Angel Eyes (34 page)
With the halo still firmly in place, I catch glimpses of the demon’s true self as his form seems to morph in and out of focus before me. His wing is severely damaged and hangs awkwardly, feathers jutting out here and there. I wonder if he can still fly.
“Nice to see you again, Brielle.” His black eyes roam uncomfortably over my body from head to toe and back again. With a glance at Jake, he sheathes his knife. “Hmm . . . I wonder.”
His figure stabilizes in front of me, the human appearance gone, replaced by the totality of his fallen form.
“Brielle?” Jake says, grabbing my hand.
Damien’s cloaked himself and transferred to the Celestial, disappearing from Jake’s sight altogether.
“He’s still there,” I whisper. “He hasn’t moved.”
Damien glares at me, his eyes nearly closed. “So you
can
see me.”
I look at Jake.
“Don’t,” Jake whispers quietly, avoiding my gaze.
Damien grins. It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. He grabs my arm and yanks me away from Jake. Jake reaches out for me, but his attempt is useless. I tumble toward Damien, who catches me roughly and spins me so that I face Jake. He is shaking, but still, his flaming hazel eyes are averted. He stares at the ground, at the sky, everywhere but at me.
And I understand.
Damien flashes his talons in front of my face, and before I realize what he’s doing, he drags a razor-sharp nail down my cheek. I am screaming, crying out in pain, writhing, trying desperately to get free. Jake can’t help himself, it seems, and he turns his face to mine. I know he sees blood, black as night, blossom on my face. I watch in horror as rays of light break through the lush green and deep brown of Jake’s eyes, and the pure white of love’s greatest expression stares back at me.
Damien purrs and flings me into Jake’s arms. I watch as he takes off into the sky. He is broken, damaged, but he manages to hover clumsily above us.
“I’m sorry,” I sob.
“No, I’m sorry,” Jake says. “I’m so sorry.”
He extends his hand toward the gash on my face. He offers healing, but at what cost?
“Don’t,” I tell him, stepping back. “Leave it. It’s what he wants.”
Overhead, Damien opens his mouth and releases a sound so intense I drop to my knees, crying out and covering my ears. It’s the sound of violence, the hum of hate, the very ring of evil. It is a growl, a roar, a cry of desperation. It is pain. It is death.
“Brielle!” Jake cries. I don’t know why he can’t hear Damien’s Celestial cry, but I’m grateful.
And then it’s over.
“It’s okay,” I say, standing. “I’m okay.”
“What was that?” he asks, searching my face.
Before I can answer, monstrous black wings flash overhead. I look up to see another demon, larger by far than Damien and uninjured, descending from the apex of the bridge. I shudder. This is the demon who survived Canaan’s sword. This is Maka.
Damien’s damaged wing seems to have reached its maximum exertion, and he, too, drops to the roof, faster and with much less grace than his counterpart.
“Jake,” I warn. “Another one. Behind you.”
Without any visible communication, they both transfer to the Terrestrial, their massive forms side by side. Damien, with his olive skin and jet-black hair, stands arrogantly, his arms crossed, his handsome face smiling. The demon-man next to him is huge, black and muscled, his long hair hanging in braided curtains. Both stare at us greedily with dead black eyes, and after a moment the large one speaks.
“You can see us, then,” Maka says, his voice deep and hollow. “It seems Damien was right about you. And you—” He turns his attention to Jake. “You leave your girlfriend there, bleeding. How selfish. In your hand lies an ability so rare, so precious. And yet you refrain. Why, I wonder?”
Jake doesn’t answer.
“How do you feel about that, sweetheart?” the ogre asks, turning to me.
A flash of white against the orange sky draws my attention, and my eyes flick briefly away. Behind the two demons, approaching fast, is Canaan. He drops out of sight across the river, and I squeeze Jake’s hand. With the two demons standing before me in their human form, I am the only one able to see into the Celestial.
