Angel Eyes (35 page)
“Will she stay?”
“I don’t believe so, no.”
“Then she has decided.”
“In her heart.”
“Has she confessed with her mouth?”
“There is not yet enough understanding.”
“So the Father is sending her back.”
“Yes, I think He is.”
“But then why is she here?”
“Somehow, some way, her physical death serves His purpose.”
“And when will He restore breath to her?”
“What is time to an Eternal God?”
“Immaterial.”
“Yes, immaterial.”
The angels’ song floods my ears once again, and a peace washes over me. Whatever His purpose, I understand something now I didn’t before. A righteous God isn’t bound by time. He has an eternity to make things right. In this moment I know. Even if He never reveals His reasons to me, even if He never explains why He allowed my mother and Ali to die, I’ll still fight against the darkness so His light can spread. This God that Jake serves is a good God.
He doesn’t owe me an explanation.
I owe Him my life.
L
ightning flashes as the demons’ scimitars clash again and again. Maka bears down hard on Damien, moving him toward the ledge, trying to force his brother into the sky where Damien’s broken wing would severely handicap him. Hostility rips from their throats, challenging the rumbling thunder above.
Oblivious to the bedlam, Jake lies prostrate across Brielle’s body. Wisdom begs that Canaan take only Jake into the safety of his wings, but leaving Brielle’s body feels like a betrayal— of Jake, of the job he’s been given. With the demons locked in their own conflict, could he get away with taking them both, or would they turn and attack?
Having already retrieved his sword, he’s now just feet away and makes his decision. He stretches for the star-crossed lovers as a guttural cry, primal and resonant, hits him from behind. A stabbing sensation follows, and four talons come into his line of sight, protruding from his chest. Then they’re withdrawn, and Javan soars over Canaan’s head, setting himself down on the roof of the warehouse.
Canaan was stabbed through the shoulder, and his wing suffers for it. Escaping with his charges is no longer an option. Carrying one or both of them while injured and pursued by any number of demons would only guarantee Jake’s demise. An attempt to flee is not in the boy’s best interest.
Victory is.
Canaan draws his sword and lands in front of Javan. The demon clacks his grisly teeth together, taunting. Canaan strikes out, and Javan blocks the attack. But he is weak. His sword arm trembles, and Canaan doesn’t hesitate. He plants his foot in the demon’s chest and shoves. Javan backs up, tripping over Maka’s heel. Canaan advances and drives his scorching blade into Javan’s abdomen. With hisses and squeals, Javan dissolves into the light.
Maka turns, infuriated at Javan’s intrusion, and seeing the failure of his fallen brother, swings his sword wildly. Canaan ducks under his arm and grabs the elbow of his sword hand. Using Maka’s own momentum, Canaan heaves him into Damien, who is ready and waiting. Damien’s scimitar penetrates the massive demon’s chest, and Maka burns, vanishing in a burst of ash.
Canaan turns to Damien, whose face hangs in an expression of mixed relief and outrage. His plan has failed, but he’s survived.
Thus far.
Canaan raises his sword and approaches. Damien has to be returned to the pit. He has to remain there for the duration of Jake’s life, or his charge will never be safe.
Maka had backed Damien to the very ledge of the building. Now Canaan closes in, giving him only two choices: he can take to the sky, where his injury will be put to the test against Canaan’s, or he can fight. The demon halts, indecisive.
The sound of clanking metal draws their attention.
“Jake? Brielle? You guys up here?”
It’s Marco, climbing up the maintenance ladder behind Damien. His head emerges over the ledge of the building.
“I thought I heard—” He catches sight of Jake, of Brielle’s body.
“Stop, Marco,” Jake cautions. “It’s not safe right now.”
“What happened to her?” Marco whispers.
In a last-ditch effort to secure his survival, Damien grabs Marco and throws him to the roof in front of him, pressing his sword to Marco’s neck. Marco yells and punches at the air, unable to see the force controlling his body.
Damien laughs cruelly. “Drop your sword, Canaan.”
“Drop yours!”
Helene appears out of the neon sky. She hovers behind Damien, her healing complete. With a slash of zealous light, she beheads the demon. Damien’s form sparks and fumes as it leaves this world, rematerializing in the very fires of hell—his damaged eyes surely the least of his worries.
Canaan beams at Helene, grateful for her endurance and fortitude, and she beams back. She sheathes her weapon and lands lightly on the roof.
“What was that?” Marco asks, struggling to right himself.
Helene crosses invisibly to him, places her dainty hands on his shoulders, and squeezes. Instantly he’s asleep, and Canaan’s powerful little partner guides Marco gently to the roof.
Canaan transfers to the Terrestrial, Helene following. Jake takes in their two forms, and a cry shakes him.
“It’s over,” Canaan says, wrapping him in his arms.
Helene walks away, giving Jake the privacy he needs to mourn. Jake buries his face in his Shield’s chest and weeps.
I
t’s the smell of rain that tells me I’m breathing again. It splashes my face and neck. My hands.
My ears seem to be working as well, and over the rain rushing down the corrugated roof, I hear Jake. He’s crying. The sobs are loud, but there’s something reassuring about that. That a boy who laughs shamelessly weeps that way too.
It’s honest.
I hear Canaan.
He’s praying. I wonder if he’ll teach me.
My eyes open, and I blink against the rain. Kneeling above me is Helene—restored, healthy. She smiles.
Beautiful.
“I like happy endings,” she whispers.
Beyond her, I see Jake and Canaan. Canaan holds Jake tight.
“I am so sorry about Brielle,” he is saying.
