Feel the Flames Page 12

  Arna approached me cautiously and lowered his voice.

  “Dorian. He seems different. Does he not?”

  “Well, of course he’s different. He’s immortal and has wings. You didn’t really expect him to come back from the dead exactly the way he was before, did you?” I chuckled, glancing back over my shoulder.

  “That isn’t what I mean. What I meant to say is…what I meant was…there’s something not quite Dorian about…Dorian.”

  I dropped the papers I had been holding and spun about on my heels. It seemed odd that Arna of all people would question Dorian’s character.

  “Excuse me?” I questioned derisively. “He’s exactly who he was before he died. I don’t think I like what you’re insinuating.”

  “You don’t think he seems different at all?”

  “No.” I laughed loudly, iterating how ridiculous the conversation seemed to me. “He does get a bit frustrated sometimes. Angry, even. But that’s to be expected. It’s a big change going from living a mortal kind of life…eating, sleeping…being immortal involves a lot of downtime. Not to mention, he’s used to an exciting kind of life full of battles, sword fights, etcetera. These days, he doesn’t do much except follow me around and watch me paint. I’m sure it’s just taking him some time to adjust.”

  “I think it’s more than that.”

  “I think you’re being overly dramatic.”

  “And I think you’re too close to the situation to be rational.” Arna’s voice grew louder. “And I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”

  “There’s nothing to take, Arna. What is your deal? Why are you so determined to convince me that there’s something wrong with him?” I marched up to the angel and looked defiantly into his eyes.

  “Have you seen him?”

  “Every day for a few months now. Your point?”

  “You don’t think it’s strange that he died and came back with wings? Black wings?”

  To be honest, the thought had crossed my mind on more than a few occasions, but I tried not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d come back…to me…and that’s what had been important. I said nothing, instead opting to continue to stare Arna down.

  “You’re not even the least bit curious as to why he was sent back? With those wings? And why he can’t remember any of what happened before he arrived on your doorstep? Because I’m telling you, none of it is as it should be.”

  Arna turned and wandered off toward the back of my studio, aimlessly pacing about. But his expression seemed to be hiding more than he was telling us, as if he was fighting an internal war with himself.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I asked. “Do you know something?”

  He froze, remaining perfectly still. After a few seconds, he turned to face me.

  “I have my reasons for questioning his…current existence. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Typical, I thought. Once more Arna was being vague with his answers, just as he’d been when explaining the relationship between my parents. He’d evaded my questions then, too.

  “Fine. Then answer this. You knew everything about my parents’ relationship, and when I asked you how you knew so much, you told me we’d discuss it later. Well,” I began, pausing for a second, “it’s later. So how is it you know so much about my parents?”

  “Now is not the time.”

  “Now is the perfect time.”

  “I cannot tell you.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  A loud argument penetrated the silent stare between Arna and me, and it had come from outside. Together, we rushed to the door and ran out to the yard just in time to see Rami pointing his sword at Dorian’s chest, holding him off while his other hand gripped his belly. Blood oozed from between his fingers, his face pale from the loss of blood. Rami was in agonizing pain—it was clear. But it was Dorian’s face that left me uneasy. His expression was one of cruel enjoyment—a look I’d never seen on him before. It was as if he was finding joy in Rami’s pain. One hand gripped his full Chakram and the other clutched Lillith’s sabre whose tip now dripped with blood.

  “What the hell happened,” I yelled, rushing at Rami who collapsed just as I reached him. I quickly placed my hands over his injury and tried to stop the bleeding, but it didn’t take a surgeon to realize how severe the wound was. I looked up and caught Arna staring Dorian down. Immediately, Dorian’s face went blank. He blinked a few times, and then as if he’d suddenly woken up from a deep sleep, looked around as if he didn’t know where he was.

  “Rami. Are you all right?” Dorian asked, taking a step toward his friend who was laid out on the ground.

  “Stay away from me,” Rami bellowed, grimacing in pain. “Keep him away from me!”