Moments later Canaan resurfaces over the top of an evergreen, and I keep my face as stoic as possible, refusing, like Jake, to answer the question put to me. I try not to appear distracted but watch as Canaan changes course. He approaches from Jake’s right-hand side, his arms outstretched.
We’re saved!
Any second now we’ll be safely wrapped in the wings of our Shield. If my face betrays any sense of this, I’m unaware. But something—my demeanor, fate, bad luck—something causes Damien to transfer back to the Celestial just as Canaan crosses over the ledge of the roof.
With a violent roar Damien steps in front of me and draws his sword. In a jabbing motion he thrusts it at Canaan. It makes contact with one of Canaan’s outstretched hands, and he pulls it back in response. He can’t reach me now, but he snatches Jake to himself, cloaking him. Maka transfers, drawing his weapon and rising into the air behind Canaan.
And then the air around me seems to disappear, cosmically vacuumed away. I gasp, frantically searching for it. But something heavier fills my lungs. It drips from my nose and my mouth.
I’m drowning.
Air is in limited supply, but there is no shortage of blood. I watch the world of colors and light swirl around me and know I’m dying. I reach out, turning, struggling to find the source of pain. Finally my hands find the hilt of a dagger protruding from my chest. Damien’s Terrestrial form stands just feet away, his demonic face triumphant, his hand still extended from the blade toss.
I look around frantically for Jake, for Canaan, but there’s no friendly face to be seen. I drop to the roof, spitting and gurgling, wishing again and again for just one more breath.
N
ooooooo!!! Canaan, turn around!”
Jake’s cry is one of anguish. Canaan lurches and pulls to a stop.
“Go back, go back, go back!” Jake begs. He’s hysterical. “Please go back!”
Canaan turns his eyes to the warehouse, and tragedy breaks through him. Brielle is engulfed in the flames of violence. She lies faceup, the life force bleeding out of her. It leaks down the ridges of the aluminum building with the dirty rainwater, soaking into the ground below.
Maka and Damien stand, in their Celestial forms, next to the dying girl, sneering. Canaan hovers, conflicted, in the sky.
“Canaan! Go back!”
“Jake, if we go back, the odds are against us. I can’t guarantee your safety once you leave these wings. For your gift alone, they’ll dig their talons in.”
“I won’t be easily corrupted.”
“I know that. But they’ll use your compassion against you. Your feelings for Brielle. They do whatever it takes to taint the truth. To corrupt what God has created you to be.”
“I don’t care,” he wails.
“You do care. And you’re my responsibility. I have a job to do.”
“
She’s
your responsibility, Canaan. She’s my responsibility. Go back!”
“Jake . . .”
“It’s my choice, Canaan. Don’t take this from me.”
Is he right? Is this good-bye?
“What if it’s her time, Jake?”
“That’s God’s decision, not yours,” he argues. “I have to try. Take me back.”
Canaan hesitates. This is the child he’s watched grow year after year. He’s raised Jake the best way he knew, making the boy’s well-being his first priority, always. How can he deliver Jake to the lions?
“We’re losing time, Canaan,” Jake says, watching the flames flickering erratically. “Please, take me back.”
He’s right. This is his choice.
Canaan slaps his wings hard, tunneling faster than ever through the orange sky glittering with Terrestrial rain, finally landing lightly on the roof. Canaan opens his wings, and Jake emerges. He crosses through the flames and collapses at Brielle’s side. Though Canaan is near, Jake loses his Celestial eyes when he leaves the safety of his Shield’s wings. Canaan knows his human eyes lie to him—compel Jake to believe he and Brielle are alone in the darkness.
“Drop your sword,” Maka’s mind demands. He holds his scimitar over Jake’s head. It’s a threat. Symbolic, of course, but a threat nonetheless. “Now, or we won’t wait to see what the boy can do.”
Canaan draws his sword and holds it up. Maka jerks his head to the ledge of the building, and Canaan tosses it over. Maka’s scimitar cannot damage Jake’s soul, which belongs firmly to the Creator. But human weapons are surprisingly efficient, as Damien’s dagger has so aptly shown.
