Feel the Flames Page 10

  I heard my studio door creak open behind me, the latch clicking shut a few seconds later. My attention stayed focused on removing the clay from my hands. Dorian came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing my wings to my back.

  His lips pressed up to my ear, and he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t immediately reply. He nuzzled my neck, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin sending an immediate shiver down my spine.

  “You’re an asshole sometimes,” I said, stubbornly refusing to turn around.

  “Not gonna argue with that,” he replied.

  “Good. Because you don’t have a leg to stand on.”

  I stepped away from his embrace and reached out for a paper towel, tearing one off from the roll that sat on the counter next to the sink. I dried my hands and sauntered over to the trash and threw the crumpled-up towel into the can with a bit more force than was necessary.

  Finally turning to face him, I folded my arms across my chest and stared him in the eye.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “I’m still trying to figure out whether or not to forgive you.”

  Dorian was probably the one person on the planet that was just as stubborn as me. We stood staring each other down, waiting for the other to cave and back down. Seconds turned to minutes, and eventually my own stubbornness won out. Dorian finally turned around and leaned over my desk in defeat. Feeling both victorious and a bit guilty for being so hard on him, I grabbed the broom and proceeded to sweep up the mess I’d made over the past few days.

  I heard a click which was followed by a bit of static. Dorian had turned on my old radio and began scrolling through the stations, never staying on one long enough to hear what was playing. He eventually settled on an old piano ballad from the eighties. It was both happy and sappy, and the tune caused me to grunt with derision. From the corner of my eye, I watched Dorian straighten up and turn with purpose, his lips forming a coy smile just for my benefit. It was difficult to remain angry with him when he did that, but I forced my face to remain expressionless, not giving him the satisfaction of a return grin.

  Gliding in my direction, half dancing, half walking, he slowly pranced his way toward me as if he had someone in his arms, waltzing across the floor. His eyes narrowed and his gaze homed in on me, his smile growing wider as he drew closer.

  “No,” I said, knowing what he was up to.

  Dorian continued to dance and used his forefinger to beckon me.

  I shook my head vigorously and tried to remain serious, but I found myself struggling to fight back a slight grin.

  “Stop it.” I put my hands out to keep him from getting too close. He was using his charm to wear me down, and I was annoyed with myself to find that it was working.

  Dorian gently placed his hands on my waist and swayed from side to side. His face contorted with a forced combination of ecstasy and laughter, going that extra mile to get me to loosen up and forgive him. His feet moved, dancing to the slow tones wafting from the speakers while I fought to keep mine firmly planted below me. But he didn’t waver. His body continued to persuade mine to follow suit. The song progressed, his eyes locked on me as if his life depended on it, and I shook my head in a last-ditch attempt to thwart his will but to no avail. As usual, I couldn’t seem to keep myself from melting into his arms. Clearly defeated, I wrapped my arms around his neck and began to sway with him, allowing a smile to catch at the corner of my mouth.

  “Don’t think just because you wore me down that I forgive you,” I said, trying to avoid his gaze.

  “Your lips say no, but your hips say yes,” he said, winking.

  I playfully smacked his chest and we both had a laugh. I’m not sure what it was that made it difficult to stay mad at him. But lately, it seemed to be happening a lot. Dorian was usually pretty laid back, yet he seemed to be on edge more and more. I tried to put myself in his shoes—coming to terms with being immortal included coming to terms with living a long, drawn-out, boring life. It wasn’t always the exciting, glamorous life that is fictionalized in novels. Immortals weren’t perfect, glamorous beings that lived in giant castles or well-adjusted millionaires who lived charmed lives. Immortality was dull and drab.

  I was convinced that God gave man the gift of sleep just so he wouldn’t go crazy with boredom.