  Dorian dropped both weapons allowing them to fall to the ground, his expression etched in confusion.

  “Arna?” My desperate gaze caught that of the angel who towered over us. “It’s too severe. He’ll…please. Do something,” I urged.

  Arna exchanged glances with Dorian, who now appeared utterly confused at the entire scene, before bending down and placing his hand on Rami’s stomach.

  I stood and stepped back, falling back into Dorian’s arms.

  “What happened,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder.

  “I—I don’t know. We were sparring, having a good time—same as usual. No holds barred but pulling our thrusts. And then…I don’t know. It’s like I blacked out. I don’t remember a damn thing.” Dorian sounded genuinely upset. “I swear. I never would have hurt him on purpose. I don’t even know how it happened.”

  Arna’s hand glowed, completely engulfed in a bright, white light. Rami screamed out in pain as the angel worked his magic to close the wound. We watched the skin come together, closing up the injury, the flow of the blood subsiding. While I was personally used to the pain that accompanied being impaled by a sharp object—on more than a dozen occasions if I’m being honest—as a Hybrid, Rami had never before experienced that kind of agony. And the healing process sometimes hurt far worse than the initial incursion. I could sympathize with the kind of excruciating pain he was experiencing, but I also knew that the ensuing distrust of Dorian would be even more dreadful than any mortal injury.

  Chapter 12

  Arna led the way with Dorian and I following closely behind as we flew low in the cover of darkness. Rami had opted out of the trip to see the medium altogether. It wasn’t a shock to any of us after what had just occurred. Although Rami did eventually express his belief that Dorian hadn’t purposely meant to hurt him, there was still an air of mistrust behind his eyes he was unable to hide. They shook hands and parted ways amicably, but it was clear to everyone that Rami would never fully trust or look at Dorian the same way again. And who could blame him?

  Dorian was confused and penitent over the entire incident. That kind of remorse couldn’t be faked. But truth be told, if Arna hadn’t have been there, Rami would have died by Dorian’s sword. And Dorian’s initial expression when we first arrived on the scene still frightened me, almost as if he’d found immense joy in mortally wounding a Hybrid. I’d never seen him like that before—not even during battle when he’d been forced to slay his enemy. He’d never found glee in killing—not like that—although there was a certain kind of satisfaction in slaying one’s enemy. But he’d never shown that kind of grotesque enjoyment while fighting before.

  Maybe Arna had been right.

  Maybe there was something wrong with Dorian.

  I glanced over at Dorian. I wondered if his new immortal existence was truly the reason why he’d seemed a bit off recently. Or could it have been something else entirely? Did my feelings for him cloud my judgment? Either way, I would need to be deaf and blind not to realize that something was different. But I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that he was capable of hurting a friend…or me.

  “We’re nearly there,” Arna shouted over his shoulder.

  Eventually, we could see the houses and stree
ts within the reservation. A school, a park, and even a Pizza Hut sat below us as we soared a bit higher to remain out of sight. We continued on and followed Arna past the main roads. The view beneath us was a beautiful nothingness, lying hidden somewhere in the darkness. After a few more minutes, we spotted an old Airstream travel trailer parked in the middle of nowhere. It sat quite a distance away from any kind of civilization surrounded by nothing but trees, hills, and flat terrain.

  We touched down, landing silently about twenty yards from the front door. I surveyed my surroundings. An old Buick was parked off to the side. It was dirty and rusted but appeared as though it was still in running order based on the recent tire tracks directly behind it. The trailer itself was old, dented, and no longer structurally sound, but the owner had clearly made a concerted effort to make it look and feel like home, at least on the outside. Flowers and bushes were planted out front, bordered by various rocks laid out in interesting designs. An old patio table sat in the makeshift yard, surrounded by four mismatched chairs. It held a worn and faded umbrella which stood erect through a hole in the center of the table. The entire setup was quaint, but it was clear to see the resident lived well below the poverty level.

