Amelia
looked there too.
They were
coming to another junction in the featureless labyrinth of
corridors. There were no windows. What did the outside of this
fortress look like and where were all the other angels? She hadn’t
seen anyone other than the man escorting her. Even the angels who
had appeared when he had threatened to fight Apollyon and Marcus
were nowhere to be seen.
She
shivered as a blast of cold air chased over her and then paused as
she stepped out into another corridor.
A double
row of arches lined the wall opposite her, one set stacked on top
of the other, revealing a large pale courtyard. Tall white trees
rose up in the middle of it to tower beyond the reach of her
vision. The whole image seemed false to her. Trees had green
leaves, not silver-white ones that glittered and shone in the
golden sunlight flooding the courtyard. The brilliant white trunks
of the trees and the grass surrounding their roots twinkled like
diamonds as the light filtered through the branches and caught
them. It was beautiful, yet the sight of it filled her with sadness
and left her with a sense of finality. Why? Lysander tugged on her
arm and she continued to walk with him, her gaze fixed on the
arches. There were other angels on the opposite side of the
courtyard, walking along the corridor on the same level as her.
They wore blue armour like Marcus’s. Would they know him if she
broke free of Lysander’s grip and crossed the courtyard to them to
ask? There were probably thousands of his kind, and the three
angels he was closest to were all of a different class to
him.
A
mediator, a hunter, a destroyer, and a guardian.
Why did
she know them? It wasn’t only her memories as Amelia that contained
them. She had known them in her past life too, was aware they were
always there at the start but never there at the end. Did they die?
At the end, there was only ever a guardian.
Marcus.
A memory
glimmered in the corner of her mind, just out of reach, and she
struggled with it, wanting to bring it into focus so she could know
its contents. A flash of colour and brightness that faded into red
as deep as blood filled her vision and she stopped and closed her
eyes against it. She couldn’t close her heart to the pain that
rushed through her though. It blazed in her chest, burned in her
veins, and sent her trembling.
She knew
Marcus.
Not in
this life.
But in
her last one.
Why?
Had she
met all of them before, in her previous life?
Lysander
tugged on her arm and led her down another corridor and she lost
sight of the other angels. She looked back, hoping to catch a
glimpse of others, but no one was there. Time lost meaning as she
walked with him. She wasn’t sure where they were heading but her
feet were freezing now and her legs were tiring, trembling beneath
her.
Amelia
searched her mind, trying to see why she felt she knew these
corridors and that courtyard, and why she knew Marcus and the
others. Her head felt fuzzy and heavy, and every time she tried to
focus, her thoughts became tangled. Perhaps she didn’t know them or
this place at all. Perhaps she was mixing things up in her mind. It
was hard to assimilate two sets of memories and make sense of
them.
She
looked ahead at the end of the corridor and a bright room beyond.
Her heart started to pound. Her palms sweated. She slowed her steps
as a sense of awareness swept through her and Lysander pulled on
her arm again. Her footsteps faltered. Fear crawled through her
veins.
She knew
this place.
Her gaze
tracked up the tall thick white columns that rose into the bright
heavens above her, disappearing there. Sunlight streamed down onto
her, warming her skin, but it was the flush of panic that heated
her through.
This
place was familiar.
It pained
her.
Why?
She
walked forwards, heading towards the wide aisle between the
gargantuan columns that speared the dazzling sky.
Her heart
missed a beat and she hesitated again, a sudden wave of fear
pinning her feet to the floor. A deep sharp ache throbbed in her
chest and a desire to turn back filled her trembling
body.
“Come
along,” Lysander said and Amelia shook her head.
He tugged
on her arm but she didn’t move.
She
couldn’t.
Whatever
memories she had of this place, they were full of pain, as though
all of her experiences here had been bad.
She had
made a mistake.
A
terrible one.
She
backed away from Lysander, casting a fearful glance around her. She
shouldn’t have come here. She should have stayed with Marcus or
asked him to come with her. Lysander might have allowed that. She
wanted to go back to Marcus.
“Is
something wrong?” Lysander looked genuinely concerned, his blue
eyes bright with it.
“Where
are you taking me?” she whispered and swallowed hard, gaze darting
around the columns and fear that she wasn’t alone here with him
creeping down her spine.
Others
were watching.
She could
feel it.
“I want
to know where we’re going and what’s going to happen to me.” She
backed away again when he stepped towards her and shot a glance at
the door they had entered through. If she was quick, she might
reach it before Lysander could catch her. What then? She couldn’t
remember the way back to the entrance and even if she could, she
didn’t know how to get back to Earth. Could she fly back
there?
Her
shoulder blades itched and the first feathers broke the surface of
her skin, growing out of her in a way that turned her stomach.
Lysander took another step towards her and her silver wings burst
out of her in response. She cried out in pain and clutched her
shoulders. Sharp throbbing waves spread over her skin from her
shoulder blades but quickly faded.
“There is
no need to panic,” Lysander said in a soothing tone and her gaze
darted back to him. He held his hands up, palms facing her, and
paused in the same way Marcus had when Einar had been talking to
him telepathically. Receiving orders from those watching her? He
smiled. “We only need to keep you here for a short
while.”
“Why?
Until when?” The door was starting to look like a good option.
