she had; maybe she knew it would come to this.
The wal tiles turned from red to green signaling the switch in train lines, and we veered left down a tight tunnel. I felt a sudden whoosh behind me, and I pivoted in midair to see what caused it. Ezekiel’s shiny hair and pale face loomed in the distance.
“He’s gaining on us,” I cal ed up to Tamiel.
She didn’t respond. Instead she sped up and made a quick, unexpected right turn. Michael and I raced to fol ow her. A roar and a blinding light greeted us in the mouth of the tunnel she’d just entered. We found ourselves facing an oncoming train.
Michael and I nearly spun back around—into the advancing arms of Ezekiel—but we saw Tamiel propel herself up and over the moving train.
Mirroring her actions, we trailed her as she shot straight up through a tiny shaft in the ceiling of the tunnel.
The shaft was so constricted that Michael and I could barely fit through the opening. But once we squeezed ourselves through, it broadened, al owing us to regain speed. We fol owed Tamiel through the pitch-blackness as she climbed upward to the surface.
The air grew colder, and a glimmer of light appeared above us. Within seconds, Tamiel shoved aside a metal grate covering the shaft and peered upward. She motioned for us to fol ow her as she flew up and out.
We stood at the far, dark corner of a T stop—Government Center. A train must have just left, because the stop was merciful y empty. Without a word of explanation, Tamiel sprinted down the long platform toward the exit, and we chased after her. After tearing up two flights of stairs, we stood outside in the frigid nighttime of downtown Boston. The fresh air was a relief after the fetid underground, but I was reluctant to trade flying for running. I felt like I could hold my own a bit better against Ezekiel if I flew.
We could see and hear the lights and noise of the nearby tourist attraction Faneuil Hal . I assumed that we’d head in the opposite direction, and started walking the other way. But Tamiel pul ed me toward Faneuil Hal instead.
“I thought you wanted us to stay away from crowds. You said that Ezekiel could use them as a weapon against us,” I said, as we began running toward the busy eighteenth-century marketplace built around a cobblestone promenade where street performers entertained tourists while they shopped and ate.
“He can. But the crowds also limit his powers and provide us with a means of escape.”
“Why is he doing this, Tamiel? He’s had the chance to take us by force before, but he never tried.”
“He’s furious with Michael for deceiving him outside Professor McMaster’s office, to start. And—” Tamiel stopped herself. As if she’d said too much already.
“Tel me, Tamiel.”
“He believes that you are dangerously close to understanding who you are. Once you ful y comprehend your nature and purpose, the end days wil begin. And Ezekiel can no longer wait. He wil want you at his side.”
Chapter Forty-five
I sensed—rather than saw or heard—Ezekiel fol owing us toward Faneuil Hal . I knew that Michael and Tamiel did too because each time my instinct told me to veer left or right to avoid him, they did the same—without speaking.
We moved like this—in unison—and entered Faneuil Hal . Despite the cold, the place was packed. We weaved through vendors hawking wares and tourists sipping hot drinks and jugglers entertaining them. Tamiel was right; the crowds provided a shield for us and compromised Ezekiel’s ability to lash out. For the moment.
After several minutes hurrying through the crowds as a unit, Tamiel suddenly broke and took the lead. She led us into an impressive building with huge colonnades and a brass sign that read QUINCY MARKET. Inside was an enormous indoor food court, jammed with tables, stal s, and even more people.
Cutting through the crowds like a knife, Tamiel headed straight for the doors at the rear. Clearly she had brought us into Quincy Market only as a diversion and a way to shake Ezekiel. Michael and I kept her pace and fol owed her to the far end of the marketplace. I was so happy when I final y saw the exit doors next to a smal stage.
Just as Tamiel reached for the door handle, I heard a loud slam reverberate throughout the busy hal . We spun around. Al the doors to Quincy Market had simultaneously shut and locked. But the people continued eating and drinking and chatting as if nothing had happened.
We turned back toward the exit doors. There, on the stage, stood Ezekiel. It was the scenario I most feared.
Ezekiel pasted on that sickening smile of his and started pacing the stage. He stared at us, but spoke to Tamiel in a triumphant voice. “I am going to tel them who they are.”
“Please don’t, Ezekiel.” I heard begging from the seemingly invincible Tamiel, and it terrified me. I looked over at Michael, but he didn’t meet my gaze. He was transfixed, watching the showdown between two angels.
“Does it scare you to think of them knowing the ful story, Tamiel? Oh, I forgot. You would rather they learn the pretty little bits and pieces that you and the others feed them in sanitized places like the Harvard libraries.”
“Have you no care for what wil happen if you tel them everything?”
“Do you mean what might happen to you, Tamiel? And the other fal en?” He gestured around the room. The people were oblivious to us; he must have used some trick to cloud us from their view. “Or do you mean what might happen to al of them? Oh, I was al for keeping Michael and El speth in the dark at first, but now they probably know enough to start the clock. So I would like to be the one to share the entire story—instead of the watered- down versions those simpering fools who cal themselves their parents wil tel them. Michael and El speth should know the truth and the role they are destined to play at the end.”
Her voice became a thunderous clap. “Stop, Ezekiel!”
But her voice was no match for the roar of his own. He yel ed back, “You wil let them listen! Or I wil set this place into a conflagration that matches hel ’s own fire. And that wil only be the beginning.”