  A dark form fluttered by, and I caught sight of something flying overhead, nearly hidden by the night sky. It circled our group a few times, soaring mere inches above us. After another second or two, it landed hard on top of the trailer. It raised its head high into the air and stretched out its wings, flapping wildly as if it purposely intended to get our attention. It was a falcon, and it appeared to be especially focused on me as its gaze never strayed from where I stood. I stared back. And that’s when I noticed something.

  There was a scar over the falcon’s right eye.

  The same scar I’d seen on the falcon atop the hotel downtown.

  For a split second, I wondered if it could just be a coincidence, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out I was looking at the same exact bird. But what were the odds of seeing the same exact falcon eighty miles from the last place I’d seen it? That had to be more than just a coincidence.

  It ceased its flurry of excitement and rested its gaze on our quaint band of winged beings. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help but think it recognized me from town. The notion was absurd, but its eyes stayed laser focused on me…even as I drew closer to the trailer.

  “Friend of yours, Skyy?” Arna asked.

  “I—uh, no,” I stammered. “I just think I’ve seen it somewhere before.”

  “You recognize a bird?” Dorian chuckled.

  I ignored his comment. Again, I caught myself staring at the scar. It was definitely the same bird, which made me wonder why it was there. Over the years, I’d discovered that coincidences weren’t real. There was an explanation for everything, but I was at a loss as to what the truth was this time. It squawked, its high-pitched chirps intermittently growing louder with each screech.

  The door of the trailer suddenly swung open, the unexpected interruption frightening the falcon, causing it to take flight where it disappeared into the darkness.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. If you wish to speak to me of Michael, you best come in…for someone sees ya,” said the woman in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

  She was far younger than I thought she’d be. I assumed an insightful medium would be elderly, complete with white hair, a hunched back, and mysterious demeanor. But this medium didn’t fit that mold at all. Coughing up a bunch of phlegm, she waved us in and went back inside.

  I glanced around at the vast nothingness that surrounded us, looking for any sign that we could have been followed. Seeing no one, I shrugged at Dorian and we all piled inside her tiny dwelling. It held only the essentials including a small kitchen directly to our left, a vinyl-covered bench on the opposite wall, a worn recliner to our right directly next to the door, and a small round coffee table in the middle with an ashtray overflowing with discarded cigarette butts.

  “Sit. Sit!” she ordered, waving her arms erratically in our direction. We all sat side by side on the well-worn bench, so close that our shoulders touched. Dorian promptly removed the saber from the scabbard on his back and laid it on the coffee table as it seemed to dig into his shoulder blades. She sat across from us in the recliner, and that’s when I saw it. Her eyes were almost completely white, her corneas covered in a milky cloud. Pulling the cigarette out from between her teeth, she put it out in the ashtray, some of the overflowing ash spilling out.

  Her left hand reached out and felt around on the table, coming to rest on a pack of menthols. She slid a cigarette out and placed it between her lips, reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a Bic lighter. In one swift movement, she lit the cigarette and took a few puffs. “You don’t mind, right? I mean, you’re all immortal. What’s a little second-hand smoke between friends?”

  Arna began to speak. “We’re here about…”

  “The archangel—Michael. Yes. I know. I heard you earlier. I knew you were coming,” she said. “And yes. I’m blind.” She stared me down with her blank eyes, almost as if she could actually see me.

  Her face showed how hard the years had been on her. Her skin was dark and leathery. Hair once black had turned gray in sporadic strips causing a kind of zebra-like effect. It was all held back loosely with a leather tie, and she wasn’t dressed the way I thought she’d be. But then she wasn’t exactly what I had expected when Arna told me about her. She wore a pair of baggy pair of jeans that appeared to have been made for a man. They were far too big on her and were held up by a black set of suspenders. Her vintage Pink Floyd t-shirt was faded from years of wear, and it was all topped off with a pair of unicorn slippers, complete with horn and rainbow mane.

  “How did you hear us?” I asked, unable to take my gaze off her footwear.