Helene winks and offers her hand.
“What about Brielle?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “What about her?”
Canaan opens his eyes and yells something unintelligible. Jake wrenches himself around and chokes. I take Helene’s hand and let her pull me to my feet.
“You were talking about me, I think.”
Jake walks toward me, slowly, his hand outstretched, his mouth hanging open.
“I can’t believe . . . how . . . what are you . . . you were . . .” He reaches out. “Are you okay?”
I laugh. “I am. I really, really am.”
Jake blinks and blinks, like he’s not seeing me clearly enough. He strokes my face, my hair. “But how? I extended my hand, Elle. I tried. But we all watched you die.”
He turns to Helene. “Did you . . .”
“I didn’t do anything,” Helene says, raising her hands. “She was waking when we transferred. You gentlemen were busy, so I helped her to her feet.”
“God knew, Jake,” I say. “He knew what I needed. Even with the halo on, my perspective was so limited. I wasn’t
really
seeing. Not with the right kind of eyes, anyway. Fear. Guilt. The past. My whole life, really, was standing in the way.”
“Brielle . . .”
“And then, there I was—horizontal in the Throne Room, my eyes on fire, and . . . everything changed, Jake. Everything.”
The roof trembles as Canaan falls to his knees. “I can’t believe I ever doubted,” he says. He turns his eyes to us, his smile wise.
“God
chooses
to use us, Jake, but really, He can do it all on His own.”
I
t wist my fingers into Jake’s and watch as Helene drops off the roof. Her white wings fill, setting her down gently.
“Where is she going?” I ask.
“To get Kaylee,” Canaan says. “She’s been standing watch over one of the men, kicking him in the head whenever he stirs. It’s . . . comical, but the authorities will be here shortly. We thought you might like your friend to avoid all that.”
Helene returns, laying Kaylee on the roof next to Marco. Her eyes open once and then quiver heavily. Her head lolls, and she drifts back to sleep.
“What are we going to tell her?” I ask, kneeling next to my friend.
“The truth is always a good place to begin,” Helene answers. “Though she won’t have as many questions as you might think.”
“You don’t know Kaylee,” I say. Helene’s never been accosted by Kaylee and her never-ending curiosity.
“There are things the human mind chooses to forget,” Helene explains. “She’ll remember some things, of course, but her human mind will do everything it can to rationalize what’s left. To splinter the things she can’t process.”
I remember what Jake said about Marco—that he thought Damien abducting us was nothing more than a car accident.
“Not everything will be forgotten. Not everything can be,” Canaan interjects. “But when human beings are exposed to the Celestial—to the truth—they make a choice.”
“Consciously, she won’t understand the decision, but choosing is unavoidable.” Helene watches the girl at her feet, benevolence gracing her features. “I’ll stay with her as long as I can.”
Helene lifts Kaylee into her arms and holds her tight. And then she steps from the roof, her wings pulling them into the buttery Celestial sky.
I look to Canaan. “Unavoidable?”
“Kaylee’s mind will either believe everything she’s seen— a task nearly insurmountable with fear as its foundation—or she will allow doubt to shadow it,” he said. “Doubt works more quickly, needing nothing to substantiate its claim. It will act as a salve, soothing away things her mind would rather forget.”
“Shouldn’t we want her to believe? To understand the truth?”
“Certainly,” Canaan says. “But the mind can’t be forced. And belief, well, that starts closer to the heart.” He takes my hand in his. “I am so proud of you, and I’m glad the Father saw fit to return you to us. I’ll see you back at the house.”
He pulls Jake into a hug and then stoops to pull Marco into his arms. As they fly toward Stratus, I step closer to Jake, looking into his white eyes.
“She’ll be okay, right?”
“We all have choices to make,” he says. “We have to let Kaylee make hers.”
I turn his words over in my mind. “Letting other people choose, waiting for them, hoping they make the right choice— that seems almost harder than facing the decision yourself.”
“You’re telling me.” Jake laughs.
I smile, understanding more and more just how difficult this must have been for him. I think of the ring—the wedding ring in Canaan’s chest at home—and I realize how much more there is to figure out.
“There’s a lot I don’t know, Jake. So much I still need to understand.”
“I know,” he says. “But you’re not blind anymore. That’ll help.”
I hear a siren in the distance, whining, wailing. It’s remarkable how alike the sounds of captivity and freedom really are.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Most definitely,” he says. I follow him onto the maintenance ladder reaching down to the muddy earth. When we reach the ground we stand there, staring, waiting for the authorities.
Waiting for someone to take responsibility for the children inside.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask Jake.
“The truth,” he says after a moment.
“The truth we’re going to tell the authorities right now, or the truth, truth?”
“Both,” he says, smiling.
“And what exactly are you thinking about the truth?”
“I’m thinking it sets you free. If you’re brave enough to look for it.”
He’s right. You have to be brave. Even when you’re afraid.
In the shadow of the warehouse, I tug off the wet beanie and remove the halo. I shake out my hair, and we watch as Canaan’s gift transforms into a glorified piece of jewelry. Well, I watch the halo. Jake watches me. I feel his eyes on me, on my face. And when I have the halo back on my wrist, I turn my face to his.
The sun won’t be up for another few hours, but even now Jake’s hazel eyes are warm, inviting the countless questions lining up in my mind. Blood is crusted down his shoulder and across his chest, and his face is pink with the slap of wind and rain.
“So how do you like being the hero?” he asks.
“I’m just glad someone was. I still can’t believe stuff like this happens to children. Here. In America. If being the hero means freedom for . . . anyone, I’d gladly do it again.”