Secret Worlds (162 page)

I wanted to protest, but I remained silent because he was right. I’d been doing things on my own as soon as I got old enough to leave my aunt’s apartment in inner city New Jersey. She had been cruel because I reminded her too much of my mother. She already had two kids and a distant husband to worry about. Nearly all of the growing up I had done as a person, I did so alone.

That didn’t mean I could accept it. “But I barely know you.”

Michael spared me a soft smile. “Then I guess we’ll have to get reacquainted.”

He stuck out his hand. “Michael the archangel, Prince of Heaven’s Army.”

I finally sighed and took it. “Jordan Amador. Welcome to my world.”

The first order of business was calling work. The incident had caused me to miss two days. Gabriel came up with the cover story: I had been violently mugged and would be recuperating for two weeks minimum. Colton sent Lauren over to check on me (and probably confirm that I wasn’t lying) and she nearly fell apart when she saw my condition. She told me she knew relatives who would fly over here from Korea and hunt down my attacker, but I managed to convince her not to do it. Strangely enough, it was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to me.

Michael posed as an at-home nurse assistant in the daytime hours. I told Lauren I was deathly afraid of hospitals, so they had discharged me. When he left to get me more food, Lauren asked for his number. I’d laughed so hard I nearly reopened my stitches.

Speaking of those, Raphael had actually treated me while I had been unconscious. It turns out that he couldn’t bring me to full health because of the massive strain I had already gone through. Raphael worried that using all of his healing powers might push my body past its limits.

At the moment, we were in my bathroom with the door shut—me perched on the side of the bathtub with Raphael sitting in a chair across from me. His hands were warm and firm against my skin as he tested my temperature, examined the bruises, and moved the joints in my injured hand. Everything still hurt, but not nearly as bad as when I first woke up. I probably should have felt more uncomfortable being shirtless in front of a man I had only known for two days, but Raphael kept me distracted with conversation as he worked. Plus, angels weren’t attracted to human beings so there was no sexual tension to be had, much to my relief.

“So does Michael have any of your healing abilities?” I asked.

He offered me a faint smile. “Michael is more of a fighter than a healer. I’ve had more experience in this area.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t all archangels sword-toting badasses?”

He chuckled—a warm, rolling sound. “Not exactly. He is the more proficient strategist when it comes to fighting. It has always been that way.”

“If that’s true, do you really think he’ll do a good job of taking care of me?”

I could tell the question surprised him. He paused, mulling the thought over. “Each archangel has strengths and weaknesses. As God’s Messenger, Gabriel interacts easily with human beings, but lacks the hardened nature of a warrior like Michael. As God’s Healer, I have extensive skills in treating the bodies and souls of humans so I lack the desire to harm others. Michael is the superior commander, but he has spent the least amount of time on Earth. I believe this is why Father sent him to return the Spear of Longinus to its proper place. I think that is also why Father agreed to let him stay on Earth with you. There is much more he can learn here than in Heaven.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Raphael grinned, tossing the small pile of old bandages in the wastebasket before standing. “Yes, Jordan. I think he will do a fine job taking care of you, and vice versa.”

I frowned. “How could I possibly take care of an archangel?”

His brown eyes twinkled as he spared me an enigmatic smile. “How indeed.”

I shook my head and offered him my hands, which he took to help lift me to my somewhat shaky feet. He opened the door and held me steady to walk back to my bed. He could have just picked me up, but I insisted I could get there myself. Stubborn? Who, me?

From my bed, I could see into the kitchen where Michael stood at the stove cooking something. He even wore an apron, which made me giggle. I’d have to make fun of him for it later.

Raphael handed me a glass of water before zipping up his leather bag. “That should be all for now.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing in a slight frown. “Are you sure you don’t want me to heal your back?”

Discomfort curled through my stomach in a cold wave. I didn’t like that he’d seen them—my scars. It raised a lot of questions, and none of them I wanted to answer. “No. I’m alright.”

