Angel Eyes (30 page)
“Please, God. Help.”
And then he’s gone.
The demon shoots through the roof and into the sky, leaving a trail of smoke behind. The gut-wrenching realization that only I can see him—that there are forces here the others are unaware of—reminds me that something, somewhere is hunting Jake. Damien, the author of this nightmare, could arrive at any time.
I scan the room again. Violent flames blackened by fear and sadness stain the creamy orange expanse of the Celestial. We have to get these children out of here, and we have to do it now.
I wrench my eyes toward Marco and cringe as he narrowly avoids an overhand arching punch thrown by Juan. He’s doing everything he can. Outside, Jake is doing the same.
Now it’s my turn. I can’t just stand here and shake.
Swallowing the fear I have for Jake and Marco, and without a plan of any sort, I duck out from my hiding place and run pell-mell for the door, arriving just as Cleo and gang exit the warehouse. At top speed I follow them outside, catching my hip on the chain that’s kept so many children locked inside this netherworld. I ignore the welt I know is forming and force myself forward. I’m quite possibly the redhead’s only hope.
Michelle is at the back of the cluster, her high-heeled boots slowing her down. I grab a yank of her hair and pull. Together we tumble to the ground, and she screams out. Cleo stops at the noise and turns back, pulling the redhead with her.
“If you want this girl back, you’ll have to trade me!” I shout over Michelle’s screams. I have her pinned to the ground, my knees pressing into her lower back, my long arms jamming hers to her sides.
“Get the car, Sam,” Cleo says irritably. The purple-suited man scampers off, his expression dim. “Who are you, princess?” Cleo asks, her painted eyes narrowed.
“Just give me the girl and you can have this one back.”
Beneath me, Michelle whimpers. “I don’t want to go back,” she sobs.
My head drops. I’ve just lost my bargaining chip. I could never force this girl to return to such a life. For all I know, her story is no different than that of the dozens of children tied up inside.
Cleo laughs. “Well, that changes things, doesn’t it?”
I sit up and lean back, releasing Michelle’s arms. My hand lands on cold, hard steel.
“I guess it does,” I answer. Cleo turns to go, and with a swift prayer that my aim has improved since a misguided attempt at archery years ago, I swing the heavy chain over my head. It narrowly misses the redhead as it connects with Cleo’s neck. Her head snaps forward with a crack, and she drops heavily to the ground and does not move. The two girls look at me, and my chest heaves as I consider the possibility that I’ve killed her.
Tires squeal, kicking up rocks and gravel. We dive out of the way as the driver pulls up inches from Cleo in a midnight-blue Monte Carlo. He sticks a ferrety face out the window and covers his mouth at the sight of the still form on the ground. With a quick glance at Michelle, he drives away, nearly colliding with the Dumpster that Jake and I skirted earlier tonight.
Michelle walks over to Cleo’s body, turning her over with the toe of her boot.
“Did I . . . is she . . .”
There are no red flames. No marks of violence, but I can’t even formulate the question.
“No,” Michelle says, the sludge of fear evaporating from her legs. “She’s not dead.”
“Too bad.” It’s the redhead.
Michelle turns, and a quirky smile replaces the fear.
“You guys have to get out of here,” I say, dropping the chain and pushing to my feet.
“What about you?” Michelle asks, stripping off her jacket and passing it to the dripping redhead.
“I’ve got work to do. Go and don’t come back.”
“We’ll send help,” the redhead promises.
“Help is already on its way,” I say. It’s a statement. It’s a prayer. “Just get as far away from here as you can.”
They stare at me, and I know—without knowing them at all—that these two girls are braver than I’ve ever had cause to be.
“Just go,” I say. “Please.”
“Come on,” Michelle says, grabbing the other girl’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
“Thank you,” the redhead tells me, her face now entirely clear of the blackness. She and Michelle take off, running fast down the broken road.
Thunder rolls across the sky, followed by a flash of lightning. Heavy raindrops fall from the black clouds above. The storm has arrived.
I turn and run toward the parking lot, where I last saw Jules struggling with Kaylee. The rain pours down, soaking my face, my clothes. My eyes rake the lot, but there’s no sign of Jake, and the SUV is gone.
If I hadn’t hesitated, if I’d moved faster . . . maybe . . .
Again a squeal of tires causes me to jerk, and I turn to see Jules’s SUV coming down the road toward me. I stand in the direct beam of his headlights, which look strange and milky in the light of the Celestial—but I’m frozen. Like a deer.
For the first time I understand the expression.
D
amien!”
His name rings silently across the night sky, perceptible to him and four others.
He knows he’s late. But is he too late?
The demon stops abruptly. With his outer wings humming against the night, he stretches his inner wings wide, unfurling them against the blushing sky.
He must appear powerful. In control.
He opens his eyes as wide as possible, but they dry out and glaze over. He fights the discomfort and stares jealously at his fallen brothers as they advance from a distance.
They’re still several hundred yards off, but their fitness is apparent. They approach with more daring than he’s had in nearly a century. There’s no doubt in Damien’s mind they’ve either been shielded from the light for some time or been given ample opportunity to heal. They fly with abandon, their eyes barely registering the radiance that is his nemesis.
A hundred yards in front of the others, flying straight at Damien, is Maka. He is by far Damien’s biggest risk. Rarely assigned to earth, he’s spent most of his days in the direct company of the Prince. He’s strong, influential among their kind, and has the ear of Lucifer himself. Exactly what Damien needs. Although if this goes wrong, Maka’s involvement ensures that Damien’s failures will be paraded before the very being he desires to impress. It’s a gamble, but he’s desperate, and opportunities like this do not come along often.
