Beloved Purgatory (Fallen Angels, Book 2) (20 page)

"Oz, how did you get here?" I croaked.

He put his hand on my shoulder. White soothing light
collected on his arm. I felt it move through my skin from his
fingertips, into the center of my chest. It felt different from how
he usually healed me--more invasive, and more blissful--almost as
if I'd just been touched by Camael.

I grabbed his wrist. He's in his demon form, I
realized. But no, that couldn't be. Those strange, stick-like
tattoos weren't imprinted on his skin, and he had six wings.

One of them brushed against my cheek. It followed the
same path that the apple petals carried by the wind had taken just
minutes before.

I pressed my fingertips to my tingling skin. Those
feathers looked like the tips of peacock feathers. They were
stunning next to the shifting greens in his eyes. "Oz, what's going
on?"

He studied me blankly. "Who is Oz?"

"She calls you by that name," Forneus replied. "Don't
worry about it."

I suppressed a chill. Why I hadn't heard him come up
behind me? Was I really so entranced by him?

There was something different about his beautiful
face beyond the fact that he was in demon form. His features seemed
smoother, the angle of his forehead and cheekbones less severe. He
stared back at me without recognition. No, that wasn't the right
word--he lacked empathy.

I took a step back. That was, perhaps, the one thing
I couldn't imagine him without. He always allowed himself to feel
without caring how it would affect him. But his eyes, now, looked
at the world as if they'd known neither sadness nor love. As if
they were content.

"He's an illusion, isn't he?" I whispered.

"You could call it that," Forneus answered.

"What else would you call it?" I snapped.

"The image of Azazel, before he fell."

"I don't understand." Azazel's posture was as
straight and his tone as clear as Camael's.

Forneus looked down. "It's nothing. Why don't you
show me the thing you were looking at earlier?"

I shifted my gaze to the devil. What thing? We'd just
arrived.

Azazel nodded. "Alright."

He turned without glancing back. His shimmering,
evergreen wings spread out further as he walked. For a moment, I
thought he would take flight. Perhaps he did. After I blinked, he
disappeared.

"Do you like it here?"

I hugged myself again, this time because of the voice
on my left instead of the wind. How should I answer? A part of me
loved it. It was difficult not to love something so beautiful.
Still, something about its ethereal beauty unsettled me, like
looking into the face of someone you love, only to discover they
don't recognize you.

"What is it?" Forneus asked.

"Nothing. I mean, it's just..." I wet my lips. "I
don't think I would have imagined you making something like
this."

"Something like what?"

I struggled to find the right words. "Something so
sweet, and so lonely. Then again, maybe I just feel that way
because I haven't seen any birds or bugs yet."

No answer but the sound of blades of grass rubbing
together in the wind. Then: "There aren't any."

"What do you mean there aren't any?" I asked.

His jaw tightened. "I didn't want to bring any living
thing here. Even allowing these plants to grow seems like too much.
However, I think I need to be beside something other than myself,
even if I am unaffected by it, lest I begin to feel like everything
exists only in my mind."

A week ago I doubt I'd have understood what he meant,
but that little incident with the purple smoke had changed me. That
kind of loneliness was suffocating.

Forneus nodded to the place where Azazel had
disappeared. "There will be another here as well. I want to take
him with me when I make this world, but I doubt he'll accept it.
He's grown too attached to the things that make him suffer."

What was wrong with Forneus? Sure, his speeches often
contained dramatic (but mostly awkward) pauses, but he'd never
gotten all dewy-eyed before. No tears fell, but they seemed
imminent.

Maybe it's just the wind, I thought. It felt like the
universe was imploding...or like I was watching Steven Seagal play
Hamlet.

Should I pat his shoulder? My fingers twitched as I
raised my hand. No. He probably wouldn't want me to touch him. I
remembered his complaints about "my stink" when I'd climbed into
his car. So I ended up just waving.

He didn't look amused.

My hand shot to my side. Why do I even try? "Look, of
course Oz wouldn't want to come here. He loves all the things
you've excluded from this place more than himself."