“Whether he heals her or not, you’ll take him. Do your best to corrupt him,” Canaan says. “What does the girl matter?”
Maka glances at Damien.
“We’ve all lost something tonight. If Damien is right—if the boy has the ability to heal—then perhaps it’s all been worth it. That would be good for Damien. He could use a new charge. A right hand. A human with gifts. We could help him . . . prepare Jake for that task. But if Damien has deceived us . . .”
“Why would I do that? What do I gain by angering you?”
“Nothing but fire.”
Damien blanches but does not respond.
“Now go.”
Canaan jumps softly and floats away, his eyes on Jake. Tears run down the boy’s face, but his jaw is set. Though he no longer sees the forces around him, he understands the consequences of this action. Jake can heal Brielle, but growing old with her is impossible now.
Without his sword Canaan is no match against two armed demons, but if Jake is willing to give his life for Brielle’s, he’ll do his best to ensure she remains safe. Canaan is certain he can keep one of them from death, and as Jake said, it’s his choice.
Jake’s hand presses against the knife wound to her chest, and Canaan watches the flames flash unevenly, slowing. He waits impatiently for them to steady, to throb rhythmically to the strong, healthy cadence of Brielle’s heart.
But moments pass and the flames move ever slower, more erratic. Canaan’s eyes move to Damien, whose face is contorted in confusion, his good wing twitching involuntarily. Maka stands hunched, his weapon still drawn. The expression on his face shows his confidence has faltered.
Jake’s head is bowed, his features hidden from them all. Two bright flashes of crimson light the orange sky morbidly, and the flames still. Jake’s body shakes, and his desolation fills the atmosphere. The waters of sadness, murky and gray, wash over him, obscuring Canaan’s view and causing him instead to focus on the two demons perched like gothic bookends on his left and right.
Maka roars in anger and turns on his fallen brother. He draws his sword and swings it at Damien. Canaan wraps his wings tightly and falls into a dive. If Brielle’s time has come, he can at least save Jake.
B
reathing is easier now, or maybe the need has left me. The sky, lively with its sorbet colors, has begun to change, to fade. I watch in wonder as the hues bleed away, leaving Jake’s face framed by a pure white sky. I stare up at him, at his sun-kissed face, at his white eyes shining down on me, and wish I could ease his pain. His body shakes, and he leans toward me, kissing my lips lightly and closing my eyes.
I lie here, Jake’s body close, and I sleep.
It’s possible long days or short minutes have passed, but when at last I open my eyes, Jake is gone. I try to sit up, but I’m unable to move. I know that should frighten me, but it doesn’t. Instead, I relax and stare at the white sky above. The longer I stare, the more I can’t be sure of what I’m seeing.
A tiny dark spot has begun to form. Soon it resembles a gold coin sparkling in the distance. Larger and larger it grows, losing its distinct shape and rolling like the molten liquid gold of the halo, running like paint down the white canvas around me until I am surrounded by the richness of this glowing liquid. Light bounces off its surface, warming me. The gold continues to move and bubble, molding itself.
And then before me, angels emerge out of the light, singing in a language I cannot understand. Snowy white wings cover their faces and their feet, and with another set of wings they fly. Behind them, the gold has transformed into a high platform, and I slam my eyes shut.
A light so bright it pains me appears on the platform. I pinch my eyes tighter and tighter, but it’s not enough. The light sears, and I want nothing more than to throw my arms over my face and hide, but I can’t move. My eyelids are useless—I see the gold and the angels, feel the burning light through the thinness of them.
The singing draws nearer, and I feel someone’s presence close by. Layer upon layer of feathery wings cover me, and the pain diminishes, leaving me exhausted. Again I sleep.
When I wake I see the underside of a downy-soft wing, glowing softly with the light from beyond. I listen, the only sense useful to me now. The singing voices are still there, but they’re quieter now, hushed, respectfully so. A conversation is taking place among them.