Feel the Flames Page 4

I looked over at Dorian, seeking some assistance. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was my call.

  “Fine. But like I said, you’re not going to believe me,” I began, taking a deep breath. “Back in ancient days, God punished a group of his angels called Watchers for mingling with mankind and imprisoned them underground in the Badlands. One of them escaped capture centuries ago and tried to raise his brothers from where they were buried so that they could destroy all human life on this planet and begin their own reign. A group of Hybrids battled them in a war for mankind. It was during this battle that Sean tried to save Dorian from a Watcher named Raja with flaming wings, but in retaliation Raja turned around and stabbed Sean through the chest with a sabre he’d taken from Dorian’s sister. In the end, thanks to Sean’s heroics, we stopped the apocalypse and saved mankind from complete annihilation. We buried him in the Badlands and burned the bodies of the Hybrids who were killed.” I cleared my throat. “That about sums it up.”

  Grace continued to stare me down, her expression unchanged. As the wind beat against the trailer, creating a reverberating hum, its resounding vibration played into the frenzied disbelief that swam circles in her eyes.

  “You’re right. I don’t believe you. You’re just nuts and completely delusional.” Grace marched past me and grabbed a box she’d packed and made her way toward the door. “I’m out of here.”

  We watched her march toward her car. Dorian shook his head and tried to block the exit, but it was too late. I raced out the door and took flight. I circled her twice, demanding her attention, just to make sure she understood what she was seeing, and landed as hard as I could on the roof of her car hoping to dent it a bit, out of retaliation.

  The box slipped from her hand and comic books scattered and slid about at her feet. Her eyes grew wide with disbelief, a slight squeak escaping her lips.

  “You—you—you flew!”

  “I told you they were real,” I remarked, leaping down from her roof, landing directly in front of her, careful not to step on any of Sean’s comics. I allowed my wings to remain unfurled for a few extra moments just to get my point across before pulling them back in behind me.

  “But you can’t be real. You—you just can’t,” she stammered.

  Dorian, having watched the entire scene unfold from the doorway, shook his head and chuckled to himself as he joined us outside.

  “And why can’t we be real?” he asked, grinning.

  “Be—because angels aren’t real! God isn’t real!” Grace frantically paced back and forth, muttering incoherently to herself. Dorian and I stood back and watched for a while, getting a kick out of her reaction to it all. “This shouldn’t be happening.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, holding back a laugh. “Did I hear you say that angels aren’t real? Did you happen to miss the giant wings hanging from our backs?”

  “This isn’t happening. God. Angels. That stuff isn’t real. It’s all just bedtime stories that misguided people tell their kids to make sure they grow up to have morals and no fun!”

  “Hate to tell ya there, pinky…God’s real. His angels are real. Heaven is real. And although I’ve never met him personally, I’m fairly certain that the devil is real.”

  Grace’s head began to shake wildly back and forth.

  “No no no no no! I’m an atheist. There is no God. There’s no such thing!”

  Dorian burst out into sidesplitting laughter, doubling over as he grabbed his stomach.

  “You’re kidding me right now, right?” I side-stepped Dorian’s crumpled, hysterical form. “After meeting us and seeing our wings—seeing me fly—you still deny what you’ve seen with your own eyes? Most people believe in what they believe strictly on faith. But you—no, you don’t have any faith at all, witness something few have ever seen, and yet you still don’t believe.”

  “I—I don’t understand. How are you real? You’re a girl—with wings—who can fly. That’s something that only happens in books. People don’t fly.” Grace stumbled back.

  “You’re right. People don’t fly. But angels do.”

  We were exposed, out in the open. And even though it was dark outside, we were creating quite a racket. It would only be a matter of time before someone heard our bellowing at the end of that trailer court and discover the young couple with wings arguing with a mortal. I knew Grace was confused and frightened, but I needed to calm her down if I was going to have any chance at leaving the area undetected.