Forneus flicked something off his pants. "I know. I
almost can't forgive him for that."

"That's not fair," I blurted out. "It's cruel to
ignore someone's wishes."

His eyes narrowed. Here it comes, I almost
groaned.

"Am I really the cruel one?" He began. "Your kind
must kill in order to sustain itself. Plants take energy from the
sun, animals from plants and other animals. Whether consciously or
unconsciously, every action you take is either an act of violence,
or a response to it. Do you really see anything inherently cruel
about that? Do you think such a cruel system deserves to be
cherished?"

His words hit me like a hammer to my gut. I clawed at
my side. Where was all this coming from?

Of course, evil incarnate didn't explain himself. His
lips curled back in a mocking grin, and for a moment I glimpsed the
devil beneath that heavenly veneer. "The world really is satanic if
you think about it. You are punished if you fail, of course--but
then, you are also punished if you are too successful. A hunter
that is too good at killing his prey will starve."

"Life is about balance," I said. His eyes settled on
me. My throat closed, but I kept going. "I mean, life hurts
sometimes, but it's beautiful too. Even you know that. You wouldn't
want plants, or Oz, if you didn't think that was true."

He stepped back. Sunlight streamed over his cheeks. A
wave of blossoms and dandelion seeds drifted past his violet hair.
"There isn't anything beautiful about horror. It's just ugly, and
it taints those beautiful things that endure in spite of it. If
there were some way to change that, wouldn't it be cruel not
to?"

He stepped back and sighed. "I am tired of success
and failure--of endless, pointless suffering--of the disgust I feel
when I attempt to empathize with other beings, and the disgust I
feel when I cannot. The world He created is vulgar and banal, but
this..."

He reached down and picked up a handful of soil. He
held it close to his chest, bowed his head, and breathed deeply.
His featured softened, and for a moment I thought that I, too,
could smell the scent of dark soil. Then he relaxed his grip, and
the dirt spilling through the cracks between his fingers was
carried away by wind.

"Here, I could spend eternity," he whispered. "I will
be satisfied with the elements and the silence. I will not repeat
those mistakes my Creator made."

Dandelion seeds filled the air between us. He's
crazy, I thought, yet I didn't move from his side.

Finally, he looked at me. "Our friend rejoins us. We
should enjoy him while he's still here."

Sure enough, Azazel was running up the hill to us--a
dark, innocent angel.

"Forneus! Look!" He called out as he held a rock in
his palm. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yes," Forneus whispered. "It is."

Azazel glanced over to me. "You called me Oz."

"Yes, I did."
But you're not.

He took a step closer. If this place was real--if
that phantom was truly Oz--he would flash an odd smile. He'd tell
Forneus to shove it. He'd pull me down on the grass and whisper
suggestive nonsense into my ear until I was too giddy to notice the
clear air, vibrant green grass, or anything that wasn't him.

Now I wanted to look at anything but him.

I shut my eyes and smoothed the white fringe of my
cheerleader skirt. Old flour smeared over my palms.

"You may have this," Azazel said.

Before I could think not to, I held out my hand. He
put a rock in the center of my palm. "It was the only thing I could
find that looked like your eyes."

I smiled despite myself. "That's the worst pick-up
line ever."

A crease formed between his brows. "I don't
understand."

Of course you don't, Camael
.

I gasped, as if I'd compared him to the angel out
loud. "I'm..."

His frown deepened.

"It's nothing," I finished. He wouldn't understand
why I apologized, anyway. It's not like he was truly Oz.

I glanced over at Forneus, only to discover that he
was looking at my hands clutching the hem of my skirt. He might
have asked me about that. It looked like he was thinking of
something important. I'll never know, because at that moment the
world began to ripple.

At first I thought a large cloud had passed over the
sun, but the sky was clear. Was I tired then? No. The ground
wavered, as if it were a mirage.

Then it grew dark. The wind ceased blowing. The sound
of distant waves was replaced by hissing. Purple smoke curled among
the three of us.

"What is that?" Azazel's jaw was tight, his eyes
wild.