  Dorian started to ham up his dancing, shaking his ass a little too hard and kicking his feet out a bit too far. He dragged me about the floor, and I was positive that I looked like a rag doll being tossed about to an outside eye. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but then I’d never had much practice. In fact, my feet didn’t know where to go as he twirled me about, endlessly causing me to step on the end of my own wings. After I tripped over his feet and stumbled into my drying shelf, nearly knocking off a few of my latest sculptures, I finally put out my hands letting him know that I was done.

  “You win. You win. I forgive you. Just don’t make me do that anymore,” I chuckled.

  Dorian pumped his fist into the air in victory.

  “Jerk,” I said, repositioning the items on my drying shelf.

  “You love me,” he replied.

  “I tolerate the hell out of you.”

  “Same thing.”

  With a smirk on my face and a shake of my head, I wandered to the door and opened it, looking outside. The moon was high in the sky, the night air cool and a bit breezy. I stepped out into the darkness with Dorian silently in tow. Together, we laid down on the grass and stared up at the stars, our fingers intertwined between us.

  The crickets chirped in the distance, their song building as the night dragged on. We listened to their intermittent melody for hours, quietly taking in the canvas of space above us. I counted stars for a while, only stopping once I hit fifteen hundred, partly because I got tired of counting…but mostly because Dorian scooted closer allowing me to curl up with him, laying my head on his shoulder.

  “I was thinking,” said Dorian, finally breaking the silence.

  “That’s dangerous,” I replied.

  “You’re not funny.”

  “Yes. Yes I am.”

  Dorian growled, followed by a quick chuckle before he continued.

  “I was thinking. Maybe there’s a way we can narrow our search for the seal.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Well, if Sam…uh, Raphael…doesn’t know where it is, maybe one of the others does.”

  “The others? You mean one of the other archangels who gave Solomon a gem for the ring?”

  Dorian nodded. “Gabriel or Michael could know.”

  “Or Jochmus.”

  “Do you really want to go searching out the first savior to Hell and ask him where the seal is?”

  I paused. “You’re probably right. Not to mention, if Jochmus had it or knew where it was, Naberius wouldn’t be looking for it. Considering they’re playing for the same team.”

  Dorian held an invisible microphone in his hand and held it to his mouth. In his best dramatic voice, he boomed out, “Team Hell, led by their coach, Satan, the evil one. Undefeated since Adam dropped the ball in the garden.”

  “Are you done?”

  Dorian cleared his throat. “I’m done.”

  My hand rested on his chest, and I watched my hand rise and fall with every breath he took.

  “It’s worth a shot, anyway…tracking down the other two angels. What do you think?”

  I doubted that either of them had any more knowledge than my father did on the subject, but then I could be wrong.

  “What do we got to lose?” I asked. “How do we find them?”

  “We don’t. They find us.”

  * * * *

  “Are you sure we’ll be safe if they show up? It’s not like we’ve had the best of luck with angels lately.”

  I stood in the middle of my studio and stared at the various symbols that Dorian had painted on my floor. There were five symbols total, each one differe
nt, and laid out in a circle formation. Together, Dorian and I stood in the center preparing to call the archangels, Gabriel and Michael.

  “It’ll be fine. They’re more like Raphael and less like Azazel.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How much less?”

  “Would you stop worrying? Besides, archangels for the most part are fickle. Raphael seems to like you and will come when you call. Probably because of our time with him as Sam.” Dorian paused. I worried that my face would give away Raphael’s true identity, so I turned away. “But for the most part, archangels don’t like to be beckoned, even if it is important. All we can do is ask. If they show, it’ll be a miracle.”

  “Great,” I said, sighing deeply. I turned back to face him. “So, now what? Do you have to chant some ritual? Jump up and down several times. Sacrifice a goat?”

  Dorian pulled Lillith’s sabre from its sheath on his back, and before I could stop him, he’d sliced a deep gash into his left forearm and allowed the blood to pour freely to the floor.

  “What the hell?” I shouted.

  “I’m immortal now. It’ll be fine.”

  “I know you’re immortal now, you asshole. But next time warn me!”

  He rolled his eyes, and in one quick movement replaced the sabre in its sheath.