“Very well. I will be dropping by a few times a week to check on your progress. Make sure not to put too much stress on your body.”

I nodded. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”

He smiled. This time, I could feel a different emotion than with Gabriel and Michael. An overwhelming sense of calm washed through me. I felt safe in his presence.

“Think nothing of it. Good night, Jordan.”

With that, he turned and left, nodding to Michael before leaving the apartment. It made me realize this would be the first time I was alone with the new (or would that be old?) Michael. Just how much of the Michael I knew was in there? That was the million-dollar question.

I searched the top of my nightstand for the remote control and turned on the TV. Midway through
Transformers
, Michael appeared with a bowl of chili and a spoon. I couldn’t stop staring.

“Do you realize how weird it is that you’re an angel who knows how to cook?” I pointed out, hoping my question would mask the sound of my stomach growling.

Michael shrugged, handing me the bowl, spoon, and napkin he’d brought with him. “Man’s gotta eat.”

“That reminds me—what kind of body is that? Is it like Gabriel described?” I continued, tasting the first spoonful. Oh, Lord. It was delicious. The urge to shovel in several mouthfuls was intense.

“It’s…a little hard to explain,” he admitted, sitting on the edge of my bed. The little blue apron was gone. I missed it.

“This is a hybrid body: half-human and half-angel. I look human to blend in with everyone else, but I can still use my abilities.”

“So where are your wings?”

“They’ll appear if I concentrate hard enough.”

I considered asking him to show them to me, but I figured that was a little personal. “What kind of abilities do you have?”

“Seeing spirits, something similar to super strength, influencing emotions and will power…those sorts of things.”

“Are the demons the same way?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed a bit. As with Gabriel, the angels really didn’t like it when I mentioned their evil counterparts. It was understandable: Belial had been the foulest creature I’d ever met, dead or alive.

“You could say that. They too have human bodies, but demon souls. Belial is Satan’s personal favorite of all his minions. He’s the most resourceful, since he’s spent the most time on Earth. It’s hard to keep track of him because he switches among his own line of human bodies every so often.”

A shudder crawled up my spine when I thought about his creepy smile and lifeless eyes. “Can he possess anyone?”

Michael shook his head. “Two souls can’t share the same body without one of them being expelled. That’s why possessed people are so violent. The two spirits fight for control. A demon only uses that tactic if his original body is in danger of being destroyed.”

I lowered the bowl. “Belial mentioned something about a lower class demon he sent as a lure for Mr. N. How is it that things like that can walk around in our world?”

“Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to. As Gabriel said, Father has not directly interacted with the human race since the Transfiguration of the Son. It’s the same with Satan. He isn’t allowed to make his presence known to mankind. Instead, he sends his minions out to corrupt. To counter his actions, Father implements everything through the archangels. Sometimes He will give specific orders, but in general we travel between Heaven and Earth keeping peace.”

“So what happens when I help souls cross over to the other side?”

“The archangel Uriel escorts the souls up to the gates of Heaven for judgment.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. “Damn, I guess Milton really was onto something when he wrote
Paradise Lost
.”

Michael flashed me a grin. “He had a little help.”

I rolled my eyes. “Be more vague.”

“I can try.”

Ignoring this, I moved on to my next pressing question. “How did you guys find me after Belial kidnapped me?”

“That’s a bit more complicated. When you fell out of consciousness, you entered a state that can be tracked. Because you’re a Seer, your mind sends out certain kinds of energy that we angels can feel, and so we followed it to where you were.”

I considered his words. “Maybe that’s how Belial was able to find me in the first place. The first time I saw him was in a dream. I wish I had remembered it earlier.”

“Well, at least you know now.”

“Can I ask you something else about him?”

“If you must.”

“Why are his eyes like that? Like a snake’s? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“It’s the mark of an archdemon. There are only five of them, if you recall—Belial, Mulciber, Moloch, Mammon, and Beelzebub. They consider themselves to be the Princes of Hell, as they were Satan’s most loyal followers before the Fall. Only Seers and angels can see the mark. To the average person, his eyes look normal.”