  “I simply listen. It’s not for me to understand the mysteries of God’s universe. My abilities are not created by Him, but rather they are allowed. He uses me to be a vessel between this world and His…when necessary. And today, I believe, it is. You seek Michael, the archangel.” She took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled, never once removing it from between her lips, allowing it to dangle precariously from her mouth. “He has been in hiding for thousands of years, never wanting to be found. But I hear him sometimes. His thoughts are loud…and distressed. He knows that something is happening…something he cannot control. Michael has made a decision and it is only a matter of time before he acts on it.”

  She took another drag. We sat quietly, waiting for her to continue. But silence was the only thing permeating the room…that and her cigarette smoke.

  “And the slippers were a gift from my great niece, if you must know,” she stated simply, clearly aware of my fascination.

  We all glanced about at each other, curious as to how she knew our thoughts.

  “I hear you. I hear you inside your own heads even when you think you’ve closed yourself off to the others. Somehow, I can hear it all, just as easily as if I’m changing the stations on a radio. But back to Michael. What do you wish to know?”

  Arna leaned forward. “We need to find him. It’s of vital importance. Do you know where he’s hiding?”

  “I cannot see what the angels or spirits see. I can only hear their thoughts.”

  “Spirits?” Dorian asked.

  “I hear everything. The angels, the spirits of those who have passed on behind the veil…and demons. It is both a blessing and a curse.”

  “You can hear demons?” I asked.

  She didn’t respond, instead taking another long drag on her smoke, then blowing it out slowly as the cigarette remained tightly pressed between her lips. Her fingers played with the frayed ends of a denim thread left behind from a hole in her jeans. Her defiant stare made me uncomfortable, and I was certain I had pissed her off.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press. I was just curious.” My attention was again directed at her unicorn slippers when I had a sudden
thought. “I’m sorry. We didn’t introduce ourselves. I’m…”

  “Skyy. And to your right is Arna…an angel of Heaven’s lower court. And to your left…” The medium paused, her eyes fluttering back and forth. She scrunched up her forehead and for a split-second I saw what I thought may have been concern on her face. “And to your left…is Dorian. And I am Mina.”

  “Michael. Do you know where he is?” Arna again asked.

  Mina closed her eyes and remained perfectly still. We all waited for an answer, but her silence dragged on causing the three of us to grow increasingly impatient.

  Just when it felt like we couldn’t take the quiet any longer, her eyes sprung open.

  “Michael has hidden himself in plain sight, since no one ever took the time to truly see him anyway. Overlooked and ignored, he has been able to blend in without any cause for concern. He’s watched you, Skyy, for many generations. Fascinated with you and your destiny. He is one of the few who knows about the darkness that surrounds your past. Michael was always watching you—observing everything—never once interfering. But now he has fled. The door of Hell in danger of being discovered, he guards it in hope of keeping it sealed.” Mina closed her eyes again. “The fate of humanity is once more at risk. The apocalypse near at hand. Good and evil will vie for control and mankind will be caught in the middle—destroyed—regardless of which side wins.”

  The three of us all exchanged looks of concern. Her words frightened me…and nothing ever frightened me.

  Michael knew about my past? Had he seen me do the things in my past that I had tried hard to forget? Did he know the kind of person I was back then?

  But I couldn’t worry about that right then. Something else she’d said alarmed me.

  “Wait,” I began. “You’re telling me there’s an entrance to Hell and that Michael is there guarding it?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “And that another battle will be fought, but this time mankind can’t be saved?”

  “Michael believes they will be wiped out only if the battle is allowed to be played out.” Mina took one last drag from her cigarette and held it as she pulled the cigarette from her lips and put it out in the ashtray. As she exhaled, the smoke appeared to hang in the air, temporarily frozen in time. “I fear that Michael’s thoughts are jumbled a bit when it comes to the oncoming fight, but he is clear about one thing. You, Skyy, are the key to victory. You were created to not only prevent the Fallen from rising. You were created for an even higher purpose. But I see nothing but darkness ahead of you. A choice…a choice between saving one or saving all. That is your destiny. And only your past will allow you to move ahead with that choice.”