  “Grace. It’s a very long story, and one I will tell you all about at a later time. But what I told you is absolutely real. I’m real. Dorian’s real. Our wings are real. And the way Sean died, as a hero, is real. He cared about me and followed me into a battle he never should have been a part of. But he was stubborn and wanted to help. Sean died fighting to protect us, to ensure our victory. And that’s the truth.” I turned my head to face his trailer before once more focusing on the girl. “I never understood his obsession with all that crap in there. His comics, video games. Go ahead and do whatever you want with that stuff. There’s only one thing in there that I want to take with me, if that’s okay with you.”

  Grace had calmed herself a bit, taking in every word I said as if in a trance. She was in shock and seemed unable to speak, but she finally managed to nod her head in faint response.

  I shot a glance over toward Dorian. “Keep an eye on her, and stay out of sight. I’ll be right back.”

  I strolled back into Sean’s trailer and headed for his bedroom. Above his bed hung the painting I’d given him over ten years prior. It was meant as a joke, but he cherished it as if it had been the Mona Lisa itself. It was a bit abstract in its appearance, almost as if it looked to be completely out of focus, forcing you to squint to get a clearer view.

  The background consisted of a combination of swirls of bright yellow and black, creating almost a cheery and stark contrast on the canvas itself. Amidst it all were two figures who stood defiant. The figure in the background was a rather tall woman with long, dark wavy hair. She wore a tight, white tank top with ripped up jeans while treading barefoot amongst the vast nothingness around her. Enormous gray wings protruded from her back and were spread out wide as if they were about to catch a current and take flight.

  But it was the figure in the foreground that used to bring Sean so much joy. A man stood with his arms crossed firmly against his chest, his legs slightly wider than shoulder length apart. He wore a dark, well-fitting costume complete with matching cape and mask. The figure was lean but muscular and gave off an air of bravery, his jaw set firm with the slightest appearance of a smirk at the edge of his forced, stern frown. While slightly abstract, the painting was clearly a depiction of Sean and me and how I had wanted him to see himself. Too often he used to complain that he was just an ordinary guy in an ordinary world. But I had wanted to him realize that he was my own personal superhero, giving me somewhere to go when I felt lost.

  I reached up and lifted the canvas from the nails which kept it in place. I stared at the odd couple in the painting. To an outsider looking in, it could have been construed as nothing but an artist’s rendering of superheroes. But to Sean, it was a way of telling him that he was just as special as I was…minus the wings. And while he didn’t run around in a tight, Lycra disguise, or have super powers, he did stand with his arms crossed, silently judging me, while simultaneously giving me the strength to go on each day.

  There were no photos of us together, so this was the next best thing. Other than his gun, Gladys, it was all I had left of him. So, I tucked the painting under my arm and headed back outside.

  Grace stood by her driver’s side door. It was clear she was still in shock, unable to find the words she needed to come to grips with the recent life-altering newsflash that went against everything she believed.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I searched the skies and nearby hills for anyone who might have spotted us. There wasn’t a trace of human or Hybrid in the vicinity, but I spied a large falc
on perched on top of Sean’s trailer. It seemed to watch us, intrigued by the goings-on below. I studied it briefly, taken in by our similarities. We both had the freedom of flight—the ability to soar through the skies. I also knew that falcons in that part of the country were scarce and almost never seen. And as I stared into its eyes, I wondered if it felt as isolated as I did before Dorian came into my life.

  Its gaze was fixed on me, and for a second I could have sworn it was purposely studying my existence. It was only a bird, and yet I got the feeling it was spying on me for some reason. Just as I was about to point it out to Dorian, the falcon took flight and disappeared into the darkness.

  “Are you really angels?” asked Grace as she calmly tried to keep her voice from shaking.

  “Sort of,” I replied, my attention focused once more on the frightened young woman standing before us. I didn’t feel like going into my lineage right then and there. And after everything else we’d already told her, I wasn’t sure how she’d take the fact that Dorian died at the age of one-twenty and then came back to life with wings like mine. In fact, I wasn’t even sure what that made him. Was he an angel? Only God knew.