Flanking him are the Twins: Larat and Latham. At one time these two were comrades of Damien’s. But, characteristic of their kind, the alliance lasted only as long as it was mutually beneficial. A breed entrenched in deception can hardly be expected to work well together for extended periods. And yet Larat and Latham have maintained a peace for centuries. The Prince himself dubbed them “the Twins” long ago. Very similar in build and appearance, the two have had consistent success that has continued to secure them common assignments.
This allows them to swap realms more often, to alternate between the scorching light of the Celestial and the comfortable but restricting realm of the Terrestrial. And, like Maka, they are favorites of those higher up the food chain than Damien—frequently recalled from the front lines.
Another twenty yards or so, beyond the Twins, gyrating in midair, is Javan. Over and over he flips, falling nearly to the earth before pumping his wings and launching himself into the sky again. Javan’s been on assignment in the Terrestrial for many years and is the brother Damien runs into with the most frequency. For the past fifty years or so he’s been attached to the same charge: Henry Madison. The nature of his job with Henry keeps him almost entirely in the Terrestrial.
Based on the amount of freedom Javan appears to be reveling in, Damien can tell it’s been some time since that brother has been able to escape into the Celestial. Javan has complained about this aspect of his job, but even Damien understands the benefits. Javan’s eyes are not nearly as damaged.
For a long moment Damien rests his eyes, closing them firmly against the light, hoping to show as little weakness as possible when he and his brothers are finally face-to-face. It’s a few seconds only before he feels Maka’s breath upon his brow, and he opens them, dull and tainted.
“
You
orchestrated this?” Maka draws his scimitar and points it at Damien’s throat.
Dozens of times Damien has considered the best way to play this—the best approach. They’re all masters of deception, distrusting one another and the world around them. It doesn’t matter what he says, what he does, Damien’s brothers will assume the worst of his motives, and lying to them will not get him any closer to the Prince.
“Yes, I orchestrated this,” Damien answers. “I need your eyes.”
“Take care of your own, and you will not need to borrow mine!” Maka is angry, but not nearly as angry as Damien feared. His lips twist, betraying his curiosity, and it becomes apparent he’ll hear his brother out.
Damien will wait for the others, though. He won’t repeat himself. Not tonight.
Moments later Larat and Latham arrive, grinning maliciously as Maka’s blade brushes against Damien’s neck.
Larat shakes his head in disapproval, and his mind joins the conversation. “Surely you know better, Damien. What could be worth deceiving four superior beings?”
“Three superior beings, I think,” Latham corrects, shoving the just-arrived Javan with a muscled arm.
Javan, for his part, continues to bounce on the Celestial currents, his tongue hanging beneath jagged teeth like an eager dog, breathless and beaming.
“Still,” Larat continues, “this doesn’t sit well.” He, too, brandishes his scimitar. “There are reasons we don’t gather often.”
Maka drops his weapon to the side and approaches, his fangs just inches from Damien’s.
“Exposing our charges to the power of a Shield is enough to merit my wrath, but to expose us—your brothers—without so much as a warning! Surely you’ve considered the consequences.”
The power of a Shield. So Canaan is here
.
“It’s highly unlikely all of our charges will make it out alive,” Latham agrees.
“Mine’s about to croak anyway.”
“Shut up, Javan. It’s even more unlikely each of us will make it out unscathed. And I promise you this, Damien,” Maka says, “you will be the first one we feed to the light.”
Envy and resentment swell until Damien can take it no more. He moves forward, forcing Maka back. A growl escapes his lips. “Of course I have considered the consequences! What I have to show you is far more dangerous than anything I am exposing you or your charges to.”
Rain falls past the demonic assembly, but in the distance slivers of light break through the fog, encasing the warehouse.
Cursing, Maka sheathes his weapon. “Speak, then, fool, and make it fast. We’re already losing ground.”
L
ike lightning from the sky, something falls fast and hard, landing on the hood of the moving SUV. A blood-curdling scream pierces the night air, and it’s several moments before I realize it’s coming from me. Finally my eyes focus on the source of the collision, and I clamp a hand to my mouth.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
Canaan crouches—invisible to Jules—on the entirely demolished hood of the SUV. Jules is stunned, his car imploding before his very eyes. He sits there bleeding and staring absently. I squint at the silvery sheen of Canaan’s extensive wingspan. His feet and arms are bare, but his torso and legs are wrapped in heavy threads of golden light. His silver hair flutters on waves of yellow heat.
Canaan drives a muscled arm through the windshield and grabs Jules by the shirt, pulling him roughly through the windshield. The violent gesture rocks Jules into hysteria, and he bawls like a baby. He kicks his feet madly, trying to find the ground. Canaan throws his own head forward, his Celestial skull connecting with Jules’s forehead. It’s such an unangelic thing to do, I laugh aloud.
Canaan turns and laughs with me, and the bizarre sight gets even stranger. I see Jake, tightly strapped to Canaan’s chest like a tandem skydiver. Only what’s holding them together seems to be a pair of sinewy wings—all but transparent. They cover Jake from head to toe, and while I know I’m viewing something sacred, I can’t help but think the poor boy looks swathed in Cling Wrap. Like a satin scarf fluttering on the wind, the wings open, and Jake steps onto the hood of the car and jumps to the ground. Jules, Jake, and I get wetter and wetter with each passing second while Canaan remains completely dry—the raindrops nothing but sparkling diamonds falling from the heavens above and soaking into the ground.
“Jake said you’d come.”
“And I did,” Canaan answers.
It’s strange. His lips don’t move, but I hear his voice clearly. Like he’s speaking into my ear. Like he’s inside my head.
Jake has already retrieved Kaylee from the SUV. She’s uninjured but catatonic. In shock, I’m sure. He wraps her tight against his chest, shielding her from the rain and whispering something softly in her ear.