m not sure if I can do this, Michael. I know we need to pretend, but I’m already having a hard time—knowing what we know,” I whispered.
He put his arm around my shoulder and walked me down the hallway, bringing us into a darkened alcove. More than anything, I wanted to stay in that warm, shadowy recess, wrapped in his arms. It was the only place I felt safe. It was the only place that made sense.
Michael placed his finger under my chin, and tipped my face to his. “Ellie, I know you can.”
He slipped another letter into my hands. He nodded that I should read it immediately, so I smoothed out the paper and started.
My Ellie—
Do you remember the first time we went flying over our field? You were so nervous about everything. You were afraid to fall from such heights; you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of me; you were fearful of doing something so clearly otherworldly. Still, you were determined and strong. And I watched in awe as you furrowed your beautiful brow, willed your fears away, and took to the air.
You were breathtaking up there. The wind at your back, your black hair whipping all around you, you owned the skies. From the beginning.
And the very next day, you walked down the hallways of Tillinghast High School like nothing had happened. Like you were a regular girl—prettier and smarter than all the rest, of course, but just a regular human girl.
You can do that again, Ellie. You can walk the tightrope between the two worlds with courage and determination. You’ve done it before.
I love you,
Michael
I smiled as I read the letter. Somehow he had anticipated my feelings and perfectly knew how to restore my confidence. How to bring me back to myself. Michael truly was my soul mate.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Remember who you are. Remember that you walked this walk before, and you can do it again.”
I nodded and closed my eyes for a second. Conjuring those days from earlier in the fall, my self-assurance returned, slowly and shakily and only on the surface. I had no other option. I
had
to successfully playact at being a regular high school junior, concerned about homework and my new boyfriend. Michael
had
to convincingly make believe that he was an average senior guy, focused on football and college prospects and me. Too much depended on our role-playing.
Off to calculus I went. As I listened to Mr. Dalsimer rattle off theorems, I stopped fixating on the surreal nature of my situation and started to map out my next steps. Focusing on action helped take my mind off my still-shaky core.
By the time class ended, and I joined Michael in the hallway, I wasn’t surprised that his next letter had the same focus. I had already drafted a similar note in my head.
My Ellie—
Now that your resolve has returned, did you spend all of calculus thinking about what we should do next? I bet you didn’t take a single note. I’m guessing that you stared out the window, dreaming up a strategy.
I did the same thing.
What should we do next? The trip to Boston definitely gave us a better sense of our natures as Nephilim, and the encounter with Ezekiel linked our births to the emergence of some kind of apocalypse. Crazy as that sounds. We need much more information in order to act next. We need to know exactly what the Nephilim are and were—creation, history, powers, even mortality—and we need to know how the Nephilim fit into this whole end-of-the-world scenario that Ezekiel revealed to us. How are we going to get that knowledge while playing dumb and suppressing our powers? Wouldn’t any research we undertook—either in a library or by talking to experts like that professor in London we were going to track down—serve as a red flag to our parents or anyone else who might be seeking us? Wouldn’t that be the same as using our powers? Wouldn’t it make the fallen aware of our knowledge and start the end-days clock ticking? We need to act, but what do we do?
My brilliant, brilliant Ellie. Did you drum up any amazing ideas in calculus? We need a plan. Now.
I love you,
Michael
Between the last few periods of the days, we exchanged a flurry of letters. We each had our theories on how best to get the information we required, and they weren’t the same. Among other ideas, I proposed that I undertake some covert research in the university library, under the auspices of visiting my parents at the office. Michael objected; he was adamant that I not do any work directly. Instead, he suggested that, through an intermediary, we reach out to the professor in London that we had intended to visit after our trip to Boston. I reminded Michael that Ezekiel knew about the London professor. Who was to say that Ezekiel hadn’t alerted some of the other fallen that we might try to contact the professor?
Finally, by the end of the school day, we concocted a plan we could both agree upon. It was risky. And it was our only choice.