  We stood side-by-side in silence, the only sound being the drops of Dorian’s blood striking the floor. The eerie calm made me nervous, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were already being watched.

  A distant rumbling grew in the distance as if a thunderstorm was rolling in. The winds gained momentum. I looked around and hoped that my studio could withstand the beating. A large crack of thunder boomed overhead, and my studio walls shook. The rumbling drew closer, growing so powerful that I was nearly knocked off my feet.

  “Something’s coming,” Dorian uttered.

  “Ya think?” I replied, a mocking tone slipping from my lips.

  The winds escalated, raging so hard that I was certain the building would fall around me.

  Suddenly, the storm stopped. Everything grew still. The birds, the crickets, even the breeze whistling against my metal roof had ceased to make a sound. Dorian and I shot each other sideways glances, confused as to what had occurred.

  My studio door flew open revealing a tall, imposing figure. As he stepped inside, I could see his features in the light. The pupils of his eyes were nearly purple, matching the sash tied around his waist. His robe skimmed the ground, just revealing bare feet that didn’t appear dirty at all. I looked down and studied my own feet. They were filthy. Becoming a bit self-conscious, I stood on one foot at a time and rubbed the tops and bottoms of each on the opposite pant leg in a futile effort to appear less grubby in front of our Heavenly visitor.

  His hair was black and shiny, hanging stick-straight nearly to his waist. His jawline was perfectly square and his cheekbones, well defined. I wouldn’t have defined him as being handsome but rather…peculiar, in an attractive kind of way. He took in his surroundings, glancing about before settling his gaze on me. I couldn’t discern his expression, his face vacuous and still while his eyes appeared cold and unfeeling.

  “Which angel dude did we end up with?” I mumbled from the corner of my mouth.

  “Show some respect,” Dorian barked back quietly.

  “What? I’m just supposed to know who he is?”

  “Quiet.”

  “I can’t ask the question?”

  “Not…now!”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. It didn’t seem unreasonable to ask which archangel was standing before me in my studio. There was a certain etiquette that I felt should be followed when someone found themselves a guest in someone else’s home. After all, would the angels like it if I showed up at Heaven’s door and just barged in without introducing myself?

  Our guest stood straight, his head held high with a sense of superiority. I could tell immediately that I wasn’t going to like him.

  “I am Gabriel. Is it you who has beckoned me here?” he asked, directing his gaze back and forth between Dorian and me.

  “We did,” Dorian replied bravely. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Is Michael coming, too?” I asked.

  “He is not with me,” replied Gabriel.

  “Thanks for that clarification. I wouldn’t have been able to figure that out without your help.”

  “Skyy,” Dorian barked from the corner of his mouth.

  “Fine,” I said, crossing my arms in a huff.

  “Who are you that you called me to your world?”

  “I’m Dorian. And this is Skyy.”

  Dorian placed his hand on my shoulder and I spoke.

  “Maybe you’ve heard of me? Saved the world a few months back? Carry the concealed Speer of Azazel? Any of this ringing a bell?”

  His face remained somewhat stern, unamused by my introduction. I waited for him to respond, raising my eye brows in anticipation, but he said nothing. In fact, his blank stare felt offensive. Expressionless, he bored holes through my sarcasm and left me a feeling a bit annoyed. To be honest, I was a bit put off that the archangel hadn’t known who we were. After all, there had been an entire prophecy about me.

  “You are well known amongst us. I am aware of who you are. Both of you.” His eyes fluttered from me to Dorian and then back to me. “Perhaps my question must be rephrased.” He took a step closer. “What gives you the right to call someone such as I from my Heavenly post?”

  “What gives us the right? Seriously? You realize that by fulfilling the prophecy and defeating Azazel, I prevented a Heavenly war between your kind. I think that deserves a certain amount of respect, don’t you?”