"It's time for me to go," Forneus said.

Azazel grabbed him. "Where are you going?"

Forneus brushed him off. "Don't worry. In a few
moments, it won't matter."

Azazel relaxed. His mouth moved, but I couldn't hear
what he said. I curled my fist around the rock. It, too, was
turning into smoke. I could feel it evaporating on my skin. Smoke
filled my throat. When I tried to call out to Oz, I chocked.
I
can't say goodbye
, I realized.
Though I don't even know why
I wanted to, since he didn't really exist.

The smoke dissipated, and Forneus and I were once
again in the glowing, purple room. I looked at my hands. The stone
was completely gone. It hadn't even left a speck of dirt
behind.

"It's over," Forneus said without opening his eyes. I
think he was preserving the image of that world for as long as
possible. But soon the smoke disappeared, and its soft glow was
replaced by the harsh sparkling of the
Rukah-Hayim
.

He took one last deep breath, then looked at me.

"I missed you on Friday." His conversational tone
sent chills up my spine.

"What?" Friday? There was no way I'd ever see
him--no, wait. Our little counseling session. "I, um, was busy. I
mean, I wasn't feeling well."

His eyes narrowed.

"I didn't go to school, you see," I mumbled.

"I noticed," he said. "And I forgive you. It gave me
some time to learn more about you."

"Learn more about me?" I croaked.

"Yes." He looked down. "Do you know what happens to
someone after they commit suicide?"

It felt like he'd ripped apart my lung tissue. My
chest heaved. Every breath was a knife tearing into my heart. My
voice, when I found it, sounded like a squeaking hinge. "What do
you mean?"

He glanced up. His cheek was still raw from where I'd
scratched him. I'd forgotten about that when we'd been in his dream
world.

"Your father shot himself, didn't he?"

I cringed. How could he just say something like that?
I wish he hadn't shown me his "dream world"--that it hadn't been
beautiful. I didn't want to feel anything for that creature.

"When someone commits suicide, their spirit goes to
Purgatory."

No. You're lying.

"And once there, it cannot leave without divine
intervention."

Stop. I hit the side of my head with my fists.

"For a spirit, the most horrific punishment is being
distant from God, but not once has He ever released one from
Purgatory."

I gripped my stomach. "Why are you telling me
this?"

"I am the only person you know who can get him out.
Azazel lacks the ability, and Camael, as one of God's beloved
creatures, is barred from interfering with His will." He rubbed his
hands together. "I'd be willing to do it, if you are willing to pay
my price."

I glared at him. My eyes hurt. Every part of me did.
But even pain, and the quiet fear lingering beneath it, didn't stop
me from asking. "What price is that?"

"What devils always want." His teeth gleamed. "Their
client's soul."

My head shook. "No."

I didn't realize I was retreating until Forneus took
a step forward. "No, you don't want to give it to me, or no, that
isn't what I want?"

"Both."

He chuckled. "You're wrong. It is what I want.
Whether or not you give it to me is up to you, of course, but in
this case it's probably in your best interest."

I seriously doubt that. "Why would you even want
it?"

Forneus sighed. He shut his eyes, but I could tell
they were rolling beneath his eyelids. "When God awakened, there
were no things in existence, but he was not alone. Something in the
void moved him. Inspired him. And it gave him the energy he needed
to form the universe." He paused. "Without a soul, the spirit lacks
the will and ability to create."

"Why don't you just use souls from plants or animals,
then?"

"Ah, that is my curse. Demons, who fell in love with
the world, are condemned to die for it; devils, who had the
audacity to long for a better world, must stand by and watch this
pathetic spectacle they cannot change for eternity."

I was almost against the wall, now. I could feel the
Rukah-Hayim
squirming on my back. "You still didn't answer
my question."

Forneus looked down. "Like my Father, I cannot create
anything lasting unless I manipulate the energy that is responsible
for making all physical objects--the soul. However, unlike him, I
cannot simply take it. It must be given to me."

"I'll never give it to you. I don't need your help. I
have Oz."