Angel Eyes (31 page)
The emotion that chokes me at this precious sight feels confused: I want to be like Jake. I want to protect my best friend.
This
best friend. But I, too, yearn to be protected—like Kaylee— held tight in loving arms. Guarded. Safe.
Again Canaan’s voice sounds in my head. “Will you grab the woman?”
Cleo.
Aware that hefting her is not an option, I grab hold of each arm and drag. Her heels cut tracks in the mottled ground, and she looks almost kind in her sleep. It’s amazing what changes when we dream.
Canaan lifts both Jules and Cleo into the backseat of the SUV, where they lie quieter and more civil to one another than they’ve been all evening.
An unfamiliar sound draws my gaze to the sky. Bat-like figures cut through the atmosphere high above, but I can’t make out anything beyond their dark wings.
And then I hear Canaan’s voice saying, “I have to go. Stay with Jake.”
Before I can respond, Canaan leaves the ground, the whiteness of his wings glistening as they propel him upward.
“What is it?” Jake asks.
“Canaan. He had to go.”
A maniacal cry makes its way outside.
“Marco,” I say.
But Jake’s already running, Kaylee curled tight against him. I follow, panic fighting against the halo for control of my emotions. “Please, please.” I focus hard on the wall before me, and it disappears as we close in.
Celestially, the warehouse is a mess. Fear has multiplied, nearly drowning the mass of children. I can’t imagine the weight they feel as it presses against them. Flames continue here and there, but none so ferocious as the blaze roaring around Marco and Juan. They continue to circle, both bruised and battered and hesitant to engage.
Suddenly Juan lunges at Marco, swatting at him like a bear. Marco slides to the side, and with a jab to Juan’s ear sends him sprawling to the ground.
“We have to hurry!” I yell.
Jake crosses the threshold and sets Kaylee on her feet. His momentum keeps him moving forward. I grab her hand and continue to run, pulling her with me.
“Watch out!” I cry, but it’s too late.
Juan is already in the air, diving straight for Marco’s knees. He finds his target, and the two plummet into the mess of broken pallets. With a loud crack, Marco’s head connects with the corner of one. He struggles to right himself, and his nemesis laughs.
“You’d think karma would be on your side,” Juan snorts.
He crouches down, reaching for something at his feet and giving me a better view of Marco. A sickening realization attacks me. Marco’s arm is pinned between two pallets, the weight of Juan’s body holding him there.
“Karma and I have never seen eye to eye,” Marco says, continuing to squirm. He moves his arm back and forth in a futile attempt to break free.
Juan pulls himself upright, and in his hand he holds a broken two-by-four dislodged from one of the pallets. Nails protrude hazardously from the end of the board. He raises it high above his head, and Marco ducks awkwardly.
Jake picks up speed as the children scream and wail. But he’s not going to get there in time. There’s no way.
And then,
pop!
The hollow sound of a gunshot drives me to the ground. I fall on top of Kaylee as it echoes through the warehouse.
Where did it come from? I chance a look.
Jake is sprawled just feet from the dueling men, and a shock wave pummels my chest at the thought of him taking a bullet. But he, too, raises his head. Silence permeates the room as Juan turns toward us in surprise. The left shoulder of his shirt blossoms like a monstrous flower and in seconds is soaked through with blood.
Rage tears from his chest, raw and terrifying. Again he raises the board. Marco covers his head with his free arm.
“Shoot now!” I yell, looking frantically about for the shooter. “Shoot!”
From the center of the room someone fires. I flinch in response but keep my focus on Juan. The bullet finds its mark, and he drops instantly. Like a rag doll he flops from one pallet to the next until with a dull thud he sprawls to the ground. His putrid, sallow eyes fade into darkness, and the flames surrounding him still.
“Who?” I ask, looking around for the shooter.
Jake pushes to his knees and looks around the room. “There,” he says. He stands and makes his way toward the children.
A girl, maybe fourteen, kneels near the middle of the group, still bound to those on her right and left. In her hand is Juan’s gun—the only gun left in the building. She shakes, and tears stream down her dirty face. Jake runs to her, sinks to the ground at her side, and reaches a steady hand out for the gun.
“It’s okay,” Jake says. “You . . . did good.”
“Daddy taught me to shoot,” she says, her lip quivering. “Just birds though. Birds are different.”
She drops the gun then, letting it fall into Jake’s hand. He pulls the girl into his arms and lets her cry.
I leave Kaylee where she is, huddled on the floor, and move to help Marco. It takes me a minute, but when I’m done he’s free of the pallets holding him hostage.
“Your skin.” Marco stares incredulously at my hands. “It’s so hot.”
I release his arm and he steps back, wary.
I’ve been there. I understand.
He turns slowly away, his eyes on mine until the last possible second, and then he walks toward the children. He weaves through them, stopping between Jake and the shooter.
“Thank you,” Marco says, dropping to his knees and pulling the girl into his arms.
“Can I go home now?” the girl asks.
Marco looks to Jake.
“Yes,” Jake says. “Soon.”
From somewhere near the door, clapping hands and laughter can be heard. In a room full of calamity, the noise is unhinging. The old man, Henry, shakes from head to toe, the hook of his cane draped over his arm as he cheers.
“Bravo, young lady,” he exclaims. “I fear this evening’s purchase will be postponed, but I do like a girl with spirit.”
Marco stands and lunges toward the old man. Jake tries to stop him, but Marco breaks free, craze consuming his face.
And then Henry’s gone.
The clapping and the laughter are silenced.
The old man has disappeared into thin air.