Feeling sufficiently full from the chili I’d devoured, I reached out to place it on the nightstand, only to wince as another wave of pain spread through my upper torso. Michael stopped me in mid-motion, putting the bowl down for me. My lack of mobility annoyed me to no end.

“So what do you suppose we’re gonna do for the next ten days that I’m stuck in this bed?”

“I thought you’d ask me that,” he replied, reaching for the floor by the foot of the bed. He held up a plastic bag and dropped it next to me on the bedspread. The thing was nearly bursting with books of all sizes.

I lifted an eyebrow at him. “You sure know how to thrill a girl.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “It’s more enriching than T.V. Besides, there’s some good stuff in here that you might find…therapeutic.”

He glanced at the closed drawer of my nightstand, frowning a little. I couldn’t blame him. My alcohol dependence was unhealthy and I knew it, but so far I hadn’t found a better way to cope with the nightmares. Couldn’t afford the therapy, and the very thought of Alcoholics Anonymous intimidated me.

To distract myself from this notion, I picked up a thin green book with a familiar title, reciting the first stanza of “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night” from memory.

“A Dylan Thomas fan, I see,” Michael said with a grin. “Maybe you’re not such a heathen after all.” I fought the urge to make a face at him and pointed to the bookcase on the left side of my bed that was piled high with books: poetry, classic literature, contemporary novels, and pretty much anything I’d been able to get my hands on.

Before he could respond in an undoubtedly smartass way, I spoke. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? You are an up-and-coming rock star, remember?”

I paused, considering my words. “Wait, are you still going to live the way you did when you thought you were human?”

“I thought it over and decided it would be the easiest way to coexist here on Earth. Hiding in plain sight, I suppose.”

He grabbed the remote and shut off the television before scooping the book out of my hands, which confused me.

“Relax. I’ll read it for you. I’ve been told I have a soothing voice.”

“Somebody lied to you.”

Michael sighed. “I’m beginning to regret our arrangement already.”

“Join the club. We have milk and cookies, and go on cookouts every Friday.”

“Jordan?”

“Yes?”

“Hush.”

After Michael read through most of Walt Whitman’s
Leaves of Grass
, I fell asleep. The nightmares came, but I only woke up once during the night. Michael had slipped out of the apartment by then. It was harder to fall asleep the second time, but I managed.

I woke when I heard movement in the kitchen. Groaning, I buried my head beneath the pillow until my body stopped throbbing with pain. I ventured to take a peek. Michael had kindly left the bedroom door open, and I could see him laying plastic bags full of groceries on the counter. Almost immediately, my mood perked up. He’d bought me food? Hell, maybe I could get used to this.

My dry throat begged for water so I obliged, draining the rest of the glass that had been sitting on the ever-crowded nightstand. I cleared my throat loud and calling out “Hey” to Michael.

He glanced over at me. “Morning.”

“Morning. Is it weird that I have a hard time picturing you in a grocery store?”

He gave me a cryptic smile. “There’s a lot you’re gonna have to get used to with me. Anyway, roll over. I have to make sure you didn’t bleed through the bandages during the night.”

I turned over, propping my back against the headboard. I’d ditched the ruined button up shirt for a dark purple one—man-sized so I wouldn’t be exposing too much. Sure, he was an angel, but I couldn’t help wanting to be modest around him anyway. Maybe because he was my friend now. Thankfully, the wound was high on my chest, so I could still wear a bra underneath.

I started to unbutton the shirt myself but he told me not to since one of my hands still had a magnificent bruise across the knuckles. Lucky me, though, because it didn’t hurt that much any more. The purplish skin had grown stiff, but I could tell it was beginning to heal, as was the circle of bruises around my throat. With Raphael’s continued treatments, they would fade within days.

Michael waved his hand in front of my face, making me jump. “I asked you if you were hungry.”

Damn, I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been thinking. He’d finished checking the bandages without me even noticing. “Yeah.”

He tilted his head a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”