  “Are you here to punish me for being a non-believer or something?” she asked.

  “Not that kind of angel.”

  Grace nodded her head and stared at the ground.

  “What happens to me now?”

  Dorian and I traded glances. He shrugged and gestured with his head telling me that the next step was my call.

  I tried to put myself in her shoes. It had only been a few months since I’d met Dorian and Lillith and discovered my fate. When it had all been revealed to me, it had come as a shock. Processing it all had been difficult, and I didn’t exactly handle it very well at first. To be completely honest, I still struggled with it most days. But I’d had an advantage over Grace. I’d always known there were mysteries in the world that people couldn’t understand. After all, I was a girl with wings. As far as Grace had been concerned, she’d been living in a completely scientific world, devoid of any kind of supernatural presence. No God. No angels. No miracles. There was an explanation for everything.

  In the past hour, her entire world had come crumbling down. Everything she once believed—or didn’t believe—had been a lie. There was no denying what she could see. And she also knew that Sean was dead—dead because he knew me and wanted to help save humanity. In the end, there was no going back. Grace couldn’t unlearn everything she’d just learned. No matter how badly she might have wanted to.

  “Do what you need to do with Sean’s house,” I replied. I glanced down at the painting under my arm. “I have everything I need from inside. Just make sure you find a good home for all his crap. And, his place is paid for. If you know of anyone who needs a place to live, it’s theirs. All I ask…”

  My thoughts drifted as I questioned what I was about to say. But Dorian had been right. I needed to do what Sean would have wanted.

  “All I ask is that you keep our identities to yourself. We don’t exist. Understand?”

  Grace nodded again.

  “And there’s one more thing,” I said, dreading what I was about to say.

  “Anything,” Grace replied nervously.

  “How good are you with computers?”

  Chapter 4

  “So where exactly did you find that?”

  Oscar squinted and leaned in closer to his screen, trying to get a better look at the painting Dorian was holding up in front of the webcam. At one point, he was so close to his monitor that I could almost count the hairs growing out of his nose.

  “We…found it,” lied Dorian.

  “Stole it, more likely.” Oscar chuckled.

  “The man has no faith in you. I wonder why?” I asked, tossing Dorian a sarcastic sideways glance.

  “Let’s just say Dorian and I have a history. Caught him trying to steal some books from my collection once. That’s how we met.”

  “Hey. I wasn’t trying to steal them. I was just going to borrow them. And anyway, you eventually let me take them, and I brought them back when I was done.” Dorian lowered the painting and stared stubbornly into the webcam.

  “I stand corrected. However, that was twenty years ago. Oddly enough, I have less hair, a larger waist line, and fuzz growing out of places it’s never grown before. And then there’s you. You haven’t aged a day. Are you ever going to tell me why? Or are you just going to keep dodging the question?”

  “Oscar, it’s better if…”

  “If I don’t know anything. Yeah, yeah,” said Oscar, waving his hands in the air. “It’s the same thing you say every time we talk. Fine. Take it to your grave.”

  “Can we get back to the symbol please?” I asked. “This bromance of yours is making me uncomfortable.”

  Dorian shot me a look. “Bromance?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll explain it to you later.” I grabbed the painting out of Dorian’s hands and held it up again for Oscar to study. “The symbol. Do you know what it is?”

  Oscar was quiet as he studied his monitor. He looked exactly like I thought he would. He had a slightly rounded face with deep dimples. It was difficult to determine exactly how old he was, but if I had to guess, he was probably in his late fifties to early sixties. His hair was as long as mine and pulled back in a messy pony tail, probably trying to hide the fact that his hair had been thinning for some time. He wore round-rimmed glasses, making him look exactly what a hippie professor from New Jersey would look like.

  “It looks ancient. Early Hebrew maybe.” He squinted his eyes and appeared to concentrate. Then suddenly, he bolted back in his chair, his mouth open wide. “I think I know what that is,” he exclaimed excitedly.