  His gaze met my own, but he again glossed over my attempted scorn. He remained still, and the silence grew eerie. It was clear that he was awaiting an answer to his question and was willing to wait.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. We want to know if you have any idea as to the location of the Seal of Solomon,” said Dorian, speaking up.

  Upon the utterance of Solomon’s name, Gabriel’s expression changed. He suddenly appeared genuinely confused by our question.

  “Why would you be inquiring about such a thing?”

  “We have our reasons,” I replied curtly.

  “Naberius is looking for it,” Dorian interjected.

  “Naberius.” Gabriel seemed to let his mind wander for a bit. His eyes closed, and his hands folded in front of him as though he were mediating. Then, his eyes opened and he spoke again. “The ring has been lost for millennia. No one has seen it since Solomon’s death. It should remain lost. Why would Naberius suddenly be looking for it?”

  “We think that Hell is up to something. And we’re fairly certain that it has something to do with the vision Skyy had of the symbol.” Dorian pointed at the easel behind us.

  The archangel’s gaze landed on the painting.

  “You painted that?” Gabriel asked, looking confused.

  “Yeah. I did.”

  “You painted the name of God. You saw a vision of his name?”

  “I think we pretty much established all of this. Yes…I painted the seal, the name of God, and we want to know why.”

  “The visions. They come from God?” Gabriel took another step closer to us.

  “I don’t know where they come from. They don’t come postmarked,” I replied, losing patience.

  Gabriel’s expression changed. His eyes softened, and he addressed me.

  “You are angry. You did not ask for the life you were given and you feel as though it is not your own. Therefore, you take out your frustration on those around you…even those you care deeply for. Your destiny remains unfinished. Whispers have begun that Satan has launched his war on Heaven. Revelations could be at hand. I fear this could be why his disciple, Naberius, is intent on finding the old relic. With the ring, he could begin his war. In fact, with the ring…he could win it.”

  I said nothing. The first part of what he’d said was true, and I didn’t
have a comeback. But the last part is what truly caused my skin to crawl.

  Dorian spoke up. “So the apocalypse we stopped in the Badlands?”

  “It was only the beginning. And far easier than the battle ahead.”

  “Reassuring,” I muttered under my breath.

  Gabriel turned and began to head for the door.

  “Wait. Where is Michael? We called him, as well, but he obviously isn’t here,” said Dorian, stopping Gabriel before he could leave.

  “Michael has not been seen since the seal of Solomon disappeared,” said Gabriel, glancing over his shoulder.

  “So, Michael could have the ring then?” I asked.

  “I would not set your hopes on such a thing. If Michael had the seal, every demon from Hell would be upon him trying to take it from him.”

  “Not if they can’t find him.”

  “Leave it be. Leave the ring lost. Do not search for it. It will only bring ruin upon your world and an end that you cannot imagine.”

  And with that final warning, Gabriel turned away and vanished before our eyes.

  There was a brief pause, and then Dorian proclaimed, “Well, that was fun.”

  I smirked and shook my head. Gabriel’s insight into our situation had been elusive at best. It seemed that no matter who we turned to for answers couldn’t muster more than a vague riddle, hell bent on trying to keep us from discovering the truth…whatever that was.

  The silence was broken by the sound of a ringing cell phone.

  Dorian’s head jerked about. He appeared confused at the sudden interruption.

  “Uh, what’s that?” Dorian asked.

  I jogged over to my desk and dug around, shoving books and papers aside until I found what I was looking for. The old flip phone rang again in my hand.

  “When did you get a cell phone?”

  “Sean always used to tell me I should have one for emergencies,” I said, shrugging.

  “Well, who the hell has your number?”

  Chapter 10

  It was nearly three in the morning before we could make it to Sean’s comic book store. We managed to stay unseen, landing atop of the hotel across the street and leaping down into the alley. Dorian pulled on the trench coat he’d brought with him from home and slipped it on to hide his wings from prying eyes. We hurried to the end of the alley and looked around for anyone who might see us. The streets were dead and the windows were dark, so we quickly raced across the street and hammered hard on the door.