Lucifer’s body never appeared. He couldn’t have healed himself and escaped this quickly. He should be broken and under the pile. Raphael… He healed him and let him go instead of letting me trap Lucifer and return him behind the Veil. For what purpose?
“Raphael!” I roared.
Lights in the city flickered as my voice carried over the Court. He was still around. I felt him. I waited for him to come, but he refused, though I knew he’d heard me. With no explanation of why he’d freed Lucifer, I drew my own conclusion. Raphael was after Julia, and he’d use Lucifer’s connection to her to end her.
Chapter Twenty-One
That night, restlessness wouldn’t let me sleep. I stood by the window, watching Michael levitate above the yard and supervise the gathering of his fleet. White-winged angels poured from the skies, thousands of them, all in white uniforms, giving the impression of a holy army. I wondered, and not for the first time, if I were in the right Court.
The Marked were controlled by Lucifer. But weren’t these angels controlled by Michael all the same? Perhaps not mentally, but certainly he held power over them. Perhaps they worshiped him. Of course they worshiped him. Seeing him and speaking with him daily and receiving his attention was akin to feeling the light of the sun on a chilly day. Everyone welcomed light in the darkness and warmth in the winter. But the sun also blinded me, made me forget, even if temporarily, who he was and what he’d come here to do. He’d said he came to save the mortal realm, even make a new race with a mortal woman, who happened to be me. I forgot he was Michael the Archangel who waged wars.
A fleet of white-winged angels arranged themselves in formations in front of Michael, all slowly beating their wings, while he simply levitated, making staying still in the air look effortless. He spoke, his voice booming over the Court, and I tried to unlatch the window. I unlatched it just fine, but the damn thing wouldn’t open, so I pressed my ear against the cold glass. Frost bit my skin, but I didn’t retreat, trying to hear what he was saying.
I couldn’t make out the words. Pretty sure he spoke in their angelic tongue. The army hummed, a soothing yet an eerie sound reaching even past the closed window. When the frostbite on my ear became painful, I stepped back. As far as my eye could see to the horizon, angels lifted. Line by line, in perfect uniform fashion, they disappeared into the sky. The fleet left in the Court got thinner, until the front line that stood before Michael was the only one.
There was something different about these ones in front. Something cold and fearless. Their eyes focused on Michael as he approached them. They formed a circle around him and bowed their heads. It looked like a meeting before a baseball game when Coach Cocco gathered us and drilled motivation and winning into our brains. Or maybe it wasn’t even a meeting. Who knew what these creatures did? Not me.
Michael snapped his head up.
I ducked.
Seriously? Standing back up, I found him at the window.
I crossed my arms over my chest.
He smiled and moved away.
He’d disarm me with that smile, the dimples, the soft, pouty mouth.
On the ground, people assembled. Sergeants walked in front of the lines, speaking, stopping to shout and punctuate their points. I should be there with my squad. Or if not there, I should get some sleep. Forehead on the window, I leaned against it and blew out a breath. Dad would say that when life dealt them lemons, some people complained, and others made lemonade. Which one would I be? I wanted to be the person who could make lemonade, not because I knew how to find the bright side in any situation, but because I chose to take advantage of my disadvantage.
Lucifer had marked me, probably in the same way he’d reached out and marked everyone else, but he couldn’t control me to the extent he did the rest of them. The only special thing about me seemed to be the same thing Michael saw. My soul was his soul’s mate, whatever that really meant. Biologically, souls didn’t exist. Spiritually, maybe. In any case, it wasn’t a great time to question spirituality and belief in a higher being when angels had descended on our heads and decided to set up camp on Earth. After they fought for world domination, of course, because that was what those kinds of creatures were. Supreme rulers.
A knock on the window jarred me out of my thoughts.
Michael levitated there again, his golden hair wild, his black kilt floating on the wind. I shivered just from watching him shirtless out in the freezing cold. He placed a palm on the window and tapped a claw. I stared at his palm. There were no lines on it, no creases, just a smooth palm. I drew what palm readers would call the life line on his palm on my side of the window. He removed his hand and stared at the line.
Of course he wouldn’t have a life line. Mine ended halfway across my palm. His life never ended. Even palm reading made more sense than the current world. And the world never would make sense, because I remembered the Before. Michael was right. It was like a proverbial lightbulb went off over my head. He was right. I was holding on to my hopes, dreams, and, more importantly, my former life. I was not willing to face reality, and while I’d tried adjusting, I always went back to Before. “I want to forget,” I said.
Michael tilted his head. He couldn’t hear me. I pointed at the window latch and pulled. “Open it.”
He did.
Shit. Cold air hit me like a sledgehammer. I hugged my body and hopped in place.