  He jumped up, and together we watched Oscar rush off-screen. We heard some racket going on that sounded a bit like books being dropped to the floor and papers being shuffled about. After a minute or two, he reappeared holding a rather old-looking book. The cover was pretty beat up, the corners missing from years of wear and tear. He flipped through a few brittle pages and stopped. His lips moved, but there was nothing but silence as he read to himself.

  After a few more minutes, he finally looked up from the book and turned it around for us to see. The sketches nearly matched the symbols on my paintings.

  “Now, it’s just conjecture, and I could be wrong. But based on what it says here, my best guess is that it could actually be Solomon’s seal.”

  “Solomon’s seal?” I set the painting down at my feet and leaned forward, staring at the pages in Oscar’s book. “You mean Solomon from the Bible, Solomon?”

  “The one and only. Sometimes it’s referred to as Solomon’s ring. It’s believed that the signet ring was possibly given to Solomon by the Archangel Michael to aid him in controlling the spirits. Maybe as a way to force them to do his bidding, but no one is sure. It’s thought that the ring was made of brass and iron and contained gems that sat in four separate quadrants of the seal. Each gem was allegedly given to Solomon by one of four supernatural beings. The angels Michael, Gabriel, Raphael…as well as Jochmus.”

  Raphael—my father. He’d known Solomon? Was he a part of it somehow? I made a mental note to ask about Solomon the next time I saw dear old dad.

  If I saw him.

  Oscar paused, pulled the book back, and flipped a few more pages, absentmindedly shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. He grew silent as his lips again moved without sound.

  The silence gave me time to let my mind wander. I wondered why I’d had a vision of Solomon’s signet ring. What was the point? I had a sneaking suspicion that whatever the explanation, it was probably going to turn my world upside down.

  Another minute passed, and Oscar continued to read to himself.

  “Uh, Oscar? Any chance you could share with the rest of the class?” Dorian asked.

  “Oh. Sorry. It’s just that this particular lore is so incredibly strange and interesting. And there’s a lot to it.”
Oscar turned another page and continued to read.

  “Just give us the short version,” Dorian sighed.

  “Well, like I said before. The fourth angel was Jochmus. But he wasn’t so much an angel as was a…a demon. In fact, he was commonly referred to as The First Savior to Hell.”

  “Excuse me?” I blurted out. “Savior to Hell? That’s an actual thing? What does that even mean?”

  “To be clear, I don’t have a clue. I’m just telling you what it says here. Again…this is all just hearsay—myth. Stories from ancient times. Just stories. Unless you believe that angels and demons actually exist.” Oscar chuckled, his shoulders rising and falling as he smiled at his own joke. But as he glanced up and saw our blank, nondescript expressions looking back at him, he quickly composed himself, shooting us both a curious look. “Uh, so…the writing around the symbol…is supposedly the written name of God. Put that with the four jewels from four supernatural beings, and you have a ring that can supposedly control any spirit—ghosts—demons. The story says that the ring allowed him to summon spirits and could force them to do whatever he wanted. It enslaved them, in a way.” Oscar excitedly flipped a few more pages in the book and continued on. “This was how he built the first temple in Jerusalem. He forced demons to do it. Ironic, really. But it also says that the ring let him exorcise demons. He would press the ring to the forehead of a possessed person, and the demon would be captured and trapped inside a box which he’d seal with wax, using the ring to seal it shut, imprisoning the demon inside—”

  “Like a dybbuk box,” said Dorian, interrupting.

  “Exactly. Like a dybbuk box. There are a few other stories that say that the ring also gave him the ability to travel the world on a magic carpet and communicate with plants and animals.”

  “So, Solomon was the original Doctor Dolittle?” I asked, shaking my head. “Flew around on a magic carpet like Aladdin and the genie? We’re supposed to believe that?”

  “Hey. I don’t come up with them. I just report them. And anyway, it’s not like any of it’s real. It’s just an ancient story—a millennium old bedtime story.” Oscar put the book down and stared us down through the monitor.