There was something about this place that made her skin crawl and
urged her to escape, that called to her instinct to take flight and
get the hell away from it. Why couldn’t she remember what had
happened to her here?
“Until
Marcus comes.”
She
stilled and her fear lessened at the sound of that name and the
thought that she would see Marcus again.
“Marcus
is coming?” she said, her brow furrowing, and steadied her
breathing so her panic began to subside. Maybe she was overreacting
and being here without Marcus was causing her fear rather than any
memory she might have of the place.
Lysander
nodded. “He will be. We shall get you comfortable and then they
will call Marcus to you.”
Amelia
glanced at the door again. The thought that Marcus was coming
soothed away some of her fear but not all of it. The unsettled
feeling she had whenever she saw the columns stretching into the
distance before her wasn’t going away, and neither was the sense
that this was a bad place. No matter what she told herself, no
matter what she wanted, she couldn’t deny that she had been here
before, just as she couldn’t deny that she had known Marcus in her
past life.
Lysander
held his hand out to her.
Amelia
hesitated and then stepped forwards.
There was
no turning back now. She had come here of her own free will, out of
desire to discover what was happening to her and to spare Marcus
more pain.
Only,
Marcus was coming.
She
hadn’t spared him at all.
Amelia
told herself that it was only fear of those watching her and her
surroundings that was unsettling her and forced herself to believe
it so she could continue on the path she had chosen to walk. She
would go with Lysander and await Marcus’s arrival. Once he was
here, she would feel safe again, stronger, and they would face
Heaven together and uncover the truth behind her
existence.
She could
trust Marcus. He would protect her from any danger that lurked in
Heaven. He would uphold that promise she had remembered him
making.
Her
nerves didn’t fade as she walked along the aisle with Lysander.
They steadily grew worse as the sense of danger inside her
increased. She kept telling herself that Marcus would come for her
soon and she would feel foolish for being so scared when he did. He
would find it silly of her not to trust the people who he worked
for when she trusted him so much.
What was
silly about not trusting the people who had ordered her death and
forced one of their own to kill her?
Amelia
closed her eyes, pulled in another deep breath to calm her nerves,
and ignored that question and the memories that threatened to
surface in her mind.
Heaven
had killed her and had almost killed Marcus too.
Her hands
shook so she clenched her fingers into tight fists to steady
them.
She
couldn’t lie to herself.
But she
could face her fear.
Amelia
tilted her chin up, straightened her spine, and tucked her wings
against her back. She walked with her head held high. Her heart
beat hard in her chest and blood rushed in her ears. Marcus would
be here soon. She just had to hold it together until then and she
would be safe.
Lysander
turned right at the end of the long aisle and she followed him down
another corridor lined with columns on her right and a wall on her
left.
Bright
golden light shone out of the doorways at intervals in the white
wall, warming her as it touched her as she passed.
She
glanced inside one of the rooms and froze as cold swept through her
from below.
Amelia
stared at the raised white marble altar in the middle of the large
bright room and her eyes widened when it was suddenly overflowing
with blood, the crimson stark against the clean marble. Her heart
stammered and she couldn’t breathe when an angel appeared in front
of it, his back to her, silver-blue wings spread so they covered
her view of his arms.
He
lowered his hand to his side and her gaze fell with it. The sight
of it chilled her down to the marrow and she felt as though her
heart would stop. Blood ran down the length of the curved silver
blade, dripping from the gleaming tip to the grooved white marble
floor under his feet. She panted hard, panic pushing her to the
limit, and forced her gaze back up to his head.
He turned
his head to one side but moved at the same time and his large wings
concealed his face from her.
He was so
familiar.
A shiver
tripped down her spine and spread over her arms and thighs,
reaching right down to her fingertips and toes.
Lysander
tugged on her arm and the vision faded, leaving a clean white room
behind. She stared at the altar, unable to shake the terror that
had gripped her.
She was
in danger.
Lysander
yanked her arm and she stumbled forwards and into him. He grabbed
her other arm and she tried to break free, fear driving her to
escape. She stamped on Lysander’s toes, kicked him in the shin with
the flat of her foot, and then kneed him hard in the groin. He
released her and she turned and ran for the vast columned room. She
only made it a few steps before he grabbed her from behind,
restraining her arms. With a low growl of frustration, she beat her
silver wings, battering him in an attempt to force him to let go of
her. His grip tightened until she cried out and he twisted her
right arm hard behind her back.
An older
looking sandy-haired angel wearing blue armour like Marcus’s
appeared at the end of the corridor near the cathedral-like room
she had run towards. Two bright curved silver blades hung from his
waist. His cold eyes fixed on her.
Amelia’s
gaze darted to the altar in the room to her right, fear rushing
through her veins. Her head spun.
They were
going to kill her again.
She
struggled with all her might, kicking and writhing and beating her
wings as the older angel approached her, his steps measured and
slow, driving fear deep into her heart. Lysander tightened his grip
on her arms and she cried out again when her right shoulder almost
popped out of its socket. Intense pain swept through her and she
sagged forwards for a moment, and then rallied and threw her head
back, smacking it into Lysander’s nose. He stumbled backwards with
her and she broke free of him. Before she could beat her wings, he
had caught her right wrist and twisted it, forcing her to bend
forwards to stop her arm from snapping. Her knees gave out and she
hit the white marble floor hard, the impact reverberating up her
spine.