F
rom high above, Canaan watches. Four fallen angels far below maintain their distance from the warehouse. They take turns scanning the sky, presumably looking for a Shield. It’s this alone that forces Canaan to conclude they’ve yet to spot him and Helene beyond the cloud bank.
“What are they doing?” her mind asks.
“Waiting for a diversion.”
“Of their own making?”
The sound of foreign wings answers in Canaan’s place. The two Shields flip their legs horizontal and watch as directly below them, flying erratically, another fallen creature soars toward the warehouse.
“Watch the others,” Canaan commands. “If Damien gets his hands on Brielle, there’s no knowing what Jake will do to get her back.”
Canaan drops below the clouds, familiar with the demon flying below him. Over the centuries Javan has adapted so well to the Terrestrial he rarely leaves it. He isn’t much of a warrior but has mastered the arts of human addiction and lust. His charges are usually so deeply entrenched in their obsessions and cravings that they allow Javan an unprecedented level of control in their lives. He thrives on it, and a sick sort of symbiotic relationship is formed, tying Javan to his charge for decades longer than most demons stay with theirs.
One moment Javan is dipping through the roof and the next he’s exploding out if it. But this time he’s not alone. His inner wings smash a human bundle to his chest as he pushes higher and higher into the sky. But his charge slows him, and with the use of all four wings Canaan easily outstrips the fallen angel. Rising above him and dropping down, he draws his sword and blocks Javan’s path.
Somersaulting backward through the air, the fallen one evades attack, but only just. Canaan torpedoes forward and swipes with his sword, slicing at Javan’s wings. He connects with the primary feathers on Javan’s right side, turning them to ash.
Javan hisses and wraps his outer wings tight against his frame. He drops a hundred feet or more before unfurling them and shooting away.
Canaan follows.
D
amien lands on the roof of the warehouse. Seconds later Maka and the twins do the same. The devastation below sets his companions growling—both their charges lie unconscious in a demolished SUV—evidence that Canaan has indeed been here. Where he is now, Damien has no idea, but it can’t be far.
Damien opens his mouth and howls with delight. The boy with the divine gift, so valuable to the Prince and his world of darkness, sits below them, unguarded and defenseless. He’s moving from child to child, cutting them free. Marco is here too, dragging the lifeless body of Juan away from the children and into the office. Jake stands, absent his Shield and surrounded by children.
It’s almost too easy.
“Which one is it?” Maka demands. He doesn’t believe Damien, but he’s too careful a demon to leave without making sure.
“That one there. With the child in his arms.”
“If what you say is true, surely he will extend his hand to one of the many injured below,” Latham interjects, watching the enticing flames lick at the captives. “We can observe from here.”
“He’ll never expose himself in front of so many witnesses.”
Latham huffs. “How do you know that?”
“Would
you
?”
His brother bristles, but does not answer.
Damien continues. “It’s up to you, of course, but it would be easier if you transferred.”
“With a Shield nearby?” It’s Larat.
“If Jake is reluctant to comply, it may take all of us to persuade him. That will move faster if he can see you. As you said, there’s a Shield nearby, and I’d prefer to get this over with as quickly as possible.”
“Javan’s an idiot, but he can keep the Shield occupied for a few minutes.” With a wheeze of irritation, Maka transfers to the Terrestrial, taking on his human form. He glares at the sky and shakes off the rain drenching him. The other two follow suit.
Silent as a wraith, Damien drops through the roof, hovering just above Jake’s head. The boy stiffens. Before Jake can release the child in his arms, Damien cloaks them both with his inner wings and rises back to the roof. The demon releases the boy and child roughly and transfers to the Terrestrial.
Jake stumbles onto the roof, slides on the rain-soaked aluminum, and drops to his knees, the child pale and trembling as her wide eyes move from one demon to the other.
“Damien,” Jake says. “It’s been awhile.”
“Not for me,” Damien answers, relishing the opportunity to explain.
He stoops so he and the boy are eye level. The girl shrinks away, whimpering.
“I saw you last week, with the girl. You put your hands on her broken ankle, and the bone obeyed the grace in your hands. You healed her with a touch. Impressive.” He leans closer to Jake. He wants to taste his fear. “And then I saw her. The girl. Brielle Matthews. I saw her with the halo. I saw her
see
.”
Even on this moonless night, Damien watches the blood drain from Jake’s face, and though the boy works hard to stifle emotion, it’s there, concealed by the Terrestrial, but palpable all the same: the fear, the anxiety the Fallen crave. Damien sniffs at the air in delight. Maka, Larat, and Latham—his brothers sense it too. They look from one to the other, their eyes wild with incredulity. The presence of fear isn’t a complete confirmation of all Damien’s told them, but it’s a start.
“Is it true, boy?” Maka growls. “Can you heal?”
Jake doesn’t answer. Instead his eyes move madly over the horizon, searching, finding nothing. Finally they settle again on Damien’s face.
“You don’t have to answer.” Damien laughs. “But how about a little show and tell?”
He rips the girl from Jake’s hands and shoves her away from him, sliding on the slick surface.
“Ali!” Jake cries as the girl comes to a stop a foot from the ledge.
Damien stands and pulls the Green Beret tactical knife from its sheath. He flings it, spinning, toward the girl. It slices through her forearm and into the aluminum building. Her chest heaves, and she groans.
“Girl has a nasty cut on her arm,” he says. “Fix it.”
The Twins grin, but Maka keeps his eyes glued to Jake’s face.
The girl tries to sit up, but the knife holds her arm pinned. She yanks at it and chokes on her tears as she begins to understand the pain. She looks at Jake, who remains on his knees, and then at the four massive forms behind him. Her breathing accelerates, and as fear envelops her, they smile back.
Finally her screams pierce the night.